Alison Littlewood

by A Cold Season

  ‘Damon’s got this new game, Street Skirmish or something like that, and they’d like to play. They’re such friends already – isn’t that nice?’

  Cass licked her lips. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she started, ‘but—’

  ‘Wait a sec. I’ll put him on.’

  Cass’ heart sank. A voice she almost didn’t recognise spoke in her ear. ‘Can I, Mum? We’re going to eat Jelly Babies, and go on the games, and Mrs Spencer said we could walk back all together later, in the snow. And … ’

  Cass closed her eyes. There was something different about her son. He sounded happy, that was it. Carefree, as a child should, the way he used to sound. ‘Of course you can,’ she found herself saying. ‘Of course. You go and enjoy yourself, love.’

  ‘Super.’ It was Sally again. ‘We’ll take good care of him, I promise. That’s settled.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I’ll give you a ring when we’re setting off. No need for you to do a thing; we’ll bring him back. Damon’s looking forward to it.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Cass said automatically, and the line went dead. She stood there holding the phone to her chest. That sadness was back again, the feeling she’d woken with, that’d been hanging over her all day. He’s fine, she told herself, not hurt, not in need of hospital. And he’d made a new friend. He sounded so happy. Ben settling in, having a real home in which he could establish himself – hadn’t that been the idea all along?

  NINE

  Cass was engrossed in her work when she heard knocking, so involved that she wasn’t sure she’d heard anything at all. She raised her head, waiting; then the sound came again and Cass got up, wondering if she was about to meet her mysterious neighbour at last. She went to the door, remembered at the last moment that she was alone in a new place, and looked through the peephole to see a male figure in a dark coat. She only had time to register that his shoulders were flecked with snow when he knocked again, almost as if he knew she was standing there. She reached out automatically and pulled the door open.

  It was Mr Remick. Cass blinked at him. Ben. ‘Is there a problem?’ she blurted. She must have got the days mixed up – Sally had meant she’d take Ben tomorrow, not today, and Cass should have collected him from school after all. But if that was the case, where was he? She peered around Mr Remick, half-expecting to see Ben standing behind him, lost and unhappy because his mother hadn’t come to fetch him.

  Instead she saw that Mr Remick had something under his arm. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I just thought … Well, you only just moved in, and Sally mentioned Ben was going to their house after school, so … ’

  Was he blushing? His words tailed away and he held out the thing he had been carrying. Cass blinked at it. It was a loaf of bread.

  ‘I thought you might be lonely. I also know what it’s like around here when the snow starts to fall – fresh bread’s the new currency.’ He grinned.

  Cass took it. ‘That’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you.’ She led the way into the kitchen. ‘You must have been quick. I tried the shop this morning; I was beginning to think we’d be living on tins of Spam.’

  ‘It’s a survival situation, all right. Although, truth be told, I wasn’t that quick. Mrs Bentley at the shop has a soft spot for me, I think. She keeps things back for her special customers.’

  ‘Lucky you.’ Cass laughed. It made her feel lighter, just talking and laughing. It was almost like being back at Aldershot, surrounded by her friends, friends who weren’t yet afraid of being tainted by her loss.

  ‘I don’t know about that. I’m a bit worried about what she wants in return.’ He laughed too, his blue eyes flashing, and Cass had a sudden image of the surly Mrs Bentley pursing up her tight thin lips and closing her eyes.

  She found himself suppressing a grin. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘If it’s not rationed.’

  ‘I think I can manage.’

  ‘I need one after today. Those kids … So much energy.’

  ‘I thought that was a nice touch this morning.’ Cass remembered the way he’d donated his scarf to Ben’s snowman. He wasn’t wearing it now and she wondered if it was still there, soaked through and freezing in the playing field.

  ‘Purely selfish.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘It’s a good way of getting to know the kids. And for the new ones to settle in, of course.’ His smile faded. ‘Actually, I wonder if I might ask you something.’

  ‘What is it?’

