Alison Littlewood

by A Cold Season

  Cass peered through, seeing no one, and stepped onto the narrow path, which was choked with snow-covered brambles.

  The river chortled down the valley, splashing over black rocks. Snow overhung the banks, the edges fringed with transparent ice. Trees lined the river, their glossy black roots reaching into the water. Above them everything was white. Fields, moorland, sky. The air was potent with snow.

  A rook stirred in a tree, stretching out a wing and one curled claw together. The branch he sat upon was edged with lace icing. Each small thing was beautiful.

  There was a row of cottages that backed onto the river in a place where the path broadened out. Cass glanced at them curiously and had almost gone past when she stopped and turned.

  The gate should be green, she thought, not white. She could see it in her mind: a small child hanging over it, swinging back and forth, listening to the river, dreaming of white dresses, perhaps, or buckled sandals, or simply of having her father come home.

  Cass walked back and looked at the row of cottages, trying to decide if she really did remember it. Her mind felt emptied. She looked up and saw that the windows were blank, reflecting back the featureless white sky.

  Her gaze fell to the riverbank and she saw grey down flecking the snow: a bird had died there. There was no blood, but there were bones, each one of them picked clean. Cass saw the socket where two bones had once joined. She frowned. The bones looked arranged. She leaned over and saw that they formed an almost perfect circle. She looked up once more at the cottages with their blank windows.

  Rituals, Lucy had said – but in the past, before the mill became apartments and Cass came back to Darnshaw, probably long before even her father came here.

  But stories like that: it was something that bored kids might seize on. They might have heard of Darnshaw’s history, been excited by the thought of witchcraft and bones. They could have found the dead bird and amused themselves by arranging the bones that way.

  Cass turned her back on them and followed the path, putting the bones out of her mind. Before long she could see the school playing fields. The snowmen were still there. She saw they had been built in a ring, and they now had faces. Stones had been thrust into them for noses or mouths – stones that were inexpressive, that couldn’t smile, and yet each one looked startled, or sombre, or horrified.

  Cass tore her gaze from them and saw that Bert was heading towards her on the path. His eyes were fixed on the ground so intently she was sure he was avoiding looking at her. She glanced about for a different track leading back up to the village that she might take, but there was none.

  As he came closer Bert raised his watery eyes and tipped an imaginary hat. ‘’ow do, love. I’m right sorry about before. Glad to see yer, like.’

  Cass cast a wary eye towards the dog, which stumbled to a halt behind Bert, his sides heaving. He looked docile, little inclined to move, let alone bite anyone.

  ‘Hi, Bert,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry it happened too, but if he can’t be trusted around children, maybe you should have him on a lead.’

  Bert’s face twitched. ‘’e’s never been no trouble.’

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘All right, love. I’ll put ’im on a lead, if it makes yer feel better. It’s no trouble. No trouble. I’d hate it if owt ’appened.’

  ‘Me too. Thank you, Bert. I do appreciate it.’

  ‘’ow is ’e?’

  ‘Ben? He’s fine. He’d forgotten all about it by the time he got to school, so no harm done.’

  ‘Good, good. Nice little feller—I mean … ’ Bert paused. ‘You should watch ’im.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You should watch ’im, in case he does owt. Make sure—’

  ‘Ben’s fine. He hasn’t done anything wrong.’ Even as she spoke, Cass remembered the look in her son’s eyes, the way he had locked her out. I thought it was just the rats.

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘Bert, he didn’t do anything to Captain. You should watch your dog, never mind my son.’

  ‘I din’t mean that—’

  Cass stared at Bert, and he stared down at the ground. After a long moment he gave the dog a nudge with his leg, edging him onto the verge so that Cass could get past.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, walking away.

  Bert turned. ‘I meant it,’ he said. ‘If you ever need owt, you come and see me.’

  Cass stopped and looked back at him. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s very kind. Bye, Bert.’ She said this last more firmly than she intended to, and instantly regretted it. Whatever the old man’s words, he meant well. Though what did he mean – she should watch her son? He had a nerve.

