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Tim turned off the radio, so that he could concentrate on the road signs. He had come off the motorway onto empty roads. It was nearly midnight, so it wasn’t surprising that everything was deserted, but it still felt weird.
The satnav guided him higher into the hills, away from the towns until he was driving along seemingly endless roads in pitch-black countryside. Every so often, the moon would appear for long enough to show him moorland or the occasional dark building in the distance. At last he crested a hill and descended into what looked like a collection of houses in a single main road. He passed a sign that read ‘Trewton Royd welcomes careful drivers’. The road down was so steep he had to shift down a gear to maintain control.
The village was dark apart from a short row of street lights that showed closed shops. He spotted the corner shop and parked opposite. It was past midnight. He peered at the shop. Harriet had mentioned a door around the side. A few steps in the damp darkness and he found it.
His knock sounded over loud in the quiet street. Maybe he should have called her instead. He looked up the road. A cat ran across the tarmac, otherwise there was no movement. Tim shivered; now that the residual warmth from the car had seeped away it was really cold.
Footsteps, like someone coming down stairs ... and the door opened, spilling light over him. A figure stood silhouetted against the light.
Tim opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the figure had pulled him inside.
“Uh ... Harriet?” he said.
“Yes. And you’re Tim,” she said. “Shh. Niamh is asleep. Come on up.”
His eyes adjusted to the light as he followed a denim-clad bottom up the stairs. Not that he was looking at her bum, but it was hard to avoid it when it was a few steps above him. He shook his head, trying to clear his jumbled thoughts.
At the top of the stairs was a tiny landing. Harriet put a finger to her lips and opened the door to the flat. Feeling as though the situation had somehow got away from him, Tim followed her. He took in the small living room. The room was warmly lit by lamps and light from a kitchen that was off to the side.
Niamh was asleep on the sofa, one arm hooked under a cushion. She was covered by a couple of fleece blankets.
He tiptoed up to her and hunkered down. She seemed unhurt. Tim let out a breath. She looked okay. And so very young. Close up, he could see her face was puffy from crying. He gently pushed her hair off her face. She didn’t even stir. Poor Niamh. She’d had a hell of a day.
A movement on the other side of the room made him look up. Harriet had gone into the kitchen and, judging by the sounds, was putting the kettle on. Tim stood up carefully. Now that he knew that Niamh was physically okay, the vice of fear in his throat loosened. Other emotions rushed in. Anger being the main one.
Who was he angry with? Niamh? Himself? This Harriet woman?
Being angry with Harriet would be easy. She had, after all, been instrumental in the breakup of his sister’s marriage. She had seduced Richard away from Mel and put paid to any chance of reconciliation there might have been. He looked back towards Niamh, who sniffed in her sleep. Yet, this woman had taken in Niamh. It appeared she’d been kind to her. Whatever Harriet had done to Mel, when Niamh needed her, she had risen to the occasion. If he was going to be angry with anyone, it would have to be with himself.
He’d already screwed up enough to let this happen. Now he needed to man up and fix things. First of all, he needed to thank Harriet. He took a deep breath and approached the kitchen.
Harriet was staring into the steam that was escaping from the kettle, apparently deep in thought. Tim got a good look at her for the first time. His memory of her was of a weak, droopy woman in black, seen at a distance. This woman was not droopy. In fact, her back was very straight. Tense. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater that was slightly too large. The sleeves had been pushed back to reveal slim forearms. Her hair was escaping from the loose bun it had been gathered into. Overall, she gave the impression of controlled chaos. Messy, maybe, but not droopy.
The kettle made a weird knocking sound and steam billowed out. Harriet blinked and seemed to notice Tim for the first time. “Tea or coffee?” she said.
“That’s very kind of you but I should really wake Niamh up and get—”
“The poor child is exhausted.” She dropped the kettle back into its base with a clack. “You’re not taking her anywhere.” She turned, eyes flashing. “Seriously? Mel left her child with you?”
Tim took a tiny step back. “I ...” For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond to her verbal attack. Tiredness and self-defence came to his rescue. No. This woman didn’t get to tell him off. He’d driven all the way up here to get Niamh. He was bloody well taking her home. “Look. I appreciate what you’ve done, but Niamh is my responsibility. I have to take her home.”
