26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
T he call of the sea was strong, urging her to visit the headland overlooking the town. To feel the wind kiss her face while soaking up the full moon’s energy, inhale the cleansing salty air, and hear the crashing waves below. She assumed once she returned to work, exhaustion and the inability to have a nap during the day would force her body to rest and sleep soundly, but to no avail. The nights trapped her in a cycle of nightmares and insomnia, reliving the past and fretting about the future. Maybe connecting with nature would do the trick?
Vincent chattered and wound himself round her legs, as much as a lumbering ginger feline could, once he realised her intention. ‘We can’t go unless we find my trainers and you’re not helping,’ she said to him when he nearly tripped her up. She tracked her shoes abandoned under the sofa from the last jaunt to the Abbey, the night she sent Nate the photo of the night sky. Two whole moon cycles ago. No wonder she was out of sorts and the fingers of depression still caressed her, waiting for her to slip so it could tighten its grip.
Her hand trembled as she unlocked the exterior door into her garden. Vincent shot out down the path onto the garden wall. A ginger beacon to follow, but she couldn’t. Her feet froze to the ground. Shadows grew where the moonlight didn’t shine, reminding her he was still out there. It had been quiet with no contact as before, but he could be watching. Waiting outside the shop’s perimeter for her guard to fall. Vincent detected her panic and returned with an impatient flick of his tail. Fear won. Together, they retreated to the safety of the flat.
‘I’m sorry, boy,’ she said, sipping the hot chamomile tea, allowing it to calm her racing heart. ‘It was a bit too ambitious, wasn’t it?’
He didn’t respond. Once her panic attack subsided, he turned his back, ignoring her. She had let him down. ‘You’re not being fair, Vince. He could be out there waiting. I’m being cautious.’
She had not left the boundary of the Emporium since the card’s arrival. In the day, she sent Amber or Rosa on errands and relied on online deliveries for the rest. There was no need to leave. She was safe, but she missed seeing the seasons change, soaking up the town’s atmosphere, and living. Vincent missed it too.
The nightmare consumed her the moment she fell asleep. A childhood dream resurfacing to plague her nights. It was always the same. Speedwell Cottage looked as she remembered. The blazing fire in the hearth warmed Silas, the threadbare cat curled up on the mat. Grandma Jax’s chair stood empty, with her cardigan hanging over the back where she always left it when it wasn’t draped over her shoulders. Willow couldn’t see her grandmother, yet the house was calm, waiting for her return. She wandered through to the kitchen area to discover the hot teapot ready to pour into the two teacups nearby. A sudden howl of wind whipped round the building, rattling the windows. The air chilled with a loud thump, bashing the old front door.
Bang bang bang.
Barefoot, Willow stepped forward, unable to resist the compulsion to open it. Silas woke. Alert, he blocked her path, hissing as she approached. Another bang and the door flung open. Her scream woke her, but she never could shake off the sight of the monster standing in the entrance. The gytrash with his drooling mouth, gnashing teeth, and fiery eyes.
Willow resigned herself to counting the hours until dawn broke. The dream must mean something. If only Grandma Jax was there to soothe her fears like she did when Willow’s scream brought her into the attic bedroom. In rare moments of affection, her grandmother would cradle her and tell her stories until her eyes grew heavy and she slept. Her grandmother. Speedwell Cottage. Willow smiled as a plan formed in her mind.
She retrieved a battered suitcase from under the bed, blowing the dust bunnies away, and placed it on the lounge floor. She needed space. Inside was a bundle of letters from Louise, journals documenting her travels, old photos, and what she was looking for—the folded maps and scrapbook. Over the years, she’d hunted for Speedwell Cottage with no luck. Disheartened, she’d packaged everything away. It was time to try again. If it worked for the boy in the film Lion tracking down his family in India, it would work for her in the Yorkshire Moors.
Faded fluorescent orange marks highlighted the discounted areas on the map spread out on the floor. She read the extensive notes written from the memories she recalled from her childhood and added extra clues from her dreams. She sketched the cottage and drew a floor plan. Anything that could be a clue to unlock the location of Speedwell Cottage was recorded. Estate agents’ sites were browsed in case a miracle happened and it was on the market. Google Maps became her favourite place as she travelled across the Moors in the given radius, based on the time it took Louise and her to get there from Whitby. Memories of their adventures comforted her, and she remembered her friend’s dogged determination to find it. Willow resolved to do the same.