  Cass headed for home, pausing when she saw the back of the mill. Ice was spreading its fingers across the green surface of the millpond. Snow began to fall, feather-light flakes she couldn’t feel as they settled in her hair. She didn’t look at the cross carved into the door as she let herself in.

  She checked her mailbox on the way, putting her hand inside, but she could already see there was nothing.

  TWELVE

  Cass stood outside the school waiting for Ben. She was early. Snow swirled around her, landing on her coat and gloves, the flakes remaining there, cool and perfect, before sinking into the fabric. Now that she’d stopped walking it was bitterly cold.

  At last the doors flew open and the children poured out. Some whooped and grabbed handfuls of snow, shoving it in each other’s faces, and others walked off, bored with it already. There weren’t many children; more roads must be impassable now.

  Ben was towards the back, his pale head bowed close to another boy’s dark mop. Cass knew it was Damon, even without seeing his face. Then the boy looked up, his skin winter-pale, and smirked. He nudged Ben, whispered to him. They laughed together, and when Ben looked at her Cass barely knew him; there was an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.

  Sally came out of the doorway with files under her arm, wearing a bulky purple coat. Right behind her was Mr Remick, looking taller and thinner than ever by contrast. Then Lucy was at Cass’ shoulder, her face pinched, holding something out. ‘You got a reply,’ she said, thrusting a sheet of paper into Cass’ hand. ‘I’ve got to run, Jess is waiting. Sorry.’ And she was gone.

  Cass stared after her. What had possessed her to tell Lucy about Pete this morning? The first friend she had made in Darnshaw, and Cass had obviously driven her away.

  The paper crackled in her hand as she curled her fingers. Cass smoothed it out. It took her a moment to make out the words, though the message was short: ‘What the hell? I’ve overwritten the files as instructed. Is this some sort of joke? Whole site now pulled. Need a fix ASAP.’

  Cass stared at the printout. The ink shifted before her eyes but resolved into the same message.

  Lucy. What had she done? She couldn’t have sent the files properly. Or perhaps something else had been sent along with them, some virus perhaps. No wonder she had left so quickly. Cass turned, but the Land Rover was already pulling onto the road. It was too late to catch her.

  She turned back to the note.

  ‘Cass?’

  She blinked. Mr Remick was standing at her shoulder, his eyes full of concern. ‘I said, how are you doing? Everything all right, I hope.’

  She looked at him. Ben was in front of her, his face blank.

  ‘I – I don’t understand.’ Cass’ voice wouldn’t seem to come.

  ‘Step inside a minute,’ said Mr Remick. ‘You look a bit faint.’

  Sally’s voice cut in. ‘I’d run her back, but I didn’t want to try the car down the lane this morning. It’s too icy.’

  ‘It’s fine, Sally. You head off. I’ll see she’s okay.’

  Cass breathed in deeply, the cold air shocking her lungs and bringing her back. ‘I’m fine.’ She managed a smile. She crumpled the note in her hand and stuffed it into her pocket; for some reason she didn’t want Mr Remick to see it. ‘Really, I just felt a bit dizzy. I’m okay. W
e’d best be off, hadn’t we, Ben?’

  Ben shrugged. He looked up at the teacher.

  ‘I insist. Anyway, I owe you a coffee.’ That dimple in his cheek, the slightly uneven skin made Cass want to reach out and touch his face. Mr Remick’s voice was warm, comforting, and she allowed him to lead them both towards the school, down the corridor and into his office. He settled her into a seat and came back with coffee and biscuits on a tray. Ben grabbed one of the biscuits and started munching.

  Everything on the desk was ruler-straight. A sign in the middle said MR T. REMICK.

  ‘How’s Mrs Cambrey?’ asked Cass. It came out sounding blunt, and he just looked at her. She hesitated. ‘I wondered how her family was doing.’

  ‘I’m afraid I haven’t heard – although I must admit I haven’t enquired yet either. There’s been so much to sort out, and classes to run since the other teachers haven’t made it in. The road to Gillaholme is blocked altogether now.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘There’s a tree across the road – I dare say the snow brought it down.’ He gave a sudden smile, flashing white teeth. ‘Heaven knows when they’ll clear it.’

