The ferocity of my voice seems to shock him. He nods his head, grabs his coat from the back of the sofa and walks out of the room.

32

Grace

26 November 2004

I can’t trust people. People let you down. Hurt you. I know that now.

I’d decided to go and see Isobel this morning because, after what happened with the book and the deer, I just wanted to see something pure, and she is the purest person I know. Or at least I thought she was.

I set off early, around 7.30, because I knew the vicar would have left for church by then. As I walked through the village I planned out the day in my head. First we’d have a bit of breakfast, maybe with some of that delicious hot chocolate she made me last time, then I thought I’d ask her if I could look at some of the books she had on the shelf in her bedroom. I could see the two of us sitting in the living room, me in one armchair, her in the other, both of us reading while the open fire crackled in the grate. That was as far as I managed to plan as by then I’d reached the vicarage, but the thought of that cosy scene made me feel all warm inside so I was in a happy mood when I knocked on the door.

I waited for a couple of minutes but there was no answer so I went round the back of the house. There was a pretty garden, nice and neat, with potted plants and a tall wooden bird table. All the things he used to say were ‘signs of a civilization in freefall’ but that I thought actually looked quite nice. At that point I thought maybe Isobel and I could come out here later and watch the birds feeding on the bird table. But I was about to find out there would be no reading, no nice times.

As I got close to the house I saw there was a big window at the back which had doors built into it. The doors were open, which I thought was a bit weird considering the time of year, and for a moment I got worried, thought someone had broken in. What was it he used to always say? There are thieves everywhere in these parts, Grace, folk that would slit your throat soon as look at you, that would slice their own granny for a couple of quid. I heard his words in my head as I made my way towards the doors, gripping the handle of the paring knife I’d slipped into my pocket that morning. If there was a battle to be fought then I’d come prepared. But then I came to the doors and … I came to the doors and … well, I can’t quite put into words what happened next. It was so terrible. Worse than anything I’d ever seen before. But I suppose I need to try to describe it because if I write it down then it will be out of my head, that image, and I will never have to see it again.