“You’re right. She was your responsibility. So, how come she ended up two hundred miles away before you noticed she’d gone?” Harriet crossed her arms and glared at him, challenging him to answer.
“I thought she was at holiday club. I dropped her off there. She must have hidden behind the door and sneaked back out after I drove off. She even got some guy to call them and tell them she was ill.” His voice crept up to normal volume and he hastily modulated it. “How was I to compete with orchestrated deception like that?”
Harriet glared at him some more. There was something in that glare that made him feel about six years old.
He tried again. “Look,” he said, spreading his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m really sorry about all the hassle this must have caused you. I’d been trying to call her. She finally picked up to say she was in Huddersfield and I jumped in the car and came straight here. Thank you so much for looking after her, but I need to get her home. Her mother is going to kill us both when she finds out.”
At the mention of Mel, something akin to disgust flitted across Harriet’s face. “Do you even know why she ran away?”
Tim opened his mouth to argue that he did, but realised he had no idea. Not really. He hazarded a guess. “She was missing her father ... and wanted to talk to you ... about him.” Which was roughly what Niamh had said days ago, when they’d had the conversation-cum-argument about it. Again, he mentally kicked himself for not agreeing to take her then.
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Yes, but why did she need to talk to me about him? She’s only met me once.”
“Because you were Richard’s mistress—”
“Girlfriend,” she corrected him.
He inclined his head. Fine. Whatever she wanted to label herself.
“It’s not because I was his girlfriend,” Harriet carried on. “It’s because she didn’t feel she could talk to anyone else. The girl has lost her father. She’s scared she’s forgetting him and her own mother refuses to talk to her about him. What kind of a heartless bitch does that?”
“She’s not a heartless bitch.” The only person who got to be rude to Mel was him. “She’s got a lot of things going on at the mo—”
“Things more important than a child struggling to cope with a bereavement? Niamh is fourteen, for heaven’s sake. How is she supposed to cope with this sort of thing on her own?”
“She’s had counselling ...” Even to his own ears that sounded feeble. Mel had told him about this. She had seemed to think that was exactly what Niamh needed. In fact, he’d thought Niamh was looking happier for it. Tim loved his niece, but he assumed that Mel knew what was best for her. What if she didn’t? Should he have paid more attention? Been more involved? He thought of Mel. She wouldn’t take kindly to his interfering.
Harriet gave a snort. “Counselling.” She thrust a mug at him. “You’re lucky she ran away to me and didn’t just disappear.”
Which was true. “Yes, well. Like I said. Thank you. I’m very grateful—”
She brushed past him and left the kitchen. He stared after her. Did she ever allow anyone to finish a sentence? It was like having a conversation with an Uzi.
Harriet twitched a curtain aside and peered out of the window. “The lights are still on in the pub,” she said. “You’ll be able to find a room there.” She nodded across to Niamh, who was still asleep. “Let her sleep here tonight. She’s knackered, poor thing. I’ll give her some breakfast and call you to come get her in the morning.”
He should argue. He should insist that he couldn’t leave his niece with her, a stranger.
“She came to me.” It was as though Harriet had read his mind. “Right now, Niamh trusts me more than she trusts you.” She levelled her peculiarly intense gaze at him. “If you let her stay here, at least we can both be sure where she is come the morning.”
She looked across at him, face tilted, daring him to challenge her. Mel would be furious with him if he left Niamh with Harriet. He wanted to rise to the challenge. To flare up and soar to her level. But he was exhausted. Now that he knew Niamh was safe, the adrenaline that had driven him drained out and left him hollow. Tim rubbed a hand over his eyes. He offered up a silent apology to his sister and sighed. Harriet had a point. Niamh was safe here. She’d been here most of the night, so a few hours more wouldn’t make much difference.
“Okay, fine,” he said. “I’ll come over as soon as I can in the morning.” He glanced across at his niece. “Please. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
Harriet stepped away from the window and stood beside him, also looking down at Niamh. “I’ll look after her,” she said, quietly. “Don’t worry. She’s Richard’s daughter. She’ll be safe with me.”
Tim glanced sideways at her. He believed her. Whatever Mel said about this woman, Richard had cared about her and he had introduced Niamh to her. Niamh felt safe enough with her to run across the country to come and see her. He nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”