  Cass sipped her coffee.

  ‘Of course some of the children live out that way too. We’re running reduced classes – mixed-age groups, but it can’t be helped. Ben seems to be enjoying it though – you are, aren’t you?’

  Ben grinned, swinging his legs under his chair.

  ‘He’s settling in really well.’ It sounded almost like he was waiting for a response.

  ‘Good. Good.’ Cass looked up. ‘And you – you seem to have settled in really well too.’

  ‘Oh goodness, it’s just like old times. A pea in a pod – it’s like I’ve never been away.’

  ‘You’ve been here before?’

  ‘I’m a local.’ Mr Remick grinned, picking up his own drink. ‘My family’s been here for generations – I own the old rectory. I’d already decided to come back so when Mrs Cambrey left shortly afterwards, I offered to fill in for a while.’

  ‘That was lucky for the school. I wondered how you ended up here.’

  ‘Oh, I always find my way back to Darnshaw. It’s like you never quite get away.’ He winked.

  Cass shot a glance at Ben, but he hadn’t seen. ‘I wondered how you’d wangled the bread. Mrs Bentley didn’t appear to be the friendly type.’

  ‘She’s a lamb – they all are, really. You’ll find out.’

  Cass tried to imagine having a friendly discussion with Mrs Bentley, and couldn’t. ‘We’d better get going,’ she said.

  Ben jumped up at once, though he still didn’t look at her. He was staring at the door. ‘Can’t we go in the car?’ he asked. His voice wasn’t whiny, wasn’t soft; it was hard, demanding. Cass stared at him.

  ‘Don’t be rude, Ben.’

  Mr Remick gave a wry grin. ‘I’d offer you a lift, but I don’t often drive,’ he said. ‘No need, on the whole.’

  ‘We wouldn’t dream of putting you out. Come on, Ben. It’ll do us good.’

  They walked out into the snow and the darkening evening. Cass turned and waved, but Mr Remick had already gone inside. Ben hurried on ahead, ignoring her when Cass told him to wait.

  ‘Ben, what’s got into you?’

  He stopped dead and stood with his back to her.

  She hurried and caught his hand in hers. It was cold, limp in her fingers. ‘Where are your gloves? Aren’t you cold?’

  Ben didn’t even show he’d heard, just looked straight ahead into the snow, his face hidden under his hood.

  ‘Ben? Did you hear me?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Ben.’

  ‘You’re crap at your job.’ His voice was expressionless.

  ‘What?’

  Ben whipped his hand from hers and stomped away, his arms flapping noisily at his sides.

  Cass watched him go. She put a hand to the pocket where she’d stuffed Lucy’s printout and a sour taste flooded her mouth. Ben was already fading into the distance, swinging those loose arms at his side. She couldn’t shake the thought that it was nothing but empty clothes walking away from her, heading into the greyness, inhabited by no one she could recognise.

  Ben threw down his rucksack, went straight to the television and slumped down in front of it. When Cass finished taking off her coat he was sitting close to the screen with his back to her, a game already running.

  Cass looked over his shoulder. The stub of a machinegun jutted from the bottom of the screen, scanning left and right across a landscape of sand dunes. A helmet appeared over a rise and Ben fired, the helmet disintegrating in a spray of red.

  ‘I thought you didn’t like that game any more?’

  Ben didn’t answer. His character strode up the rise, scanning once more. This was the game he had played with his father. Pete had liked to give instructions, tell his son things he knew about, the kind of things he should watch for: covering the angles. Ben would listen, rapt, and then pretend he was defending his dad, getting the bad guys before the bad guys could get him.

  Too late.

  Ben threw a grenade into a wooden shed and it exploded in a whoosh of yellow flame.

  ‘Are you winning?’

  Another soldier, this one with a scarf covering his face, exploded into red fragments. A hand landed on the ground, twitching, bleeding red pixels.

