The stairs creaked as they took our weight, but there was a reassuring solidity to them. The dark-red carpet was worn and faded, but as scrupulously clean as the rest of the house.
A flash of something white caught my eye as I followed Ellen along the first-floor landing. It came from the unlit floor above. I looked up the next flight of stairs and saw the pale face of a little girl watching me through the railings.
I felt my heart stutter.
‘Anna, I’ve told you it’s past your bedtime,’ Ellen said, sternly. ‘Go back to bed.’
The little girl took this as an invitation to come down the stairs. As she emerged from the shadows in her nightgown the shock I’d felt at seeing her was already fading. I could see now that the resemblance to my own daughter was only superficial. Alice had been older, and her hair had been blonde. Like her mother’s. This little girl was only four or five, her hair the same dark red as the young woman’s.
‘I can’t sleep,’ the little girl said, staring at me with open curiosity. ‘I’m scared of the wind.’
‘Funny, you’ve never been bothered by it before,’ Ellen said, dryly. ‘Go on, off to bed, young lady. I’ll call in to see you after I’ve shown Dr Hunter his room.’
With a final look at me, the little girl did as she was told.
‘Sorry about that,’ Ellen said, continuing down the hallway. ‘My daughter’s got what I think’s called a healthy curiosity.’
I managed a smile. ‘Glad to hear it. And the name’s David. How old is she? Five?’
‘Four. She’s big for her age.’ There was a quiet note of pride in her voice. ‘Do you have children?’
I felt my face stiffen. ‘No.’
‘Are you married?’
‘I used to be.’
She pulled a face. ‘Serves me right for asking. Divorced?’
‘No. She died.’
Ellen’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry…’
‘It’s all right.’
But she was looking at me now with realization. ‘It wasn’t just your wife, was it? That’s why you looked so shocked when you saw Anna.’
‘They were about the same age, that’s all,’ I said, as neutrally as I could. I knew she meant well, but seeing her daughter had touched on a rawness that was usually covered over. I smiled. ‘Anna looks a lovely little girl.’
Ellen took the hint. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw her when she can’t get her own way. She might be only young, but she can be a madam when the mood takes her.’
‘And you’ve still got the teenage years to look forward to.’
She laughed, a good clear sound that made her look not much more than a girl herself. ‘I don’t even want to think about that.’
I wondered where the little girl’s father was. Ellen didn’t wear a wedding ring, and from the way she’d spoken earlier it sounded as if she was alone here with her daughter. Not that it was any of my business.
She opened a door at the far end of the hall. ‘Here we are. Not very grand, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s fine,’ I told her. And it was. The room was spartan, but clean and comfortable. A single brass bedstead was flanked by an old pine dresser on one side and a wardrobe on the other, its tartan counter-pane neatly turned down to reveal crisp white sheets.
‘The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Shared, but only between yourself and Sergeant Fraser. We don’t get many guests at this time of year.’ There was resignation in the way she said it. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to sort yourself out. Just come down to the bar when you’re ready for supper.’
There was a telephone on the dresser, so at least I’d be able to call Jenny. ‘Is there anywhere I can log on to the Internet? I’d like to check my emails.’
‘If you’ve got a laptop you can use the phone line in here. We’re not wireless yet, but there’s a broadband connection.’
‘You’ve got broadband?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Did you think we’d still be using smoke signals?’
‘No, I just…’
She smiled at my discomfort. ‘It’s all right, I don’t blame you. We can still lose power and phones if the weather’s bad, so we’re not that sophisticated yet. But it works fine most of the time.’
When she’d gone I sat down heavily on the bed. Its springs made a metallic rustling as they took my weight. God. I was more tired than I’d thought. The incident on the stairs had struck through the defences I’d painstakingly built up after Kara and Alice had died. It had taken a long time to reach a state of truce with the cold fact that I was still alive, while my wife and daughter weren’t. Jenny had played a large part in that, and I was deeply thankful to have been given a second chance.
But every now and then the loss would still hit home with a force that took my breath away.
I rubbed my eyes, fatigue catching up with me. It had been a long day. And you’ve not finished yet.
I took my laptop from my bag and put it on the dresser. I picked up the phone to call Jenny as I waited for it to boot up. She should be back from work by now, at her flat in Clapham where we were unofficially living together. Unofficially because I still had my own flat in east London, although I hardly ever stayed there. When we’d left Norfolk eighteen months ago, while Jenny was still recovering from an abduction that had nearly killed her, we’d both felt it would be good for us to keep some degree of independence. For the most part it had worked out.
It was only recently that the first fault lines had begun to appear in our relationship.
I knew I was largely to blame. When Jenny and I had met I’d been a GP. Technically, I still was, but the work I did now was very different. Not only did it often take me away from home, it was a painful reminder of a time-and an experience-she would rather forget.
It was a conflict I had no idea how to resolve. My work was as much a part of me as breathing, but I couldn’t imagine losing Jenny. Yet I was beginning to think that before much longer I’d have to choose between them.
The phone rang for a while before she answered. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ I said.
‘Hi.’ There was a strained pause. ‘So. How are the Outer Hebrides?’
‘Cold and wet. How was your day?’
‘Fine.’
Jenny was a teacher. Positions were hard to come by in London, but she’d found a part-time post at a nursery school which she enjoyed. She was good at her job, and good with children. I knew she wanted her own some day. That was something else I wasn’t sure about.
I couldn’t bear the stilted awkwardness between us. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about earlier.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘No, it does. I just wanted to explain-’
‘Don’t. Please,’ she added, less forcefully. ‘There’s no point. You’re there now. I was just disappointed you wouldn’t be coming back today.’
‘It’ll only be another day or two,’ I said, aware it was a feeble olive branch.
‘OK.’
The silence stretched on. ‘I’d better go,’ I said after a while. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow night.’
I heard her sigh. ‘David…’
My stomach knotted. ‘What?’
There was a pause.
‘Nothing. I’m just looking forward to seeing you, that’s all.’
I told her the same and reluctantly broke the connection. After I’d hung up I stayed on the bed, wondering what it was she’d been about to say. Whatever it was, I was far from sure I wanted to hear it.
Sighing, I connected my camera to the laptop and downloaded the photographs from the cottage. There were over a hundred shots of the remains, capturing them from every angle. I quickly browsed through them, making sure there was nothing I’d overlooked. Bleached by the flash, the sight of the surviving hand and feet had lost none of its ability to shock. I spent longer studying the images of the broken skull. It looked like countless others I’d seen in the aftermath of fire. An almost textbook-perfect case of a cranial blow-out.
So why did I feel I was missing something?
I stared at the screen so long my eyes began to hurt, without finding anything that rang any alarm bells. Finally, I accepted I wasn’t going to. Wallace is probably right. You’re just being over-cautious.