Alison Littlewood

by A Cold Season

  His head whipped around. What had she said? She had only intended to calm him; was only half aware of what she’d been saying.

  ‘No,’ he shouted, flailing and kicking. ‘Nonononono—’

  Cass tried to hold on, but it was like gripping a storm. She gathered him in her arms, folding herself over him, their breath mingling in a single cloud. Eventually the storm subsided.

  ‘Shh, shh, it’s okay.’

  ‘It’s not – it’s not. We’re always moving. Daddy wouldn’t make me move. I hate you. I hate you.’

  ‘It’s okay. I didn’t mean it, Ben.’ But as soon as she’d said the words, Cass realised she had – she had meant it, she had felt herself repelled by Darnshaw and its ways and the people in it, the church and the mill, almost as soon as they’d arrived. It felt wrong. She couldn’t isolate it, couldn’t think of one thing that made it wrong; it just wasn’t her home. She couldn’t imagine Ben growing up here, catching a bus to the big school, going out with a local girl. She couldn’t see any of it.

  Ben became still in her arms.

  ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Cass said. ‘We’re not going for ever, Ben, it’s a little trip, that’s all, just for a few days.’ She leaned against the edge of the stone and slipped off her rucksack. She pulled out the flask and poured some soup, smelling the rich sweet scent of tomatoes before it was whipped away on the breeze. ‘Here. This’ll warm you up.’ She offered it to Ben.

  He hit out, knocking the cup from her grip, and soup splashed bright orange across the snow.

  ‘What’s got into you? Ben, you need to have something. It’ll give you some energy. Stop being so naughty.’

  He muttered under his breath.

  ‘What’s that?’

  He said it again, his voice still low. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Please yourself.’ Cass had some of the soup, closed the flask, clipped the cup onto it and stowed it away. She stood, slinging the rucksack over her shoulder. ‘Come on. We’re going.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  Cass grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. His body felt loose, like a puppet, and he slumped to his knees.

  ‘Stand up, Ben. We’re going on.’

  ‘You can.’

  ‘We’re both going.’ She pulled at him. ‘Ben, please.’ All the strength rushed from her legs and she sank down beside him. ‘Ben, I can’t do this on my own. Will you please help me?’ She smoothed his fringe back, feeling the heat from his forehead through her gloves. She frowned as it occurred to her that he could be ill. What if there was something really wrong with him, and here she was, dragging him over the moors without a thought for his safety.

  His safety. But wasn’t that the reason she was doing this, really? She remembered Sally’s bright, tripping words. Mr Remick’s smile, his clear eyes. They looked accusing. ‘Shit,’ she muttered under her breath. Ben didn’t move, didn’t show any sign that he’d heard.

  ‘It’s not far to go now. We just have to get to the top of the hill. Then we’ll be back on the road and it’ll be easier. See?’ She pointed, though she couldn’t even see past the stones now. Everything was lost in white mist.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart.’

  Ben threw her off and curled in on himself, pressing his face down into his knees, wrapping his arms beneath his legs. ‘I want to go home.’ His voice was muffled. ‘I want to go home. I want to go home.’

  ‘Oh God, Ben, we’re only going for a few days, just till I can get things sorted out.’ Cass heard herself and squeezed her eyes shut. Me, she thought. Is this all about me? About what I want?

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Soon,’ said Cass. ‘Soon.’ She tried to pick him up, but he was so heavy and he pulled against her. His coat was speckled in white and she realised it was snowing again; the air, the sky, everywhere was white. Ben’s trousers were already soaked where he had knelt on the ground and now snowflakes settled on his hood, melting into dark shapes. Cass’ own legs burned with cold. Her toes were numb, pain spreading through her feet, and suddenly it was too much. All of it, too much. It was true: she couldn’t do it alone.

  ‘All right,’ she said, leaning back against the stone. ‘All right, Ben. You win. We’ll go home.’

  He didn’t speak, just unfolded from the ground as if he’d woken up, reached out his arms and stretched. A smile spread across his face but as he brushed the snow from his body, Cass saw that the cold glow never left his eyes.

