14

‘You should have made Adam come with you.’

Standing in the pouring rain, Liza and Jane were the last two left standing by the grave. At their feet the gaping hole which contained two coffins side by side was overshadowed by the huge heap of flowers, chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies mixed with the more exotic lilies and roses. ‘He’ll never forgive himself for not being here,’ Liza added.

‘I don’t understand him.’ Jane was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘He’s like a madman.’

In his anguish and fury and pain Adam had sworn never again to have anything to do with Liza or Phil or the tiny child who had been pulled so miraculously alive from the mangled wreck which had taken the lives of her two young parents; his fury with Julie had turned to rage against her mother.

Under the yew trees near them Phil waited, his huge umbrella giving shelter to the baby in the crook of his arm. Beth stared up at the bright striped umbrella, watching the drops of rain hanging like diamonds round the rim and snuggled wide-eyed into her nest of blankets, unaware of the tragedy which had befallen her. Beside him Jane’s mother, leaning heavily on a walking stick and dressed all in black, stood sniffling into a wet handkerchief.

The rest of the mourners huddled together at the lych gate, then slowly, driven on by the rain they climbed back into the line of cars which had been parked, wheels in the hedge, down the narrow lane outside the old mountain church where Julie, in a fit of romantic gloom, inspired by a summer of reading Keats, had told her mother she wanted to be buried. Calum had never as far as Jane knew thought for a single moment about his own death – the only thing she knew was that he would want to be with his Julie and as far away from his father as possible. The two hearses had already gone.

Adam had refused to come. He did not even want to talk about it. When the police had brought little Beth back to Jane he had not looked at the child at all, and the next morning he had told her to get rid of it, as though the baby were an unwanted pet. It had in any case taken Liza only four hours to drive across from Wales. It was a foregone conclusion that Beth would go back with her. Jane had gone too.

‘If only they hadn’t had that row!’ Jane was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘If only I’d come back sooner, before they left.’

‘You mustn’t blame yourself for that.’ Liza put her arm round the other woman’s shoulders. It was the sixth time she had said it in as many hours. ‘Janie, you know your being there would have made no difference; you know how stubborn Adam is. And Calum was like him.’ She stopped and stared down at the coffins, unable to speak for a moment for her own grief. ‘It was what was supposed to be, for some reason.’ She gave a deep sobbing sigh and closed her eyes.

‘Liza, darling. Janie.’ Phil had walked forward silently, his red-and-white umbrella an incongruous splash of colour in the sombre greens and browns of the old churchyard beneath its backdrop of dark, mist-shrouded mountains. ‘Come away. Look, little Beth and Patricia are getting cold. Let’s go back to the farm.’

Jane shook her head. ‘I don’t want to leave him.’ Tears were pouring down her face. ‘It’s so cold and lonely up here.’

‘It’s a beautiful place, Janie my love. You’ll be glad one day he’s got such a lovely spot to lie.’ Phil pushed the baby into her arms, holding the umbrella higher to give her shelter. ‘Here, take your little granddaughter. She wants to go home to the warm. This is not the place for her.’

Gently he ushered the three women away from the graveside along the narrow path towards the gate where only their own car remained. Behind them the two grave-diggers moved discreetly forward and reached for their shovels.

In St Albans Adam sat unmoving at his desk. He had not washed or shaved since Jane had gone, getting up now and then only to make himself a cup of tea or climb the stairs, painfully slowly, to lie on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep had evaded him completely. Robert Harding had looked in every day, avoiding as he always did the room where his own wife had died in this doomed house, and on the morning of the funeral had come himself and made Adam some breakfast. Adam left it untouched, thanking him with barely civil indifference.

Twice the police had come, the first time to say that a witness had been found who had seen in the brief second before the crash a woman step out in front of his son’s car, and the second to say they could find no trace of that woman but would go on hoping she might come forward. The sergeant who spoke to him, his helmet resting on his knees uncomfortably in Adam’s study, was hoping the news would help. ‘It sounds as though by his action in avoiding her, your son saved her life,’ he said. ‘It was very brave.’

‘It was stupid.’ Adam stared dully ahead of him.

‘Nevertheless, courageous,’ the policeman replied firmly. He stood up. ‘I will let you know, Dr Craig, if we hear anything further.’

When he had let the man out of the front door Adam stood for a long time where he was in the hall, staring into space, then slowly he turned and walked through to the kitchen. Opening the back door he walked into the wet, cold garden and stepped out onto the grass.

A-dam …

She was waiting for him by the roses.

‘Brid?’

