Cass held him, trying not to think about Pete. If Ben cried, Pete would swing him up in the air, making fun of his tears, but in such a way as not to make Ben feel bad about crying. He’d do it in a way that would make him laugh.
Ben wriggled in her arms and Cass pulled back. Her son was fully awake now, his eyes wide open. ‘If I got another daddy, he’d still be Dad, wouldn’t he?’
‘What?’
‘Daddy. If someone else wanted to be my dad, he’d still love me, wouldn’t he?’
‘Of course he would.’ Cass drew her son in tight, her thoughts floundering. Where could he have got that idea? She thought of Sally’s words in the hall, her loud foolish laughter. What had the woman said? You are lucky. Something like that. Ben must have heard.
Cass leaned back and met Ben’s eyes. She chose her words carefully. ‘Of course he’s still your dad,’ she said. ‘He always will be.’
‘So where is he?’
Cass’ heart curled in on itself.
‘Where is he?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Your daddy … Pete’ – she stumbled over his name – ‘he died, Ben. He was a soldier, and he was very brave, and I’m sorry, but he’s not coming back. Not ever. It doesn’t mean he stopped loving you.’ Us, she thought. He loved us. She felt her hands shake.
‘It’s not fair.’
‘I know, Ben. I know it’s not fair. Shh, shh.’ She rocked him, holding him tight, his damp hair pressed against her chin.
‘I don’t want another daddy,’ he whispered.
Cass silently cursed Sally Spencer. She opened her mouth to reassure her son and closed it again. What should she say? An image of Mr Remick came into her mind. The look in his eyes was vivid, as though he was in the room with her.
Cass couldn’t see her son’s face but she knew he was waiting for an answer.
‘I know,’ she said once more, holding him close. ‘I know.’ She sat in the dark, rocking him, but the tension in his body didn’t fade for a long time.
SIX
Cass woke early, her mind dragged unwillingly from sleep. She was still tired, had not slept well after waking with Ben. She didn’t remember dreaming about anything at all, but she could see Pete’s face in her mind when she woke, and the thought of it stayed with her.
It was the idea of Ben going off to school without any boots that got her out of bed. This time she found his scarf, gloves and boots before she woke him. He rubbed his face and smiled at her as though nothing had happened. ‘Is it snowing?’ he asked.
‘Let’s go and see.’
Even before reaching the window, Cass could see that the sky was white. When Ben looked outside his mouth fell open and Cass tousled his hair. More snow had fallen overnight. It obscured the lane and coated the trees, lending them strange white foliage.
‘We’ll have to walk,’ said Cass. Her gaze drifted to the white hills that blended into the sky. It was as though they were at the bottom of a huge bowl, hemmed in on all sides.
When they were ready they went out into the cold, huffing out clouds of breath, obscuring the crispness of the air. The car was under maybe six inches of snow and Ben ran to it, sticking in one finger and then drawing a face on the bonnet with his whole hand. He bunched a loose snowball together and threw it at Cass. It disintegrated before it reached her and she grinned. ‘Later, soldier,’ she said, instantly regretting the choice of word, but Ben didn’t notice; he was running up the lane shuffling, leaving a single wide track.
‘What am I?’ he chanted. ‘What am I?’
‘A big dog,’ Cass guessed, and he turned, wide-eyed, and nodded.
‘I’m Captain,’ he said. ‘Woof! Woof!’
Despite the way their boots sank into the snow they reached the school in good time.
‘Greetings,’ called a familiar voice. ‘You made it. Good! We’re precious few this morning.’
Cass saw Mr Remick standing by the door, pressing his gloved hands together. His cheeks were pink, his eyes bright, and Cass found herself smiling. Ben reached up and caught her hand, tugging on it, but when she looked down he didn’t say anything and didn’t look at her.
‘A lot won’t make it in today,’ said Mr Remick. ‘Lucky I got here. I imagine some of the teachers will be snowed in too.’
Cass looked around. The car park was empty, and only a few pupils milled in the yard. ‘Should I take Ben home?’ she asked, and felt his grip tighten on her hand.