  He sighed. ‘I’m a little concerned. It’s probably nothing, but … Well, you noticed we’ve been doing a lot of fun activities with the kids. It’s only fair when half their classmates are out sledging. We had an art session today.’ He took something from the inside pocket of his jacket, a piece of paper.

  As he unfolded it Cass saw coloured scribbles, primary colours: sunshine yellow, blue, red. Something inside her froze. Was he saying Ben had a problem? The picture looked bright and colourful. She’d heard that unhappy kids, depressed kids, drew everything in black.

  Mr Remick held the picture out. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he started, but Cass wasn’t listening any more. The main colour was yellow. It was the desert, stretching on and on. In the foreground was a soldier with sandy hair and a sandy uniform. His face was scribbled out. Cass could see where the pencil had punched and ripped its way through the paper. A black pencil.

  One of the figure’s limbs was bent backwards, a broken, puppet thing. Red spray spouted from his chest. The ground, though, was littered with specks of brilliant blue.

  Cass closed her eyes and remembered the stones Pete had held out to her in her dream. The ones that fell to the ground and disappeared. She reached out and touched the edge of the paper, but she didn’t take it from Mr Remick’s hands. So angry, she thought. She’d never suspected her son was so angry.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d have seen similar things before. Obviously not.’

  Cass shook her head, sucked in a deep breath. ‘He lost his father.’ It was the first time she’d managed those words without her voice breaking. ‘He was in Afghanistan.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Cass’ lips formed the word No, but she didn’t speak.

  Blue stones. A yellow sky, the same colour as the earth. And red, all that red.

  ‘Well, there’s no wonder in that case. Expressing his feelings in some way is probably good for him under the circumstances.’

  Cass nodded, remembering the way Ben had sat in front of his game the last time he’d tried to play, letting the controller slide from his hands. It had once been his favourite game, but really that had been because of Pete.

  He might simply have drawn something he’d seen on the screen.

  Cass wondered what her son was doing now. He’d gone to play Damon’s games, hadn’t he? She bit her lip, and felt Mr Remick’s hand gently resting on her arm.

  ‘He’ll be fine. He’s a great kid, a credit to you. He’s finding his feet already.’

  She turned, and found Mr Remick’s face inches from her own, his eyes full of concern. She drew back. She hadn’t sensed he was so close.

  He straightened and Cass found herself wanting to apologise. She bit her lip instead. She didn’t trust herself to say anything. It was my loss too, she thought.

  As if he could read her, Mr Remick said, ‘You’ll both be fine. It’ll be like you belong here in no time.’

  Cass frowned.

  ‘Hoarding bread, building a bunker, burying tins … ’

  She flashed him a startled look and they both burst into laughter. Cass’ lasted longer than Mr Remick’s. She felt that lightness again, something lifting from her shoulders.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said.

  ‘You could stay for something to eat, if you like.’ Cass glanced at the clock. How had it got so late so quickly? ‘I could do … ’ She paused.

  ‘Toast?’ He smiled, glanced at the loaf of bread.

  ‘I think I can rustle up something better than th
at.’

  ‘Really, I’d better get back. I have essays to mark.’

  When Cass saw him out and closed the door behind him, the apartment felt too quiet. She stared around at the hallway. There were still boxes waiting to be unpacked, pushed under the stairs. Her eyes fell on the telephone that was fixed to the wall.

  It was an entryphone – visitors would ring her apartment from the main doorway, and she would press a button to let them in. She frowned. Mr Remick had come straight to her door – she hadn’t thought anything of it until now, but how had he done that?

  She remembered the door down the hall with the papers pushed underneath. Maybe whoever lived there had let him in. Mr Remick was new in Darnshaw, wasn’t he? There was no way he could have the code – unless he’d been and looked around the mill himself, considered moving here before finding somewhere else. The code was 1234Z, which wasn’t difficult to remember.

  Still, she wished she’d asked him if he knew who was living down the hall. And how long he’d been in Darnshaw, exactly, to be Mrs Bentley’s special customer, even to know her name. Cass found herself wishing she’d asked him lots of things.