Dazed with lack of sleep and misery he let her lead him back into the house and up the stairs. In the bedroom he found himself lying down on the bed, his head swimming with exhaustion and, at last, he found himself shutting his eyes, barely aware of the weight on the bed next to him, of the hand gently caressing his hair, of the lips brushing his face as he sank deeper and deeper into oblivion.

Shaking her head, Jane put the phone down. ‘He’s still not answering.’

‘Let him be.’ Liza pressed a cup of hot tea into her hand. ‘You know as well as I do that there are times when Adam needs to be alone. Don’t worry. He’ll be all right.’

Privately she had her doubts about that. The sight of Adam’s grief and anger had shaken her badly, as had his furious rejection of her and the baby, his own grandchild. Jane hadn’t been there when Adam had spoken to her, his rage spilling out like venom, his face red, the veins in his neck throbbing dangerously. If he had never met her, Liza, it seemed, her child would never have killed his son. It was irrational and cruel. It was the first time she had recognised his father’s recalcitrance in Adam, and remembered his descriptions of the old man’s stubbornness as he fought on his knees with his stern unforgiving God and turned his back on the woman he had loved so much.

Checking that little Beth was fast asleep, Liza slipped on a jacket and letting herself out of the house, she walked slowly over to the orchard gate. It was already growing dark. The air was sweet with the scents of wet grass and leaves and the gentle smell of the mountain thyme. Patricia had been driven back to Surrey, the last of the funeral guests had gone and the house was quiet. Jane was lying on the sofa in the living room near the fire, her eyes closed, whilst Phil had withdrawn to the kitchen with a sudden urge to tidy up. She knew that sign. He was overwhelmed, unable to contain his grief except by working all night until sheer fatigue numbed his pain. He would start with the washing up, then tidy the house for her, then move out, when he could bear to be alone, to the studio and probably stay over there for days. She was different. She could not bear to be indoors. She found comfort in nature, relying on the mountains and the great immensity of the sky to put her own problems in perspective and soothe her with their peace.

It was beginning to drizzle again. She listened to the patter of raindrops on the leaves as she leaned on the gate. It was strange, but she felt closer to Adam now than she had at any time during their long relationship. She wished he had come to the funeral. If she had been his wife she would have insisted; would have forced him out of that awful, stiff, lonely, empty house where a woman had been murdered and made him come down to see his son buried. That way he would have come to terms with what had happened. That way he would have been forced to take his little granddaughter in his arms and let her heart-breakingly beautiful little smile melt all that ice in his heart.

She shivered, picturing Adam sitting in his study, staring at the desk in front of him. Then she tensed. In the picture with him she could see Brid, a Brid she remembered only too well, young, wild-haired, beautiful, a Brid who had put her arms around him and was nuzzling into his neck, a Brid who suddenly stiffened like a cat who has sensed an enemy close by and looked up, and, it seemed to Liza, looked straight into her own eyes. Just for a second she saw the venom and the triumph there, then the picture disappeared and she was once more staring out into the rain.

For several minutes she stood without moving, cold with shock, then she turned and made her way swiftly back to the house.

Jane was sitting in the armchair by the fire when Liza walked in. ‘Did you say the crash was caused by a woman walking out in front of them?’ Liza asked abruptly. She squatted down in front of the smouldering logs and held out her hands to their warmth.

Jane nodded. ‘She never came forward,’ she replied without opening her eyes.

Liza took a deep breath, then she lapsed into silence. There was no point in saying to Jane that she thought Brid had killed their children, that Brid had done it cynically and cruelly in order to get Adam to herself. That sounded like the height of paranoia. Besides, Brid hadn’t got Adam to herself. Jane and she were still alive. And so was little Beth.

‘Ring Adam again.’ Liza had settled on the hearth rug, her arms wrapped around her knees. ‘See if you can persuade him to come. I can’t bear to think of him alone.’

‘He won’t come.’ Jane shook her head. ‘You know he won’t. He can’t cope with it. He’s better on his own.’

‘No one is better on their own, Jane,’ Liza whispered. ‘Can I ring him if you won’t?’

The other woman opened her eyes. ‘You think you can persuade him when I can’t? You think you could have made him come, don’t you?’ She gave a small sad smile. ‘Perhaps you could. Perhaps you should have been the one to marry him, I don’t know. None of it really matters now, does it?’ She hauled herself to her feet. ‘Ring him if you want to, I don’t mind.’

Without another word she went over to the door and let herself out into the corridor. Liza, sitting without moving near the fire, heard the slow drag of her footsteps as she went upstairs and then the bang of her bedroom door.