  FOURTEEN

  She should be glad, Cass told herself as they trudged back down the hillside: glad that Ben saw Darnshaw as home, that he already liked it so much he wanted to stay. That was good, wasn’t it? It was what she’d wanted all along.

  Still she found her irritation increasing. Progress was quicker now, the landmarks coming upon them in quick succession: the wall at the top of the field; the path by the wall; the scuffed area of snow where they’d argued over the wrapper; the opening into the farmyard. Even the rough bark of the dog sounded just the same, and there was the same smell of manure. But it wasn’t just that they were going downhill, that the going was easier; Ben was standing up straight now, striding out, swinging his arms, all boundless energy. His movement was almost jaunty.

  It didn’t marry with that cold look in his eyes.

  Cass pursed her lips. ‘Wait,’ she said, some part of her wanting to stem his enthusiasm. When he turned to her, though, the cold look had gone. His eyes were clear.

  ‘Well, Ben, it looks like we’re staying put for a while. We’d better try and get some more food, hmm?’

  Ben shrugged.

  ‘Let’s see if they’ve got any eggs for sale at the farm.’

  She expected him to grumble at the prospect of a delay, but his expression remained blank.

  Cass walked around the farmhouse. From the front, it had a view of the whole valley. White mist curled over the village like a bird covering its brood, or its prey.

  Cass peered in through the window. She could see a clutter of old wooden furniture, and an overcoat thrown over a chair. When she knocked, a machine-gun rattle of barks rang out and there was the squeal of wooden chair legs scraping a stone floor. Cass waited for what felt like an age. She couldn’t resist turning and pulling a face and when Ben returned it she grinned; her heart felt lighter.

  The door screeched open and a woman’s solid body stood in the gap. She wore a flowered skirt and flesh-coloured tights and layers of faded cardigans. A sheepdog tried to push its way past her, letting out short barks. Its claws skittered at the flagstones.

  ‘In, Jesse, in.’ The woman’s face was deeply lined. She wore a scarf around her head, secured in a tight knot. She tried to block the dog with her leg, but its lithe body curled past her and it got its head out of the door. Cass felt Ben’s hands on her back.

  The dog jumped up at her, snarling; then it looked as if it was trying to stop itself in mid-air. Its legs flailed and the snarl became a high, piercing sound that hurt Cass’ ears. It turned and fled back into the house.

  The woman stared after the dog. Then she turned to Cass, raising her eyebrows in query.

  Cass said, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I wondered if you sold eggs and things? I thought—’

  ‘Jack,’ the woman called, looking over her shoulder. ‘Jack!’ She shot a suspicious glance at Cass before pushing the door to and walking away. Cass heard murmuring from inside, then a man’s wrinkled face appeared in the doorway.

  He nodded at Cass, so she nodded back. ‘I wondered if you had any eggs for sale. The shop in the village is closed, and—’

  ‘We’ve nowt,’ he said. ‘Only for t’ locals.’

  ‘But we are local. We just moved in to the old mill and we’re snowed in. We could really do with—’

  Cass’ words faded as the old man swung the door closed in her face. It jolted against the jamb, catching on something. She heard him pushing on it, and a bolt snicked into place.

  ‘Great,’ Cass mut
tered, staring at the door. So much for thinking of Darnshaw as their home.

  Ten minutes later Cass and Ben were within sight of the mill. When they reached the road Ben practically skipped ahead.

  ‘Ben, wait,’ Cass called, ‘there’s something I need to do.’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘It’s not far, and it’ll save us coming out again later.’

  ‘I can stay inside.’

  ‘No, you can’t, not on your own.’

  A loud sigh.

  ‘Come on. We’re going into the village.’

  Cass expected the post office to be closed like the shop, but when she pushed the door, it opened with a loud jingle of chimes.

  A woman with slate-grey hair stood behind a plastic screen. ‘The new lady,’ she said when she saw them, ‘from the mill.’