  It was a shame he’d had to go so soon. Time had passed more quickly when Mr Remick was there. Now she was alone, and with no Ben filling the place with noise it was too quiet in Foxdene Mill. Cass remembered the empty windows in the apartment below hers and shivered. It was a pity more people hadn’t moved in. Mr Remick might even have been a neighbour. She had a sudden picture of him climbing in through an empty window frame downstairs and smiled.

  Cass went to her own window and saw the snow drifting silently down, smothering everything. The light was failing and the hilltops appeared paler than the sky. She felt anxious about Ben. He would have to walk back later, through the dark and the snow. Still, with a friend he’d enjoy it, kicking a new trail and throwing snowballs all the way.

  She unpacked the last of their boxes, crushed them and sat looking at the pile of cardboard. It was good to have that finished – the place felt more like a home – but it also meant that she was staying. Before, she had been half-settled in, half-ready to walk out of the door again. She thought about the people she’d met: Mrs Bentley, with her surly glare, slamming Cass’ shopping down on the counter. Loud, brassy Sally – and Mr Remick. When she thought of him he was smiling, and his blue eyes looked directly into her own. He saw into people, she thought. She imagined reaching out a hand and touching the teacher’s slightly hollowed cheek, the stubble under her fingers. Him wrapping those arms, thin but sure, around her.

  She pushed the thought away, remembered Pete. Her husband had been taller, stronger, nothing like Mr Remick, and yet she thought that she could find the teacher attractive. Mostly it was in the way he looked at her, those clear, appraising eyes.

  Cass glanced at the clock. It was past six. Sally hadn’t said how long they’d be, and she hadn’t thought to ask. We’ll call when we’re setting off. Hadn’t she said that? At least Cass knew where she lived. It was lucky they’d picked her up on the moor. She wondered if Ben would come home complaining about her smell again, and tried not to smile.

  He’d be enjoying himself; they all would, Sally and Damon and Ben.

  Cass noticed that Mr Remick had left Ben’s drawing on the sofa. She picked it up, straightened it out and ran a finger over the paper where his pencil had punched through. She imagined his face while he was doing it, his head bent over the page, his eyes fixed in a glare while he scribbled, over and over, and then taking the most brilliant blue he could find and adding those stones, if that was what they were, across the yellow sand. She frowned, wondering what had made him think of it.

  Cass looked at the clock again, wishing her son would come home. The night grew darker, the snow kept falling, and still Sally didn’t call. Cass sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes, letting the picture fall to her side.

  When Cass stirred and looked out of the window it was no longer dark. Mist had swallowed the hills and the sky and now it was shining back the moonlight, making it bright as morning. When she checked the clock, though, she found it was late – after nine o’clock – and Sally still hadn’t called. She must have fallen asleep; now her head ached. She walked from window to telephone, wondering if it had rung after all and she had been too deeply asleep to hear it. She bunched her hands, fidgeted. How could Sally be so late? Why hadn’t she been in touch? Tears surprised her, stinging her eyes. She could try to recover the last caller’s number from her telephone and ring her. Failing that, she could walk to Sally’s house, but what if Sally took the riverside path, or some other route? She could miss them.

  There were voices in the hall.

  Cass rushed to the door and pulled it open and found herself staring into an empty space. She looked up and down the hall, wondering if this was some game they were playing.

  She heard the sound again. This time it came from behind her.

  It was the voice of a child – it sounded like a little girl.

  She waited, reluctant to turn round, then she heard the deeper tones of a man. She felt her grasp on the door slip and it banged shut in front of her.

  A new sound began, low at first, then gathering in volume, a ratcheting and banging of wood on wood, wood on metal. It grew louder, became deafening.

  Cass slowly turned round, half expecting to see a space full of machinery, but there was only her own hall, all the doors closed except the one dead ahead.