For a long time she didn’t move, then she reached up to the table for the phone and dialled the number.

It rang and rang without answer as though in an empty house. In the end she gave up and gently replaced the receiver. She wondered if the picture she saw suddenly in her head of Adam lying naked in bed with a dark head on his chest was real or just her own worst imaginings.

Two weeks later, Liza drove Jane back to St Albans. Little Beth was in her carrycot on the back seat as they drove up the road and pulled to a halt outside the house.

‘You’d better go in first.’ Liza turned to Jane. ‘Make sure it’s all right for me to bring Beth in.’

‘Of course it’s all right.’ Jane pushed open the door. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense. He’ll be fine when he sees her.’

In the past fortnight they had only managed to speak to Adam twice. Once Jane had caught him at the surgery when she had rung there in complete despair of ever getting hold of him, and once Liza, ringing late in the evening had caught him when he was on night call. Both women were comforted that he had at least gone back to work. Both, for different reasons, had reservations about his dull, unresponsive voice and insistence that Jane should not go home.

Liza peered through the windscreen as Jane walked up the path, searching in her handbag for her keys. It was a bright cold windy day and her hair was blowing across her face and round her head in a pale blonde nimbus which Adam once would have found irresistible.

Liza saw her push the key in the lock. The door didn’t open. Jane pushed at it, and wriggled the key, then she took it out and looked at it, then tried it again. She tried a second key on the ring, then the first for the third time, then she pushed open the letter box and called.

Liza glanced over into the back seat. Beth was fast asleep. Opening the door she climbed out. She ran up the path. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I think he’s bolted the door.’

‘Can you get round the back?’

Jane frowned. She glanced at the neighbouring house, then nodded. ‘Wait here. I’ll see if I can get in through the kitchen.’

‘Do you want me to come?’

For a moment Jane hesitated, then she shook her head. ‘No, you wait here. If I get in I’ll come and open the door.’ She glanced at the car. ‘We can’t leave her alone, Liza.’

The path led between the garages of the two houses past the dustbins and followed a black slatted board fence, to a small gate which led into the garden. The gate was open and Jane went in. The French doors to Adam’s study were shut, but the door into the kitchen was ajar and she made for it, her stomach knotting with anxiety.

The house was very quiet. Holding her breath she tiptoed in and stopped. There was no sign of anyone having been in there lately. No dirty plates, no food. The cooker was cold and the table was covered in a fine layer of dust.

But there was someone there. She could feel it. Someone who shouldn’t be there. She stood where she was listening with every ounce of attention then slowly she crept across the floor and peered round the door. The hall was empty. She knew she should turn and run; she should call Liza, call the police, but she couldn’t move. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a clock ticking in the silence. Swallowing, she tiptoed across the floor and plucking up every ounce of courage she possessed she pushed open Adam’s study door. The room was empty. On the desk a full cup of tea sat untouched, a brown sour skim on its surface. Cautiously she peered into each of the downstairs rooms then she turned to look up the stairs. She could hear nothing. It was almost as though someone up there was listening to her in their turn.

‘Adam?’ It came out as a whisper.

Slowly she began to climb.

Her hand on the bedroom door, she paused for a minute, then cautiously she pushed it open. The curtains were half drawn and the room was in semi-darkness. There was a small stir in the air, a slight frisson by the bed, a feeling as though between one moment and the next someone had been there and then not been there. She took a step inside the door.

Adam lay fast asleep on the bed. Apart from a trailing sheet he was naked.

‘Adam? Adam!’ Jane stepped forward and shook him by the shoulder. ‘Adam! Wake up!’

There was no response.

‘Adam!’ Her voice rose in panic.

Outside, Liza shivered. She glanced behind her at the empty street and then, as Jane had done, stooped and raising the flap of the letterbox, peered through. The hall was dark, and she could see a scattering of post on the mat. The air smelled dusty and stale. The house was very silent. She lowered the flap and stood up again, inhaling deep breaths of cold air. In the distance she saw a small red post van turn the corner. It drove down the street slowly and stopped about four doors down. She saw the postman climb out with a parcel, walk up a path, ring a doorbell, have a cheery word with the person who opened the door and then climb back in his van. In less than a minute it was out of sight and the road was again empty. She felt incredibly lonely. She glanced at her watch. Jane had been gone only a few minutes. It seemed like hours.