  The woman’s cheerful manner made Cass brighten. ‘Call me Cass. “Lady” makes me feel old.’

  ‘I’m Irene. And who’s this young man?’

  Cass nudged her son. ‘Ben,’ he said. ‘I should be in school.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Irene pulled a face. ‘Keen, isn’t he? I couldn’t wait to get out of school at his age.’ She let out a squeal of laughter. ‘Hope you enjoyed the papers.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Didn’t you get them? That lad.’ She tutted. ‘He was supposed to put them under your door. We’ve got the code to get in, you know, so we can get to the mailboxes.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘You were supposed to get some free papers. We do it for anyone new to the village, for a week anyway. Of course we hope they’ll order more after that. Not that there are many new arrivals round here. A quiet set, we are.’

  The mysterious neighbour and his newspaper delivery. Cass’ heart sank. She was the only one, after all, the only resident of Foxdene Mill. She licked her lips. ‘I think they were sent to Number 10. I saw them; I just didn’t realise they were for me.’

  ‘Oh now. I thought you was at Number 10. I’m sure we had a letter for you there.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Aye. Now, it might have been put in the mailbox, or under the door. I’m sure … ’ Her voice tailed away. ‘By the way, we haven’t had any more deliveries, not after the first couple of days, what with the snow an’ all. Or you’d have had more. Papers, I mean.’

  ‘No problem. Thank you for the ones you sent.’

  ‘We’ve not had any post in or out for the last couple of days. It stopped just after you got here, I reckon.’ Irene laughed.

  No post, in or out. ‘I was hoping to send something,’ Cass said, ‘a disk with some files on it. I thought I might be able to buy a Jiffy Bag and send it off today.’

  Irene pursed her lips. ‘Sorry, love. The post’s collected from Gillaholme, and the van can’t get here.’

  ‘No,’ said Cass under her breath, ‘no, of course it can’t.’

  ‘You must think you’re in the back of beyond, what with no phones and no post. Hope it’s not causing any problems for you.’ Irene rummaged on a shelf. When she turned she had a Mars Bar in her hand. She flapped it at Ben.

  ‘Here you are, young man. Welcome to Darnshaw.’

  She winked at Cass as they said their goodbyes. ‘’appen he can take it to school.’

  Cass let Ben in at the apartment door. He slipped under her arm, pressing against the opening until it was wide enough to get through, reminding her of the farmer’s dog. ‘Be good for a minute,’ she said, putting on the latch. Ben turned, but he didn’t ask where Cass was going. He shrugged off his coat and she saw him drop it on the hall floor.

  There was one more thing to do before she had to resign herself to being in her new flat, the door closed on the world. Home.

  The newspapers were still there at Number 10, crumpled where they’d been pushed up against the door. Cass picked them up. Old news, and yet she hadn’t seen any of it, hadn’t even watched the news on television. She must be getting insular, now she was – how had Irene put it? – in the back of beyond.

  She shook out the pages of the newspapers one by one. A few fliers fell out, for florists, cheap trousers and carpet cleaning services. No letter.

  She dropped to her knees and put her face almost to the floor. Under the door she could see the edge of an envelope, a thin line against the carpet. She poked a finger into the gap and tried to grip it, scraping her skin against the rough wood. She tried again, touching the edge of the letter, and it moved a little. The corner of a white envelope appeared and she pulled it free. It was addressed to her at 10 Foxdene Mill.

  Cass recognised the handwriting at once. She pulled a face, folded the letter and shoved it deep into her back pocket.

  Inside the apartment Ben was playing his game, shooting soldiers in the sepia desert where red flowers bloomed and died. He didn’t look round.

  Cass went into her room and pushed the door closed. The envelope was thick and white with an embossed crest. She ran her fingers along it.

  The note was brief, and yet it took her a long time to read it. The words blurred and shifted under her eyes.

  Sweetheart,

  I know you may not want to believe this, but I do love you. I heard what happened to Peter. I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do, please know you can always call me.

