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.He jogged down the hill a few paces and saw that Alice was now talking to the woman with dyed red hair who’d followed Gillian from church.‘So beautiful,’ the woman was saying, reaching out to touch Millie’s curls.‘I had one just like her.Breaks my heart to see her.’Millie squirmed away from the woman, hiding her face against her mother’s shoulder, just as Alice spotted Harry.He approached slowly, not wanting to interrupt, unsure how welcome he was going to be.‘They grow up so quickly,’ Alice said.‘Mine never grew up,’ the woman replied.Unable to reach Millie’s face any more, she patted the child’s shoulder.‘You take good care of this little one.You never know how precious they are till you’ve lost them.’Alice gave up the effort to smile.‘Yes, I’m sure,’ she said.‘Well, there’s the vicar.I must just say hello.It was nice to meet you.’ The woman nodded at Alice and then, with one last stroke of Millie’s head, set off down the hill.‘Don’t know who that cheery soul was,’ said Alice in a low voice, as Harry approached.He glanced at the woman’s retreating form and shook his head.‘She was in church just now,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never met her before.Listen, about last night …’Alice held up her hand.‘No, I’m sorry.I do understand how difficult it is for you.It’s just …’ She stopped.‘I can’t help thinking there’s something seriously wrong with Tom.’She bent into the car and put Millie into her child’s seat before buckling the strap round her daughter.Harry leaned closer to the car in the hope that it might offer some shelter.The perishing wind was getting up his shorts.‘I really doubt that,’ he said.‘And getting yourself worked up won’t help him.’‘That’s exactly what Evi said,’ replied Alice.Harry couldn’t stop.His legs were starting to shake and he had a pain in his chest, but the minute he stopped running the sweat on his body would start to chill down.He was two miles above the village.Ten minutes after setting off, he’d found an old bridle path and followed it to the road.He’d gone up, climbing higher and higher, until the wind was almost lifting him off his feet.Now he was heading for home.The walls and hedges offered some shelter, but when the wind hit him full on he almost felt as if he’d stopped moving.His wristbands were soaked through and the cold air was hurting his lungs.This was insane.Even the view was wasted – his eyes were watering so much he could barely see the ground beneath his feet.High above the trees to the east soared the massive Morrell Tor, a huge collection of gritstone boulders balanced precariously on top of each other.Formed naturally, but once believed to be man-made, tors were particularly common in the Pennines.Morrell Tor, Harry had learned, was notorious locally.Legend had it that in days gone by, unwanted and illegitimate babies would be tossed from its heights, to shatter on the rocks below and be carried off by wolves and wild dogs.Today, it presented a serious problem for sheep farmers, who went to great lengths to keep their livestock away from it.On nights with strong winds, it was said, a singing among the rocks would lure a dozen or more to their death.He realized he’d stopped running.And that he was freezing.He had to get home, shower and change, then attend an old folks’ lunch in Goodshaw Bridge.And he had a phone call to make.In another few yards he’d be able to follow a footpath along the edge of a field, to bring him out at the end of Wite Lane.He squeezed through the gap between two tall boulders and set off again along the field edge, heading downhill, keeping his eyes on the ground.At the corner he climbed the low wall into the stubble field beyond.In less than a minute he was at the lowest end.He jumped over the stile and down into Wite Lane.Almost home.Huddled in front of the burned-out fireplace of the Royle cottage was the thin, trembling body of a girl.Gillian.Twenty yards away he could hear her crying.Except it wasn’t really crying.Keening.That was the only word for it: a high-pitched, heartbreakingly sad keening.The Irish called it the song for the dead.43‘IT’S OK, IT’S OK.’ HE’D PUSHED OPEN THE GATE, WAS stepping up the overgrown path.‘Come on, love, let’s get you home.’ He walked through the space where the front door used to be.Gillian didn’t look up.She remained hunched over, clutching something to her chest.He crossed the uneven ground and bent down beside her.She looked up at him then and he fought a temptation to pull back.For a second the look in her eyes had scared him, had made him think that something essential inside her had slipped out the back way.‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s get out of here.Come on, pet, you’re freezing.’ Gillian was only wearing a thin sweater and her wrist felt colder than stone.He put an arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet.She continued to sob as he guided her out through the gate and half led, half dragged her along Wite Lane
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