She thought she heard a wail from the car and turning she ran back down the path, but Beth, when she looked in, was fast asleep. She wished she could lock the car, but Jane had taken the keys with her and she didn’t dare push down all the knobs. She locked three of them and then, leaving one so she could reach Beth if she had to, she walked back up the path and crouching, raised the flap of the letterbox. ‘Jane?’ she called softly. ‘Adam? Are you there?’ Jane should have been there by now. If she hadn’t been able to get in surely she would have come straight back. She glanced at her watch again and then, making up her mind she turned and ran towards the side of the neighbour’s garden where Jane had disappeared. At the corner she paused once, giving a final glance at the car with the sleeping baby, then she dived into the damp, narrow pathway. ‘Jane? Where are you? Jane?’ She ran up the steps from the wet lawn onto the terrace and pushed the kitchen door open fully. ‘Jane, where are you?’

There was no one there and she ran on into the hall. The front door was still closed and she went to it, drawing back the bolt and unlatching it to let in the fresh damp air. The car was where she had left it and there was no one around that she could see. She stood for a minute, torn between going to make sure that Beth was all right and looking for Jane.

‘Jane!’ She shouted at the top of her voice this time. ‘Jane, where are you?’

Adam’s study was empty, as was the sitting room. Glancing round she came back to the hall and, her throat tight with apprehension she took the stairs two at a time.

‘Jane!’

Pushing open the bedroom door she took in the scene at a glance. ‘Jane? Is he all right? What’s wrong with him?’ Her hands were on Jane’s shoulders.

‘I don’t know.’ Jane’s voice was strangely flat. Her face was pasty-white. ‘I can’t wake him.’

Liza pushed her towards the door. ‘Go and ring Robert. Quickly.’ She went over to the bed and put a hand on Adam’s forehead. ‘Adam? Adam, can you hear me?’ Please God let him not have taken an overdose. He was warm, and relaxed. His eyes when she carefully lifted a lid appeared normal. She could see no sign of any pill bottles on the bedside table. She caught his hand and rubbed it hard between her own. ‘Adam! Come on, wake up! Adam!’ She looked up at Jane as she reappeared in the doorway. ‘Did you get through?’

Jane nodded.

‘How long will he be?’

‘Not long. He’s coming straight from the surgery. Has he – he hasn’t taken something?’ Jane was shaking violently. ‘I can’t lose them both, Liza.’

‘You’re not going to lose him. I think he’s going to be all right.’ Liza was still chafing Adam’s hand. She pulled the bedcover up and over him. Then she went to the window and glanced down, appalled to find that she had forgotten all about the baby.

‘Go down, Jane, and bring Beth in. I had to leave her on her own. I’ll stay with Adam.’ She sounded stronger than she felt. ‘Please, I hated leaving her out there but I didn’t dare bring her in until I knew what was going on in here.’

Jane hesitated, then slowly she walked out of the room. From the window Liza saw her reappear outside a few seconds later, walk down the path to the car and open the door.

Turning to the figure on the bed Liza put her hand on his forehead again. ‘Adam!’ she said sharply. ‘Adam, can you hear me? Has Brid been here with you?’

She hoped Jane hadn’t noticed the tell-tale red marks on his neck, the small sharp marks of a woman’s teeth on his shoulder, or the scratches on his chest. Undoubtedly Robert would.

He arrived moments later and she waited downstairs while Jane took him up to the bedroom. When Jane came down she had put on a record of Chopin nocturnes and was turning her attention to the fire.

‘He’s waking up.’ Jane threw herself down in the chair. ‘Robert doesn’t think he’s taken anything. It was just exhaustion. He seems very confused. He’s just checking his blood pressure to be on the safe side.’

Liza sat back on her heels, a lump of coal in her hand. She came straight to the point. ‘That amulet I gave you all those years ago. Where is it?’

Jane looked vague. ‘By my bed, I think. In the cupboard. I don’t know. Why? It doesn’t work any more, I told you. Does it matter?’ Frowning she went over and looked down into the carrycot. Beth stirred and opened her huge blue eyes. Waving her arms around she began to whimper.

‘I don’t know if it matters but I could try taking it back to Meryn. Get him to take a look at it when he comes back. There must be something we can do to keep you both safe.’

‘So you think Brid was here too.’ Stooping, Jane lifted Beth from her blankets. ‘What is she, Liza?’ she wailed suddenly. ‘A ghost? Some kind of devil?’ She clutched the baby to her. ‘Why won’t she leave us alone?’

It grew easier as time passed. He turned to her whenever he was lonely and he was lonely often. She had watched when he had sent Liza and the baby away and she had watched when he packed his things and moved from the bedroom with his wife and the silly, dented amulet with no more power than a child’s toy, into the room which had been for visitors. His son’s old room was locked. Neither he nor Jane went in there any more.

