She heard footsteps getting louder, and then Meredith reentered the room, carrying two plates piled high with food. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ve managed to borrow a high chair, so you can bring Millie over. Will she eat some roast chicken?’
‘It might be messy,’ Grace warned, picking Millie up, wondering if Meredith had found the high chair especially for them, and thinking what a considerate gesture it was if so.
Meredith motioned to the polished wooden floor. ‘It’s easy enough to wipe.’
They took their places, and Meredith chopped up a few pieces of chicken and some vegetables, then presented them to Millie on a child’s plastic plate with a plastic knife and fork. Millie ignored the cutlery, and picked the meat up with her fingers, looking thoughtful as she tested it with her teeth.
Meredith took a sip of water. ‘So, Grace,’ she said, ‘how are you getting on with the cottage? Found anything interesting?’
Grace speared a perfect golden roast potato with her fork. ‘I haven’t got very far yet. It’s been lots of books and clothes so far, but most of them mean little to me, I’m afraid. It’s very odd sorting through people’s belongings and making decisions when you didn’t know them very well.’
‘You know, I think it’s a damn good idea to have a stranger go through your things after you die,’ Meredith said. ‘You’re unlikely to miss the heirlooms for Millie, after all, but you won’t be overly emotional.’
Annabel should be doing this job, Grace realised. Her sister didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body when it came to belongings. She enjoyed buying new things too much to be able to afford any qualms about keeping the old. Nothing delighted Annabel more than going through Grace’s wardrobe and emptying it with strings of exclamatory remarks.
‘I find it more disconcerting in some ways,’ Grace confided. ‘Not knowing the history of anything that I’m looking at. I always have this feeling that I might be missing something important.’
‘There’s not really much we own that is all that important, though, is there?’ Meredith looked around the room contemptuously. ‘I would be a lot less cluttered if it wasn’t for my girls – they practically handcuff me every time I suggest having a clear-out. They don’t want to live here any more, but I think it gives them a sense of security to know that their childhood home is still here, the same as it always was. They come here to feel safe.’ As she spoke, she glanced towards the mantelpiece of photographs.
Grace put down her cutlery for a moment to encourage Millie to try her vegetables. She recalled the contents of the boxes that she’d sorted through so far, debating what Meredith might find interesting. ‘You know, I did find a book about local ghost stories.’
‘Let me guess – Ghosts of the Moors.’
‘Yes,’ Grace said, surprised, ‘I’m sure that was the title.’
‘And did you notice the author?’
When Grace shook her head, Meredith got up, went across to a bookcase and pulled a slim volume from the shelf, handing it over.
Grace recognised the cover, and now she looked at the author’s name: ‘C. Romano?’ She regarded Meredith blankly. ‘Should I know who that is?’
Meredith nodded and waited, but on seeing Grace’s confusion, she said, ‘That’s Connie Lockwood, maiden name Romano. Adam’s grandmother.’
‘Oh.’ Grace looked down again at the slim volume in her hands. Millie’s great-grandmother had written this. She supposed she had better take it out of the charity box.
Meredith took the book and returned it to the shelf. ‘She presented all the villagers with one, when it was first published, back in the eighties.’
‘Why did she use her maiden name?’
‘I’m not sure. Connie was fascinated by the legends around the place. Her mother’s family were local, but her father was Italian. When Mussolini declared war against Britain, her father was sent to Eden Camp, and the rest of them stayed nearby with relatives to be close to him. After the war, when he was released, they remained in Inglethorpe. People weren’t always kind, from what I heard tell, but Connie’s father was a doctor, and before long a few people needed his help. After that, the consensus changed, and the community grew very protective of them. Bill had been away fighting in the war, and when he came back he fell in love with Connie. They moved here once they were married, and it took them a long time to have children – Rachel came late in life for them, and was unexpected, I think, but they doted on her. Didn’t Adam tell you any of this?’
As Grace shook her head, Meredith echoed the gesture sadly. ‘You know, it’s such a shame these stories get lost. Why are we so careless that we let our own histories die without even noticing?’
Grace thought of the little she knew about Connie and Bill. After hearing this small snippet of their lives, she couldn’t help but picture them differently – as a young couple struggling to build a life together after the war. Her sense of responsibility towards them grew stronger – and she wasn’t sure she welcomed the feeling.
Meredith was studying her. ‘You seem lost in thought, Grace?’
‘I was thinking about how I nearly threw the book away – and what a loss it would have been. Thank goodness I mentioned it to you.’
‘Well, that book is an unusual one,’ Meredith said. ‘But, you know, if you need any help I’d be happy to give you a hand … Bill worked for my husband Ted for a number of years, so I knew him and Connie quite well.’
Grace pictured the remaining boxes stacked waiting for her. Going through them was a wearisome task, but she wasn’t sure she wanted someone else involved. She needed to make any discoveries in private. Moreover, there was an aloofness in Meredith’s manner, despite her pleasantries, which Grace found unnerving. But she didn’t want to be rude either. ‘Perhaps you could look at the things I put aside,’ she suggested. ‘In case there’s anything you know more about, or think is worth keeping.’
‘Of course,’ Meredith agreed. ‘But I can help you more than that. I’ll go through everything with you. It must be so much work on your own with a small child – I can’t imagine how you’ll get through it otherwise.’
Her persistence made Grace uncomfortable, but she wasn’t sure how to decline. ‘Thanks, but I’m fine for now. Perhaps in the New Year.’
Meredith said nothing, but looked disgruntled as she picked up her knife and fork. They ate in silence for a little while.
‘Do you like it here, Grace?’
The question was asked off-handedly, but Grace felt the air around them thicken with the anticipation of her reply. Not wanting to offend, or lie, she hesitated before saying, ‘I can’t tell yet, to be honest. I’m sure I would like it a lot more if the circumstances were different.’
Meredith nodded as she thought. ‘You know, I often wonder whether this place – the villages, the moors – has a certain mystical quality that draws people back – or one which won’t let them go. Perhaps I feel like that because it’s where my family are from, where we belong. But people often return here. And I don’t know why – since we’re obviously well away from most of civilisation. You and Adam, for instance …’ She looked at Grace carefully. ‘Why did you decide to come here?’
Grace began to cut up more of her dinner to give to Millie, who had wolfed down her first portion and was banging her plate on the table. ‘Adam thought it would be good for us to get out of the rat race for a while – try something different. We both thought so,’ she amended.
‘Well, it’s certainly different to London,’ Meredith said. ‘I often think about what will happen to the village when my generation dies out. Will people stick it out here, ignoring the lure of the big cities, or will it be abandoned? I have a feeling it will become an out-of-the-way holiday destination, and these old houses steeped in history will be nothing more than the temporary homes of travellers.’