When she heard the scream, Grace came to with a start. The noise weakened to a wail – a high-pitched cry that sent a shudder through her. She checked the clock – three a.m. – then flung back the bedclothes, jumped up and rushed into the small room next door, swatting the landing light switch as she went, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Millie stood holding the cot bars with one hand, the other clutching Mr Pink, the small teddy bear Adam had brought to the hospital after she was born. Her eyes were squeezed tight, lashes glistening with unshed tears, while her fine brown hair had risen up in a defiance of curls. She had already worked herself into an exhaustion of gulping sobs and whimpers, and Grace went swiftly towards her and gathered her up into the safety of her arms. Millie huddled against her mother’s breasts, her wet nose and mouth dampening Grace’s nightshirt.
‘You’re safe now, Mummy’s here,’ Grace whispered as she rocked her daughter gently, chanting the words over and over, whether to Millie or to herself she wasn’t sure. ‘It was just a nightmare.’
Soon, Millie began to quieten, and as her breathing slowed, so did Grace’s racing heart. While she cradled her child tightly, she tried to push away her thoughts – but it was no use. She feared it had been a mistake to come back.
They had driven to the village that morning through the sodden November countryside, their car sloshing along the winding roads, while Grace’s reasons for returning began to look more and more muddied. But through the endless days and restless nights of the last twelve months she had been sure of one thing: she would come back.
It had taken much longer to reach the village than she remembered. Eventually they had crossed a cattle grid at the bottom of a steep hill, then listened to the car’s protesting whine as it climbed up the bank in second gear. As they reached the bare brown moor top, Grace’s memories began to unfold. The back of her neck prickled as the hill plateaued out and took them gently downwards, and the sensation moved to her throat as she saw the village sign – ‘Roseby’ – set into a jagged piece of stone. Then the road dipped abruptly, revealing first of all a brick house, then a neat sloping row of terraced cottages. She drove until she reached the last one, halfway down the hill, then pulled onto the grass in front of a low stone wall, and switched off the engine. One year ago, Adam had been here with them, parking a large removals van ahead of their car. Grace remembered catching his eye through the windscreen, his grin as he came across to unbuckle Millie from her seat, and the way he had cradled his tiny daughter close, pointing at the cottage and telling her, ‘We’re home.’
Now, Grace’s hand shook as she pulled the keys from the ignition. She peered over into the back seat, murmuring to her sleeping child, ‘We’re here.’
Millie had been reluctant to wake, her head drooping against her mother’s chest as Grace struggled with the stiff front door lock, eager to escape the icy wind. Once inside, warmth hit them, taking Grace by surprise. She moved through the small entranceway into the lounge. There was a note on the coffee table: ‘Have left a few things in the fridge for you. Meredith.’
Looking around, Grace was touched. She barely knew Meredith. The first time they had met, Grace had been dazed. Police had been bustling in and out, while she stared in bewilderment at Adam’s dirty mug on the side, his jumper slung over the kitchen chair, his toolbox left open on the worktop.
Meredith had volunteered to help and made cups of tea for everyone, but Grace would have barely remembered her if she hadn’t turned up again a week or so later. This time it was Grace’s mother who made Meredith tea, explained that they were taking Grace home with them, and accepted her kind offer of looking after the cottage until Grace decided what to do next.
However, Meredith had gone above and beyond what Grace was expecting. There was no air of neglect to the place: the surfaces were freshly dusted, the radiators were warm, while the air smelled faintly of lavender. It took the edge off Grace’s apprehension, and she was overcome with gratitude.
She had put Millie down on the floor with a drink. Then she had walked into the kitchen, to find it waiting neat and expectant, before heading back through the lounge and into the hall, climbing the stairs, tiptoeing like a trespasser.
Her emotions had finally caught up with her as she took her first tentative look into the main bedroom. There was the bed – their bed – made up neatly. She had gone across, turned back the covers, and pressed her face into the pillow on Adam’s side, but all she could smell was clean linen.