Jane wept every night in her lonely bed and grew thin and pale and nervous. When Adam was at the surgery she would sometimes ring the farm in Wales for quick guilty words with Liza and later, when she learned to talk, with little Beth who knew about her granny in St Albans but did not remember ever having seen her. Brid did not care what she did. At the moment she was not interested in Adam’s wife.

She had learned how to tease him; how to hide when he came upstairs after a silent dinner with Jane, how to wait until he had changed from his doctor’s suit with its dark colours and neat striped tie into a dressing gown, or better still in the warmth of the bedroom, nothing at all. Then she would sprawl on the bed, her dark hair spread across the pillow, sometimes wearing her long green gown, sometimes naked, her arms beckoning him away from his book and under the sheets, where she would caress and lick and kiss until with a groan half of guilt and half of ecstasy he would abandon himself to her every wile. Once or twice she took him with her, out of his body into a dream world where he could fly and run and leap naked across the heather, reaching out to keep hold of her hand before falling, inextricably twined together on the grass beside the pool where they had first made love.

Lying alone in what had once been their bedroom Jane could hear him sometimes cry out in the night, and thinking it was misery she cried too, but then she realised the sound was one of anguished, grudging pleasure, and she buried her face in the pillow and allowed it to absorb her desperate tears.

Once she tried to win him back.

She cooked his favourite meal and put on a dress she knew he liked and daubed her wrists and neck with perfume. His face brightened when he saw her. ‘You look happier, Janie,’ he said. ‘I’m glad.’

He ate the meal, if not with relish at least with more enthusiasm than usual and answered her questions about the practice and Robert and her tentative suggestion that they might consider going on holiday next year. He listened and nodded and smiled at her and for a moment she allowed herself to feel hopeful. Carefully she avoided the topic of Liza and Beth – which she knew would bring fury and recrimination – and focused instead on a future where he and she could travel and look forward, not back.

For once when she cleared the dishes he stayed where he was and talked to her while she put the kettle on for tea and when she rather coyly produced a box of chocolates he took one and smiled and touched her hand. Her excitement growing, she squeezed his shoulder and allowed her fingers to trail across the back of his neck. He stiffened for a moment then relaxed and smiled again. He took her hand. ‘I haven’t been much help to you, Janie, over the last couple of years. I’m sorry.’

She smiled back. ‘It doesn’t matter. As long as we’re there for each other now.’

She thought he was going to reach up and kiss her, and her heart leaped with excitement, but with another squeeze of his hand he leaned back in his chair. ‘What happened to that tea?’

‘It’s coming.’ Hiding her disappointment she turned away and busied herself with the pot and caddy. ‘Shall we go out later?’ she said, not looking at him. ‘It’s a lovely evening. We could go up to the abbey or walk in the park.’

‘That might be nice.’ Noncommittal.

‘Here.’ She passed him his cup. ‘Or we could take a drink out into the garden. What would you like to do?’

‘Just sit here for a while and enjoy my tea.’ He was growing restless though, she could sense it.

She could feel herself becoming uneasy. She mustn’t rush him, she knew that, but she longed so much for him to turn to her, to put his arms around her and make love to her. Putting her own cup down she went to sit next to him. ‘Adam –’

‘Wait! Did you hear something?’ Adam straightened suddenly. ‘Listen!’

‘There’s nothing to hear.’ She found she was frightened. There was a tightening in her chest as she listened. ‘Why should there be anything there? Come on, let’s go out,’ she stood up and caught his hand, ‘please, Adam.’

But it was there, outside the open window. The sound of scraping, and then, suddenly a rustle of ivy and from the silence outside a low, threatening growl.

‘Adam, please. Let’s go. Don’t wait.’

‘It’s only a cat –’

‘It’s not only a cat!’ Her voice rose to a shriek. ‘You know it’s not only a cat! Adam, please, listen to me. You can’t stay and let her do this to you. You can’t!’

She was clinging to him as he stood up and walked towards the window.

The cat stood for a moment on the sill, its ears flattened, its eyes a blaze of orange, then it leaped lightly down into the room, its tail swishing viciously.

‘Adam,’ she shrank back. ‘Adam, don’t let her hurt me.’

‘Go, Janie. Please, go.’ He put a gentle hand on the animal’s head and immediately it raised its face towards him and pressed against his legs.

Jane backed away with a sob. ‘Adam! Please.’

‘Go, Jane!’ His voice was harsh. For a second he hesitated, glancing at her, then, slowly, he turned and walked towards the door, the cat stalking stiff-legged beside him. In a moment they had gone and the door closed behind them.