  I heard you’re going back to Darnshaw. I don’t know what to think about that. I’ll pray for you both. Always thinking of you – as a priest and your father. Will write again soon.

  Cass crumpled up the letter and held it to her face. As a priest and your father. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He could never really be both. And why now? He only ever surfaced when anything changed in her life, as though he wanted to be privy to her every decision. She remembered the letter he had written when she’d got engaged to Pete. She had smiled when she opened it, expecting good wishes, or at most some thinly veiled request that she have a church ceremony. Certainly not what she received:

  He’s not good for you. I feel it. He will bring harm upon you and yours that will follow you all your days. You should turn to the Lord. He loves you.

  She had crumpled up that letter too, crumpled it and torn it to shreds. She had never replied to any of her father’s letters after that.

  He’s not good for you.

  Well, her father had been right about that, hadn’t he? Look at her now: alone in an empty building with a son who wouldn’t look at her. Even her one and only client thought she was going mad. Would her father be pleased to know he had been right all along? Cass felt the thought worm its way inside her; knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t indulge it. She was too old for self-pity, had too much responsibility. Tears sprang to her eyes anyway. Pete. Oh God, to have him back, if only for a little while.

  A sound broke into her thoughts. At first she didn’t know what it was, then it came again and she realised someone was knocking at the front door. Cass wiped her eyes, hoping they didn’t look red. When she saw Mr Remick standing in the doorway guilt turned in her stomach.

  ‘I’m so sorry Ben didn’t come to school today,’ she began.

  He held up a hand. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m not in the habit of making home visits when pupils don’t turn up. If I did that I’d be at it all day at the moment. I’m sure you had a good reason. He’s not ill, is he?’

  Cass shook her head then looked away.

  ‘It’s purely a social call. Hey, tiger,’ said Mr Remick. Cass felt Ben at her side. His face brightened as he grinned up at his teacher.

  ‘I didn’t go to school.’

  ‘No, you didn’t. Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.’ Mr Remick winked at Cass. He had a way of making everything less grim, of clearing the air.

  ‘I’m playing the game.’

  Not a game. The game.

  ‘Great, Ben. Why don’t you show me? If it’s okay with your mum, naturally.’

  Cass nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll get us a drink.’

  She could hear them from the ki
tchen: Ben prattling away about how many soldiers he’d shot, and how he’d been for a walk, only he didn’t want to go. His words spilled over themselves as though he couldn’t get them out quickly enough. Not like before, when he was with her. How could he have so much to say now? He sounded fine, a normal child.

  It was her fault he’d been the way he had, trying to make him leave just when he’d started to feel at home. She’d dragged him out into the cold, made him walk all that way – and for what? Cass closed her eyes. The kettle started to boil, the hiss drowning out everything else.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The voice was at her ear and Cass jumped.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Mr Remick gestured towards the lounge. ‘He’s engrossed in there.’

  ‘I … ’ I’m fine, Cass was going to say.

  Mr Remick put a hand on her arm. ‘I had a feeling something was wrong.’

  Cass shook her head, found she couldn’t speak.

  ‘You’re not alone, you know. You don’t have to be, anyway. You don’t have to do everything yourself.’

  Cass drew back, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ God, she was always apologising to him. ‘I didn’t mean to—Of course I’m fine. I only just met you. You must think I’m—’

  ‘I don’t think anything. I like you, Cass. That’s all right, isn’t it? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.’

  Cass shook her head. He didn’t make her uncomfortable. His presence was like being with an old friend in a familiar place.

  ‘You’re welcome here. I mean it.’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, I know I can’t speak for everybody. But Sally really likes you. She was just saying so today.’ He paused. ‘Of course, having Sally on your side is a bit like being stuck in the china shop with the bull.’

  She smiled.

  ‘But I’m glad you came. I haven’t been back for long, but Darnshaw can be a little insular, especially when it’s so cut off. It’s nice to have someone I can talk to.’

  Cass found her heart was beating faster, as though something was about to happen.