‘No, no need for that. I think we’ll only get enough for one class, though. For my special pupils.’ Mr Remick bent and winked at Ben. ‘It’s fine; I can take them.’
Behind them a loud shuffling and giggling told Cass more special pupils had arrived.
Mr Remick straightened and gestured, gathering everyone together. His voice carried over the chatter and the children fell silent. ‘Since you’ve done so well to get here this morning while everyone else has stayed at home, I think we’ll begin with an early break. Snowman competition, anyone?’
There was cheering all round. Ben’s eyes lit up and he smiled too, flashing small white teeth. He pulled his hand away from Cass’ as though he’d just become aware of it. Cass grinned at him. Mr Remick was watching them. ‘I hope that meets with your approval,’ he said. ‘We’ll have serious lessons too, of course.’
‘It’s perfect,’ said Cass. ‘A nice way for him to settle in.’ Maybe the snow was a blessing after all. She cast her gaze around the hillsides that surrounded them, their pristine white marked only by the occasional line of a stone wall or a scarecrow tree.
Mr Remick spoke more softly. His voice was smooth, almost without accent. ‘You could stay if you like.’
Cass looked at him and the sight of his clear eyes jarred through her. She caught her breath.
‘I mean you could join in with the snowman part. It might be fun. You can be our guest of honour.’ Mr Remick smiled.
Cass glanced down to see Ben staring at her. She looked back at Mr Remick. ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to cramp your style, eh, Ben?’
‘Mum’s rubbish at snowmen,’ Ben said.
Cass caught Mr Remick’s eye and they laughed.
‘Well, we can’t have that. Another time, maybe.’ The teacher reached out and lifted Ben’s rucksack from Cass’ shoulder. He did it lightly, his fingers gentle, not lingering, though his gaze rested on hers while he did it.
Cass broke eye contact. She bent to Ben, using the pretext of straightening his coat to cover her confusion. She forced a neutral expression onto her face as she stood up straight again.
When she reached the road Cass turned to look down over the school playing field. There were maybe twenty children of different ages running about and squealing. They bent to their task, rolling the snow, revealing streaks of patchy green beneath. Cass made out Ben’s red coat among the others. One of the boys beckoned and Ben went to help lift one snowball onto another to make a head.
A familiar voice rang out across the field. Even from here Cass could recognise Sally’s bright tones. The woman stomped around, encouraging the children to build faster, and then she turned towards the road and shielded her eyes. Cass found herself stepping to the side so that she was hidden behind a tall gatepost.
‘How do,’ said a voice.
Cass turned to see Bert, hunched into his coat, with Captain waddling after. The dog’s sides were heaving, red tongue lolling.
‘Hi, Bert. Be careful. Captain might get roped into the snowman-building.’
Bert looked down at the dog, which had ambled to a stop. ‘Aye,’ he said, and turned to watch the children. ‘All stocked up, then?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Aye. You got yersen stocked up?’
‘Stocked up?’
He nodded. The dog stood there and panted. ‘A snowflake falls in Darnshaw and the shops run out o’ bread.’ He rattled it off like a saying. ‘An’ milk. An’ owt else you might want.’ His shoulders shook in a silent laugh. He gestured towards t
he road. ‘I doubt they’re going to get stuff in for a bit. You’d best get to t’ shop, if you ‘ant got owt in.’
‘Oh,’ said Cass. ‘Thank you.’ Why hadn’t it occurred to her there might be a problem getting food? It had been easier to get about in her old home, but here—
‘They’ll plough the roads soon, won’t they, Bert? Or grit them, so they can supply the shops at least?’
He let out a long sigh. ‘You never know. O’ course, the council’s short o’ cash these days. They’ll do the towns, but a blind eye falls on Darnshaw some o’ these times.’ He paused. ‘Aye, you stock up, love.’
‘All right, I will. Thank you, Bert. I appreciate it.’
