‘Wow!’ Annabel stared out of the window. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much snow.’ She spun around, beaming. ‘Let’s get our coats on and make snowmen all day, Millie.’ She ruffled her niece’s hair, and was delighted when Millie looked up and grinned at her.
Grace laughed at them both. ‘Sounds great. But can you give me some help first?’
Annabel’s eyes narrowed.
‘Don’t look at me like that. Last night I remembered I hadn’t checked the boxes in the cellar for Adam’s passport, and so I took a look, and sure enough – I found it.’
‘Really? Why on earth did he put it down there?’
‘I don’t know. I wish he’d told me about the damn cellar in the first place. I have no idea why he didn’t.’
‘Maybe he thought you knew about it,’ Annabel suggested, shrugging.
As Grace considered that, her annoyance eased a little. ‘Perhaps. Anyway, I want it emptied while you two are here to help, it’s too creepy to do it on my own.’
‘I don’t believe you sometimes,’ Annabel muttered, flinging herself onto a chair. ‘Some Christmas holiday this is turning out to be. Well I’m sorry, but you can count me out – it’s bloody freezing and I bet there are rats down there. Get James to bring the boxes up.’
‘Look, it won’t take long,’ Grace tried to persuade her. ‘And you can sit at the top and sort the stuff out. We’ll get through it in no time if we all pitch in.’
A few hours later, Grace felt like she was corralling unruly sheep. Annabel and James had agreed to help, but both would slip away endlessly – James to check on the football scores; Annabel for any reason that would avoid the task at hand. At least when Millie got up it meant that her enthusiastic auntie was happy to keep her entertained, leaving Grace free to go through things.
By mid-afternoon they had done well. There were piles of full boxes and binbags destined for either the tip or a charity shop. The cellar was now rimmed with bare, grimy shelves.
‘Okay,’ Grace conceded, when she took stock of how much they had done. ‘Let’s take a break.’
‘Finally, she lets us rest.’ James sat down heavily on the stairs and leaned against the wall.
‘Let me tell you this before I forget,’ Annabel said. She patted the three boxes in front of her. ‘These look like they contain personal effects, letters and suchlike, so you’d better go through them. It’s strange that they weren’t in the attic with the rest.’
‘Perhaps Connie and Bill got too old to clamber about in the attic,’ Grace replied, opening one of them and rummaging inside, finding exercise books, notebooks, more photograph albums, newspaper clippings and loose papers, all mish-mashed together. She sighed. ‘There’s so much of this stuff. It’s such a wrench, going through all their memories and deciding which ones are worth keeping – that’s if I can even make sense of them. Sometimes I’ve no idea why they held on to something. I wish I wasn’t packing away their lives with so little idea of what these things meant to them.’
However, if there was anything in the cottage containing more information about why Adam might have disappeared, then she was getting down to the last few places to look. The suggestion that these boxes might reveal something important gave her a renewed sense of purpose.
‘If I take these upstairs, can you two entertain Millie for a while?’ she asked them.
‘Anything if it keeps me away from those damn boxes,’ Annabel replied, while James added, ‘Sure.’
When Grace got into her room, she lifted the boxes one by one and tipped their contents onto the bedcovers, knowing that if she had to clear them away before she could go to sleep tonight it would make her work faster. She climbed up to sit amid the chaotic mountain of papers, and began rifling through. Anything she wasn’t interested in got tossed back into an empty crate, and she began to stack the rest in piles by her bedside, next to her neglected copy of Rebecca.
Her spirits sank as the collection of papers she wanted to look at more closely grew larger. Bundles of letters, mainly, or notepads that had been scribbled in. Bank statements that she didn’t feel she could throw away without checking. Old greeting cards. Photos – both in albums and loose. A couple of school yearbooks that might well contain something about Adam. As she was going through them, it became clear that at least one of the boxes had contained Rachel’s effects. It made her think of Connie and Bill facing the same task, whittling down their daughter’s belongings to retain the official documents that proved her existence, and the photos and letters that could help them recapture Rachel, even if only for a moment, as her image or words briefly fleshed out the spectre of her from the confines of memory. For all Grace knew, so many other things she had touched in the past few weeks had secrets of their own to tell, but they had died along with their keepers. All Grace could do was unwittingly dispose of the evidence.
She picked up a bundle of letters. They were written in the same handwriting, and she plucked one from the top and opened it. Without knowing the contents she couldn’t determine their value, but she still felt as though she were snooping.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I hope you are both all right. I know you will still be getting over the shock, but please, please keep writing and telling me your news. I am doing fine in York. I’ve found a flat, and there’s plenty of space for the baby, who is kicking me all the time now – it’s a strong little thing, that’s for sure.
When you see Meredith, please could you tell her that I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I’ve included a letter for you to pass on to her. I miss you all very much. I know it’s hard, but I’m sure I am doing the right thing. Why don’t you come and see us when the baby arrives?
All my love,
Rachel
Grace plucked the next one from the pile.
Dear Mum and Dad,
It’s good to hear that they have fixed the road – it’s hard enough driving up the bank without potholes to avoid! I’m glad to hear that the show went well too, Mum, I’m sure you did a brilliant job of organising it.
The whole city is talking about the Viking house found under the old Craven’s factory. We went for a walk over there yesterday, but there’s not much to see at the site. Plenty of people trying to have a look, mind.
Thanks for the money, but please don’t feel you have to keep sending it – I’m doing fine on social security, and I have earned a bit more doing some casual typing work – finally, all those hours practising are paying off. It’s good work, because I can do it when Adam sleeps. I’m lucky that at the moment he’s a good sleeper in the day, though he keeps me up all night long sometimes! I can’t wait for you to meet him – come and see us soon.
All my love,
Rachel
Grace stared out of the bedroom window at the wintry afternoon twilight. From the letters, it sounded as though Connie and Bill had been trying to support their daughter, however upset they must have been when she had run away pregnant. It was strange, seeing Rachel’s handwriting; trying to imagine her in a tiny flat in York, caring for a new baby while working to make ends meet. In her mind, Grace had conjured Rachel up so vividly that she felt a strong bond with Adam’s mother. However, these letters were reminders that she didn’t really know anything about the flesh-and-blood person who had written them and worn the clothes that Grace and Annabel had danced in.
She glanced at a few more pages to find that they contained similar themes. She would have to go through them one at a time, but it could probably wait. It seemed unlikely that Jonny’s name was going to come up. Grace wasn’t even sure how much Adam’s grandparents had known of the boy who had got their daughter into trouble, but presumably since Jonny had emigrated there wasn’t a lot left to say, and everyone would have had no choice but to move on.