He Will Find You. Diane Jeffrey
7
For my three wonderful children, Benjamin, Amélie and Elise.
You make my world beautiful.
You don’t have to read this book, but if you do, please wait until you’re much older.
I love you,
Mummy xxx
“What the truth is and what we want as the truth are two separate things.
The former sheds light; the latter darkness.”
Unknown
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This can’t be it, I think, my heart sinking as I see it for the very first time. I pull in to the side of the country lane. Resting my arms over the steering wheel, I lean forwards and study the house through the windscreen. Even from this distance it appears austere. Isolated. Built in cold, dark grey stone, the building dominates the valley from the top of a steep gravel driveway. It is prison-like with its barred sash windows. It must be at least five times the size of the two-bedroom semi my boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – and I bought as our first home ten years ago in Minehead.
I look to the right, observing the lush green grass speckled black and white with sheep, and beyond that the blue-brown water of Lake Grasmere. I’m struck by how incongruous this residence seems against the surrounding countryside. This isn’t the right place. But a quick glance at the black and white chequered flag on the satnav screen confirms that I have arrived at my destination. Even so, I remain hopeful that the right house might be situated a few metres further along the road until I see the slate sign on the wooden gate. The Old Vicarage.
I can’t quite believe it. It has taken me nearly eight hours to drive all this way, but I’m here at last. The Old Vicarage, my new home. I’ve left everything and everyone I know; I’ve left my whole life behind in Somerset. Here I am, moving to a region I’ve never visited, into a house I haven’t laid eyes on before. This is the start of a new existence for me. It should be exciting, but I feel so scared. Butterflies are hurtling around in my stomach. It’s only to be expected, I suppose. This is such a monumental change.
As I get out of the car to open the gate, I notice a mailbox. To my surprise, my name is on it. He has handwritten it on a scrap of white paper and stuck it next to his own name, engraved on the rectangular metal plate. It must have rained since it was added because the ink has run slightly where the Sellotape has come away. I can still make out my name, though. KAITLYN BEST. But even that is about to change.
There is a cattle grid and I’m careful walking over it as I push the gate open. I have to get out of the car again to close the gate once I’ve driven through it. It’s only then that I realise how cold it is outside this evening. Even as I shiver, I can’t help but admire the view of the fields and the lake. The daylight is fading fast now, but the scene is breathtaking. I could get used to this place.
But then I turn around and see the house again. It’s late Georgian, although it makes me think of a Gothic