He nodded. ‘Post office,’ he said. ‘Flats. Don’t forget: you need owt, you come to old Bert, an’ he’ll see what he can do.’
‘You’re a hero.’
The old man turned and stared at his dog. His cheeks had begun to redden. ‘How do,’ he said suddenly. The words obviously passed for both greeting and farewell. He headed off towards the park, his back ramrod-straight. Captain shuffled along at his side.
Cass looked down the slope towards the children. A circle of snowmen was taking shape. It reminded her of some prehistoric site ringed by standing stones. Mr Remick stood in the centre, holding out his hands and laughing. The children pulled hats from their heads and scarves from their necks and used them to adorn their creations. Cass heard shouts, though she couldn’t make out the words. As she watched, Mr Remick took off his own scarf, wrapped it around the neck of Ben’s snowman and ruffled the boy’s hair.
SEVEN
As Cass approached she saw that the shop was crammed. She could see this because the window was almost empty of the display it had previously held. The shelves behind the glass bore only an odd assortment of items – a small pink teddy bear, a box of rubber balls, skeins of wool that hadn’t appealed to the local knitters.
Inside, bodies were pressed close together, fumbling past each other to pull free plastic shopping baskets. The till was by the window, and Cass could see the back of the dour woman who’d served her – was it only the day before yesterday? The woman’s arms moved steadily, passing items through the barcode reader in an endless stream.
Cass pushed open the door and the sound hit her: the scraping of tins, footsteps, rustling as packets were pulled off shelves and added to baskets. The constant beep – beep – beep of the barcode reader, the rattle of the cash drawer. What was missing was conversation. The shop was full of people, mostly elderly, grey-haired, clothes bulky against the cold, and none of them were saying a word to each other.
Cass reached for a basket. The greengrocery display behind them was empty save for a wrinkled plum or two, a few stray mushrooms. Two days ago they had been stacked high. Cass glanced down the aisle. Many shelves were empty, the former contents marked only by plastic tabs showing meaningless prices.
Cass grabbed the remaining fruit and edged past an old man who was sniffing dubiously at a packet of dried noodles.
There was no bread. Cass managed to find cereal, tins of vegetables, dried pasta. It took an age to reach the till. She put the load down on the floor, shuffling it along at her feet. She couldn’t carry more now, but she could get these things home and come back. She’d pick up some things for the freezer maybe, the soft drinks Ben loved – enough to keep them going for a few days, just in case.
She closed her eyes, picturing Bert. Thank you, she thought.
Arms aching, Cass set the bags down on the kitchen floor and threw a few items into the freezer, which was empty except for a tray of ice cubes. She went straight out again, heading back up the lane and into the village, walking with her head down, trying not to notice the burn in her calf muscles. She reached the shop, put out a hand and pushed the door, but it didn’t budge. She looked up, tried to see through the hazy glass, but there were notices stuck to the back of it, mostly yellow and peeling at the edges: a lost cat. Band practise. She moved to the window and looked inside and now she could see the shop was empty, the lights switched off, a green cover pulled over the till. There didn’t appear to be anything edible left on the shelves at all.
There was a small butcher’s shop, Winthrop’s, and not much available there either, but the butcher wrapped a few things for her and put them in a blue-and-white-striped carrier bag. Cass was hardly aware of what she’d bought.
The greengrocer was closed, as was the post office. The last shop, the florist’s, was no use, and anyway, it too was closed. It looked like it hadn’t been open in a long time. The plastic box trees in the window were coated in dust. Cass stared in for a while, then turned away. There was nothing to be done but go home to the apartment.
When Cass got back to the mill she reached for the keypad by the door and froze where she stood. She moved to the centre of the door and stared at it, put out her hands and touched the rough edges of the marks that had been scratched into the new paint.
A cross had been carved into the door, the lines scored over and over, deep into the wood. Fragments of paint and shards of wood marred the surface. Cass brushed her fingers against them, caught her skin on a splinter and put it to her mouth. The wood beneath the paint was black and damp.
A cross. Cass thought of her father. She wondered what he would have said.