  Cass opened her mouth and formed her son’s name, but no sound came out.

  She walked around the television and looked at his face. It was small and pale, his eyes gleaming. He didn’t blink. His fingers were the only things that moved, dancing across the buttons, delivering death. He didn’t whoop in triumph as he used to; instead, his face was cold. There was no excitement and no pain, no connection with his father in his eyes at all, or with anything else.

  Cass turned from him and went to switch on her computer with fingers that felt numb. She touched her hand to her pocket and felt the crumpled paper.

  She needed to check her files, then she could meet Lucy in the morning and ask her to re-send them. Or maybe Lucy would know someone whose computer would be clean who could do it for her.

  You’re crap at your job. Had her son really said that?

  Cass stared at the screen, her frustration rising. Not long ago she had been able to send files herself at the press of a key. Now everything around her was breaking down: the telephones, the roads – if just one of those things functioned, even her mobile phone, it wouldn’t be so bad. She could drive to her client, hand-deliver the files, explain – if she could – or at least speak to him. But this—? It was as though everything had stopped.

  All the files were there, listed neatly in the client folder. Cass clicked it open and the page unfurled. The client’s logo was still there at the top of the screen, and the header was the same, but the rest—

  For a long moment, Cass didn’t draw breath.

  The headline product had been replaced by a swastika, and underneath it said FUCK YOU in large red letters. Incongruously, some of the product images had survived, sharing space with more signs of hate. The product copy had been replaced everywhere: ‘He lives’, it said, and ‘He rules. He will triumph. He is coming’. At the bottom was a cross turned on its side and ending in a curve. It looked a little like a sickle, a little like a rotated question mark. Below that: ‘He is your father’.

  Cass stared at it: a cross of confusion, just as Lucy had described.

  She turned to check on Ben. He was staring at the television screen, light playing across his face. There was cold water in the pit of her stomach. She turned back, opened some other files. Some had been changed, some had not. She took the note from her pocket. ‘What the hell? I’ve overwritten the files as instructed. Is this some sort of joke? Whole site now pulled. Need a fix ASAP.’

  ‘Christ,’ Cass said, and covered her eyes with her hands.

  ‘No,’ said a voice at her shoulder. ‘No, not him. I don’t think so. He’s coming, Mummy.’


  Cass turned to see Ben was staring straight up at the ceiling, his eyes rolled back in his head. They gleamed in the light from the computer screen.

  Cass opened her mouth; nothing came out but a gagging sound. She grabbed her son’s arm, pulling him towards her, and found her voice. ‘Ben?’ She shook him, put one hand on the side of his face and turned him towards her.

  His eyes spun back, meeting hers. ‘I want my tea,’ he said.

  Cass watched her son eat, never moving her gaze from him. She didn’t want to look away in case his eyes did that trick again. The thought of those gleaming orbs made her shudder. It wasn’t him, she thought. He stuffed huge forkfuls of beans into his mouth, chewing mechanically, staring into the distance. When he had finished he pushed away his plate and started to get down from his chair.

  ‘Ben?’

  He froze, one hand on the table.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Something happened to my work on the computer – some really important files got corrupted. Have you touched it? Were you playing with it?’

  A single emphatic shake of his head.

  ‘Do you know what might have happened to it?’

  Ben turned to her at last, his eyes shining. He opened his mouth, but not in a smile; he just opened it wider and wider, so that she could see his teeth, his pink tongue, pooling saliva. He made a sound that was almost like laughter.

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Agh – agh – agh—’ He closed his mouth with a gulp and pulled his lips back over his teeth in a snarl.

  Cass roused herself and went over to him, but as she reached out, Ben knocked her hand away and hissed. His saliva flecked her face.

  ‘What are—?’

  ‘That tea was shit,’ Ben said. ‘I’d rather be at Sally’s.’

  Cass’ eyes widened and she drew back as though he’d slapped her. She was dismayed to find tears welling at her eyes. She blinked furiously, and Ben saw.

  He smiled.

  ‘Go to your room, Ben,’ she said, trying not to choke. ‘Now.’