Jane subsided onto the chair, tears pouring down her face. She sat there until it grew dark, then at last she reached for the phone and dialled Liza’s number.

Liza glanced at her watch. The train was as usual late. She had been standing on the platform at Newport for what seemed like hours, having drained a second cup of revolting British Railways coffee and read the paper from beginning to end. Jane’s call the previous night had been hysterical and so desperate Liza had nearly offered to get into the car and drive to St Albans on the spot, but good sense had prevailed, together with the fact that little Beth, now three years old and attending a kindergarten in Hay had a feverish cold and wouldn’t let her out of her sight. This morning she was better and the little girl had agreed to stay with Grandpa Phil provided she was allowed to paint in his studio. Liza was fairly sure that the doting grandpa did not mind nearly as much as he made out. It was too bad if he did. She was going to meet Jane off the fast train from Paddington and then take her out to lunch on the way back to the farm so that she could find out exactly what had been happening.

The train pulled in at last and when she saw Jane’s wan face the moment she climbed off, dragging her small suitcase behind her as though it weighed ten tons, her heart sank. Jane looked desperately ill and unhappy. Taking the case out of her hand she led the way to the car and then threaded her way out of Newport’s morning traffic towards the mountain road. ‘Tell me what happened.’ She glanced at the woman beside her.

Jane shrugged. ‘It’s Brid. She’s there every night. He’s moved into the spare room with her.’

Liza bit her lip, trying not to let her shock show. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh yes, I’m sure.’ The voice was very bitter. ‘He’s bewitched.’

Liza braked and changed gear as she swung the car onto the Abergavenny road. ‘Does he know where you are?’

‘No. He’s forbidden me ever to see you or Phil and little Beth. I’m not even allowed to talk to him about you all. He still blames you for Calum’s death. He’s sour and twisted and I think he’s going mad.’ Suddenly she dissolved into tears again. ‘Liza, I think I’m going mad too. I don’t know what to do.’

Liza reached over just for a second and touched Jane’s hands as they lay locked together in her lap. ‘We’ll stop in a minute and I’ll buy you a drink. Then when we’ve got some food inside you we’ll go home. You’re going to stay with us for as long as you like and get to know your granddaughter and you’re going to put that silly silly man out of your head. You are not going mad. It sounds as though he might be, but we’ll deal with that.’ She frowned as she turned into the narrow gate of the white-painted stone-built pub on the edge of the road. Inside she knew they would find a discreet landlord, a roaring fire and delicious home-cooked food. She didn’t want Beth seeing Jane until all her tears were spent.

Several days later it was Liza who drew up outside the Craigs’ gate in St Albans. The lights were on and she could see Adam’s Rover parked in the drive. She was exhausted; her initial fury and indignation at Adam’s insensitivity and selfishness had abated slightly as the car ate up the long miles across England and been replaced by a feeling of unease.

Taking a deep breath, she unlatched the car door and climbed out. She kept her finger on the bell for several seconds before letting the echo die away into silence. No one came.

In the back garden the winter grass was uncut and Adam’s pride and joy, his roses, were a sprawl of untrimmed branches and dead flowers. The kitchen door was open.

Stepping inside she stood and looked round. There were unwashed plates in the sink. The kettle was, when she put a hand gently on its flank, slightly warm. There was a smell coming from the unemptied rubbish bin. She tiptoed across the floor and carefully pulling open the door, she listened.

‘Adam?’ Her voice sounded hollow and nervous as she stood at the bottom of the stairs and peered up. She held her breath and listened. The silence in the house had suddenly changed quality. It seemed alert as though someone or something were listening in return. She shivered, wishing she had had the chance to see Meryn before she came back to Hertfordshire, but he was away and had been for a long, long time.

‘Adam!’ She spoke more loudly this time. ‘Where are you? It’s Liza. For goodness’ sake! I’ve driven a long way. The least you could do is answer your door.’

Again silence. Then she thought she heard a sound upstairs.

‘Adam!’ Not giving herself time to think she put a foot on the staircase and peered up. ‘Adam? Are you all right?’

At the top she paused and looked round. The door to Adam and Jane’s bedroom was open. It was deserted as she had guessed it would be, the twin beds meticulously made, the dressing table bare, the curtains half drawn though it was still daylight.

‘Adam!’ She withdrew into the hall and, resolutely not looking at the closed door of what had been Calum’s bedroom, headed for the spare room.

‘Adam!’ She knocked loudly.

The silence behind the door was palpable.

‘Adam, I know you’re there.’ She tried the handle. The door opened and she stared in.

Adam was lying on the bed, his arm across his eyes. He was fully dressed, though his shirt was open.