  Cass went to it, outwardly calm but her heart hammering. She looked into the lounge and saw only a familiar room, its darkened windows reflecting back the vaulted ceiling. It was silent. The sound had stopped.

  —but it had ceased only for a moment; as though called back by her thoughts it started up again, the rhythmic pulse of running machinery, reverberations echoing from the walls. The floor beneath her was full of the sound, vibrating under her feet. The noise came from the room below her own, Apartment 6.

  Cass couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She saw again the abandoned dolls, the empty windows, cold air snaking inside.

  Then she heard a bang on her front door and everything fell silent.

  Cass looked around at the floor, her jaws clenched. The bang came again and she made a sound in the back of her throat.

  Another bang. It was the sound of someone knocking.

  Cass found she could breathe again, roused herself, hurried to answer. She yanked the door open, and saw Ben standing on the threshold, his arm outstretched in readiness to knock once more. He jumped back, his smile fading.

  ‘Goodness,’ said Sally, ‘is everything all right? You look awful.’

  Cass didn’t turn away from Ben’s face. He had looked so happy when she’d pulled the door open; now there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. It was her; she had called it back again.

  ‘I’m sorry we’re late,’ said Sally chattily. ‘We lost track of time, didn’t we, boys? I tried to call, but the lines must be down. It always happens this weather. I should have known. And these two – you wouldn’t believe how long it took them to walk down here. The snowballs I’ve been fighting off, you wouldn’t believe—’

  ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘What like? Has something happened?’

  Cass looked at her. Sally’s face was full of confusion, and something else – annoyance perhaps. It occurred to Cass that she didn’t look sorry for being late at all. There was no sense of urgency about her. ‘It’s quite all right,’ she said stiffly. ‘He’s back now, aren’t you, Ben?’

  Ben’s eyes were fixed on his mother. He shrugged, and somehow this made Cass angry, really deeply angry, but she swallowed it down. She couldn’t turn Sally straight back out onto the street after they’d walked all this way, and that look on Ben’s face – he had been enjoying himself, at least until he got home.

  She noticed Damon standing behind his mother. The boy glared up at her through his black fringe.

  ‘Hi, Damon,’ she said pointedly. ‘Have
you had a good night?’

  It was as though she hadn’t spoken.

  Sally answered for him. ‘We’ve had a lovely time. They played for hours on the computer. I swear my hands would be claws if I did that.’

  ‘It was Street Skirmish, Mum!’ Ben’s smile had returned. ‘I was the baddie, and then Damon was, and we had a tournament, and he won, but I got loads of rounds, didn’t I, Day?’

  Damon swung his head round to look at Ben and he grinned, his eyes clear and smiling.

  Cass shook her head. What was she thinking? ‘Thank you for having him, Sally,’ she said. ‘Will you have a drink before you go? Something to warm you up?’

  They bustled in, and as they took off their wet coats, discarded gloves and scarves and boots, something Sally had said finally registered. ‘Sally,’ said Cass, ‘did you say the phone lines are down?’ Her voice was sharp and Sally looked up with surprise.

  ‘I did. It often happens with the snow. It’ll take a few days to fix, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  But Cass was already striding into the lounge, snatching up the telephone. There was no buzzing on the line, nothing but a faint silvery noise like snowfall.

  ‘They’ll be back up before long. I’m sure people will realise. Was there someone you wanted to call?’

  ‘Not really.’ Cass slowly replaced the phone. ‘Just some files I should have sent off for work.’ It’ll be done for tomorrow morning, she’d said. Now she’d have no email, and she couldn’t even ring her client to tell them the job would be late. She couldn’t get a signal on her mobile either. Why hadn’t she done the work today? She could have finished it this afternoon, sent it off at once. But surely the telephones would be fixed tomorrow. Maybe everything would be: the road cleared, the car running smoothly, everything working the way it should. She glanced at the window. She could just make out the steep hillside, mocking in its beauty.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sally. ‘Well, they’ll understand, won’t they? It’s not as if it’s your fault, after all.’

  We launch in a week.