As she walks through the square she notices the church: it stands opposite the market cross and behind a tall iron gate that’s ajar. It’s a beautiful old one, with a spire, stained-glass windows and a small cemetery with elaborate old tombstones at the front. She hovers by the railings, looking in. She feels the sudden thud of familiarity. A memory surfacing. Of walking with her mum. And she’s upset. There are tears on her cheeks. The memory fades, like an apparition, and Lorna stands at the gates for a while, trying to summon it back. But there’s nothing, only a heavy feeling that settles inside her, a deep sadness. Had they been at a funeral? Had somebody they knew died? Lorna fights back tears while telling herself she’s being ridiculous. It’s just a feeling – she has no idea why she feels so grief-stricken all of a sudden.
She takes a deep breath and moves to the little café across the square where she orders a latte, pleased to see that Seth is serving. She tries to quell the melancholy that’s descended over her, instead asking him anodyne questions to take her mind off it. An older woman is at the counter with him today. She must be eighty at least, with a plump face, three chins and rosy cheeks. She’s stocky and sprightly despite the walking stick she’s leaning on while watching Seth. She is wearing little gold spectacles and her thick grey hair is gathered up in a clip. She smiles a greeting at Lorna.
‘I’m Melissa, Seth’s great-aunt,’ she says. ‘I used to own this place forty years ago. It hasn’t changed much over the years.’
Lorna stands up straighter, adrenalin pumping through her as she introduces herself. ‘I’m visiting my daughter who lives up at Skelton Place. My mother used to live there, a long time ago now. Back in the late 1970s.’
‘Oh, who was your mother? I’ve lived in the village all my life, so I might have known her.’
‘She’s called Rose. Rose Grey …’
Melissa’s mouth falls open. ‘Lolly?’ she gasps.
Lorna swallows. ‘Yes. Have we met before?’
Melissa claps her hands together. ‘Yes. When you were a little girl. Lots of times – oh, it’s so lovely to see you. Tell me, how is Rose? It was so sad I never had the chance to say goodbye to her. And to you. You both left in such a hurry.’
‘Did we?’ Lorna wonders if it had anything to do with the bodies.
Seth hands Lorna the latte. ‘Small world,’ he says, with a chuckle, as Lorna pays him.
‘A lot of people have lived in this village for decades. Generations,’ says Melissa. ‘Seth doesn’t understand that. His mother moved away years ago. He’s only here to do a holiday job because I know the owner.’ She pats him affectionately on the back and he grins.
But Lorna is still reeling. Here is a woman who knew her mother when she was young. She can’t believe it. ‘What was she like, my mum, back then? Do you know why she left so suddenly?’ she asks, determined to get the conversation back on track, not wanting to let this opportunity pass.
‘She never even said goodbye. She just upped and left. She was such a closed book. And very jittery. A nervous thing, really. Always worrying about you. You once wandered off, on Christmas Eve, and, honestly, I thought Rose was going to have a heart attack. But then she got that lodger and it seemed to change her. She was happier. Thick as thieves they were.’
‘You remember Daphne Hartall?’
‘Daphne! That’s it. I couldn’t remember her name until you said. Yes, Daphne. Attractive woman. Used to work up at the farm.’ She lowers her voice and looks around furtively even though there are no other customers in the tiny café. ‘I heard about the bodies up at the cottage. Bad business. They’re saying one was identified and died in 1980. I was shocked to read that.’
‘Yes,’ says Lorna. ‘My daughter only found out the other day. Do you recognize the name Neil Lewisham?’