‘Adam?’ She spoke sharply, her voice edged with fear. ‘Adam, are you all right?’ Hurrying to the bed she looked down at him. His shirt had been torn open. She could see two of the buttons lying on the carpet, and a small hole ripped into the cotton where another had failed to pull clear of its button hole. There were scratches on his chest.

‘Adam!’ She grabbed his wrist and felt for his pulse.

He seemed to be breathing normally, but when she shook him she could get no response. His eyes stayed closed and his head lolled to one side on the pillow. ‘Adam, what’s wrong?’ She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him, then she headed for the bathroom and came back with a toothmug full of cold water.

As she threw it into his face his eyes flew open and he stared at her without recognition. ‘Adam, are you all right?’ She sat on the bed next to him. ‘It’s me, Liza.’

He looked at her, dazed, for several seconds, then slowly he sat up and swung his legs out of the bed. Sitting there he put his head in his hands and rubbed his face hard. Then at last he looked up at her with some semblance of attention.

‘Adam, for God’s sake, what’s the matter with you?’ She stood up and looked down at him. ‘I’ve been knocking and shouting for hours.’

‘Liza?’ His voice was croaky. ‘Did I ask you to come?’ The edge in his voice was not entirely hostile. There was genuine confusion.

‘No, of course you didn’t ask me, but we need to talk. This quarrel has gone on long enough. It’s ludicrous.’

He was recovering fast. ‘I don’t remember thinking it was ludicrous. Your daughter was responsible for Calum’s death –’

‘That is crap, Adam, and you know it!’ Liza turned on him. ‘What has happened to your wits? You know as well as I do that they were in love, they were happy, they had everything to live for.’ Her voice cracked and she brushed an angry fist across her eyes. ‘Look, I did not come here to talk about the children. I came to talk about Jane. And about Brid.’

Adam went white. ‘There is nothing to discuss. My wife has run off, and what I do and what friends I have are none of your business.’

‘I think they are. So Brid is a friend now, is she? Do you make a habit of having psychopathic, murderous ghosts as your friends?’

Adam’s face suffused a deep red. He stood up. ‘Out.’ He pointed to the door.

‘No. I’ve just arrived. You might be able to terrorise your wife, but you can’t terrorise me, Adam Craig. You are mad, do you realise that?’ She folded her arms across her chest and stuck out her chin aggressively. ‘So, where is she? Or are we still imagining she isn’t real?’

‘Oh she’s real enough.’ Adam smiled.

‘Real enough to scratch you, certainly.’ She looked meaningfully at his chest.

He glanced down and put his hand on the scratches. ‘I was pruning the roses.’

‘I don’t think so. More likely you’ve had a visitor in your bed.’

‘Don’t, Liza. Just go away. I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, but there is nothing for you here. Go home.’

‘No. I’m not going until you talk some sense. We’ll go downstairs and discuss this.’

‘There is nothing to discuss.’

‘I think there is. Whether you like it or not we have a little granddaughter who is going to grow up wondering why her grandparents don’t talk to each other. Are you going to let her grow up thinking her grandfather is mad?’

‘Get out, Liza.’ His voice had gone suddenly very quiet.

‘No. Not until I’ve had my say. This has gone on long enough.’

‘Liza. There is nothing to say. Please leave my house.’ He turned and pulling off his ruined shirt, reached for a sweater from the chair in the corner. His back too, she saw, was covered in thin scratches. She felt suddenly very sick.

‘Adam. Please come down.’

‘Go now.’ She saw him glance beyond her at the door and she felt a cold shiver run down her back.

‘I am going to talk to you first.’

‘I don’t think so. Please leave.’

There was a slight sound behind her from the landing and, her heart lurching in sudden fright, Liza turned. Standing in the doorway was Brid, her hair a dark shining frame around her shoulders, her eyes the colour of old silver. She was wearing a long blue dress which almost reached the floor. Below the hem her feet were bare.

A-dam, make her go away.

Although she didn’t appear to have spoken aloud Liza heard the words clearly in her head.

‘Please leave, Liza, for your own sake.’

But Brid was in the doorway.

Liza clenched her fists. Protection. Remember the psychic protection Meryn had taught her. ‘I have come here to talk to you, Adam. Please ask your friend to go away until we have finished.’

‘You go, Liza.’

‘Not until we have finished.’ She hoped she looked braver than she felt. Taking a deep breath she stepped towards Adam and put her hand on his arm. ‘Send her away.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can.’ She raised her chin. ‘Make her go away.’