She looked around. She hadn’t been gone long; it had been done recently. It must be kids, skipping school and playing stupid pranks. Anger flooded into her. If they were wandering around in the snow they surely could have walked to school.
But it didn’t feel like kids. Why should they have chosen a cross?
Cass tapped her code into the keypad and went in, making sure the lock engaged behind her. She looked through the glass. Nothing moved outside. She could see a mess of tracks in the snow; impossible to tell who had made them. She could only make out her own footprints and the wide trail Ben had left as he’d walked up the hill.
She thought of the apartment beneath hers, the empty framework of a room, its windows gaping onto the hillside.
As she went up the stairs and along the quiet hall she saw that another newspaper had been delivered to her neighbour’s door. Its pages were splayed where it had been pushed half under the first.
The bags were still lying in the kitchen where Cass had dumped them. She pulled out the butcher’s parcel, which felt unpleasantly pliant, and put it in the fridge. She couldn’t remember what was inside, and didn’t want to examine it. Instead she left the rest of the shopping and went into her room, drew a box from under the bed.
She had promised herself she wouldn’t do this, not now, not when she was alone in a new place. She was supposed to be starting again, building something new, and Ben was settling down, making friends. And yet, He’s still Daddy, her son had said.
Her fingers wrapped around the box and pulled it closer. Pete was still Ben’s Daddy, still her husband. Was her husband. Inside the box was a bundle of letters. Cass flicked through them, stopping when she came across a picture; saw the familiar face looking out, his sand-coloured hair blending with the uniform, the tent behind him and the ground upon which he stood. Everything was sepia. She ran a finger over the surface, half expecting to feel the grit of sand.
She shuffled through the thin papers, reading lines at random.
We’re doing up the mess with silly drawings. Funny how we make them look like kids’ drawings. I wish I could see him. I miss him so much.
Cass remembered when that letter came. She and Ben had drawn pictures of Pete and stuck them around the kitchen, doing up their own mess with silly drawings. But it hadn’t brought him home.
She put the letters back in the box and kicked it until it was out of sight, back in its dark place under the bed.
EIGHT
Cass fired up the computer, her mind still on other things. An email was waiting for her. Her client needed a new product range adding to the website ahead of a launch next week. He was all apologies for the short notice, but made i
t clear the job was urgent.
‘No problem,’ Cass replied. ‘It’ll be done for tomorrow morning.’ Then she sat and stared at the screen.
She couldn’t think about work. Instead she remembered that day in Darnshaw when it had snowed and her family had walked, all together, she wearing her new white dress, dancing up the lane to the church.
She had stood with the other girls and waited while her father walked down the line. He had given Cass the same sort of look he gave everyone else: considering, appraising, assessing whether she was good enough.
Cass had a sick feeling in her stomach that she never would be.
She shook her head to clear it, grabbed the mouse and closed the screen down.
Cass had never been good enough, even in her white dress. She’d known that she would do something stupid, drop the wafer, spill the wine onto the snowy cloth. And now she was back here in Darnshaw – what did she think she was doing? And why had she thought this place would be good for Ben? If he had an accident now she couldn’t get him to a hospital. Maybe soon she wouldn’t even be able to feed him.
Cass jumped as the telephone rang. She pushed herself back from the computer and looked round, half expecting to see someone standing there.
Ben. She had been thinking of something happening to him and now the telephone was ringing. No, it couldn’t be anything like that: it was probably just a wrong number, or someone from the Army base at Aldershot, calling to wish her well. Except it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. Those with husbands still living didn’t want to be connected with the dead, not in any way at all.
‘Hi. Sally,’ a bright voice said, and Cass almost said, No it’s not; you have the wrong number, when she recognised the voice.
‘I was just calling to see if Ben could come to ours for tea tonight. We’d love to have him. Oh, and excuse me for getting your number – I was in Mr Remick’s office, and I thought … Well, he wouldn’t mind. So naughty of me!’ The woman’s laugh rang out, making Cass hold the phone away from her ear.
Alison Littlewood Page 4