Brid moved closer. She didn’t appear to walk, it was just that one moment she was in the doorway and the next she was standing only four feet away from Liza and Liza could see the small knife clutched in her hand.

‘Adam, are you going to let her stick that thing in me?’ She tried desperately to control her voice, pushing down the waves of panic which were sweeping over her.

‘Brid, please.’ Adam suddenly sounded firmer. ‘I want you to go away. Just for five minutes. Then you can come back. Otherwise, Adam will be cross.’ For the first time he looked at the girl and Liza saw her grow pale. For a moment she thought she looked less distinct, as though she were nothing more than a shadow, then Brid turned and left the room.

‘You are a fool, Liza. I can’t control her. She could have killed you.’

‘But she didn’t.’ Liza took a deep breath. ‘So, what the hell is going on here? Does she live here now?’

‘Liza, listen to me.’ He seemed to have regained his composure. Ignoring her questions he took a deep breath. ‘There is too much separating us now. I do not wish to see you here, or anywhere else for that matter. And if my wife is with you, you can take her away as well. That is all I have to say. Now, please go before Brid returns, or I will not be responsible for what happens.’

‘Adam –’

‘I mean it, Liza.’

‘You are out of your mind.’ It was true, she realised suddenly. The expression behind his eyes was vacant, wild. It was as though another voice were speaking through him. Suddenly afraid, she took a step away from him. ‘Adam,’ she tried one last time. ‘Please. Come with me. Let us at least talk. Outside, in the garden.’ If she could get him away from the house, perhaps he would be himself again. ‘Just listen to me for a few minutes.’

‘Go, now.’ He gave her one last hostile look then he turned away from her and walked towards the window. When she glanced at the doorway she saw Brid standing there, the knife in her hand.

‘All right.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’ll go. Call off your bodyguard.’

Brid smiled. She moved towards him and Liza felt the cold shiver of the air as the woman walked past her. With a triumphant smile Brid put her hand on Adam’s chest and pushed up against him, her head under his chin. His arm came around her shoulders and he looked at Liza over the dark head.

‘Go.’

‘I’m going.’ Liza felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat. Without another glance she turned and ran down the stairs. Letting herself out of the front door she ran down the path and climbed into her car. Then she sat, her head resting on the rim of the steering wheel, shaking like a leaf. Behind her the curtains of the upstairs room closed. The light did not go on behind them.

‘Jane, you have to stay. You can’t go back to him.’ Liza put her hands on Jane’s shoulders. ‘I mean it. You won’t be safe there. He’s gone mad.’

‘I have to go back. It’s my home. He’s my husband.’ Jane sat down abruptly. She had been asleep when Liza finally drove home in the early hours of the morning, but the sound of the car turning into the gate had woken her from a light, troubled sleep. Neither Phil nor Beth seemed to have heard her.

Jane poked the fire into life and curled up on the sofa. ‘I am not going to allow that, that …’ Words failed her for a moment. ‘That harpy to steal my husband. She’s not even real!’

‘She’s real enough.’ Liza cupped her hands around a mug of hot tea and subsided onto a cushion, warming herself before the flames. ‘And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous she is.’

‘So, are you telling me never to go home again? To abandon Adam to her? To let her have everything?’

Liza, staring deep into the fire, did not answer for a moment. ‘No, I don’t mean that. I just think we have to work something out. We have to be sure what we’re doing. She’s dangerous, Janie. At least you’re safe here.’

‘Am I?’ Jane hauled a cushion onto her knee and hugged it defensively. ‘I seem to remember none of us was safe here. It was in the same bedroom I’m in now that she attacked me and gave me these scars.’ She pointed at her shoulder.

Liza fell silent. ‘I wish Meryn were here,’ she said at last. ‘He helped us before.’

‘Where is he?’

Liza shrugged. ‘They say he’s gone to Scotland. The house is closed up. He’s done it before – disappeared for long periods, then come back again as though he’d never been away. It didn’t matter then. He was there when I needed him.’ Her eyes filled suddenly with tears. He didn’t even know that Julie was dead.

‘Liza, I’m sorry.’

Liza shook her head. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m exhausted.’

‘And I’m being incredibly selfish making you stay up to talk to me when you’ve driven for about ten hours without stopping, and all for my sake.’ Jane stood up, full of resolve. ‘Listen, go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.’ Crouching, she put her arms round Liza suddenly and hugged her. ‘You’re a true friend. Don’t let Adam come between us.’

‘He won’t.’ Liza rose wearily to her feet. ‘Somehow we’ll defeat Brid, Jane, I promise. We’ll get Adam back for you. Somehow.’