Alison Littlewood

by A Cold Season

  Cass decided to walk into the village; that way she could still keep an eye on the road but also check on Bert – and see if he’d posted her letter. At least then she’d have some chance of keeping her client. But when she looked up at the hills on every side it felt as though there was no outside world at all; there was only here.

  No cars passed as Cass walked down the road. When she reached the post office and banged on Bert’s door, there came a faint answering bark. She waited, but there was no further response. Cass shuffled her feet and stared at the peeling black door. She fidgeted, brushed at the old paint, revealing the bare wood. Then she frowned and leaned closer, scraping away more fragments with her nail. There were old marks underneath, running against the grain. Now that she was looking closely she could see it without removing the paint; there was the clear imprint of a line scratched into the door, another one at right angles to it.

  A cross, like the one at Foxdene Mill.

  Cass drew back. This cross was old, long painted over – but perhaps Bert would know why it was there, or when it had happened. Maybe he would know who had carved it.

  She banged on the door, louder this time, but no one came.

  Cass waited a moment and tried again, and this time she thought she heard snuffling. ‘Captain?’

  The noise stopped. Cass bent down and pressed her ear against the door. She heard nothing. ‘Captain, are you there? Bert?’

  She remembered the irregular thumping she’d heard yesterday as Bert came to the door, the way he had gone down the stairs sideways, holding onto the banister. She glanced up at the steep hillside. She should never have let him go.

  ‘I think he’s out, love.’ It was Irene, standing at the post office door, rattling some keys.

  ‘But he should have been back. He went out yesterday. Have you seen him since then?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, love. He’s probably gone out for his walk this morning.’

  ‘He can’t have. Captain’s still inside.’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘I’m sure I heard him.’

  Irene fiddled with her keys.

  ‘I’m really worried. He was going to walk over to Moorfoot yesterday. I’m afraid he might not have made it.’

  ‘Was he? That’ll explain it. He’ll have stayed over, love. Not one to tear hisself away from the pub once he’s found it, our Bert.’

  ‘But he wouldn’t leave Captain.’

  ‘He’ll be fine, love. He’ll have left him some food. Don’t worry. He’s done it before.’

  ‘He has?’

  ‘Oh aye. It’s a bit much, there and back in one day. He’ll have broken it up.’

  ‘So he’ll be back later.’

  ‘I should think so, unless he decides to stop.’

  ‘But Captain—’

  ‘He’ll have sorted the dog, don’t you worry. Are you sure he didn’t take him? It’s not like Bert to leave him behind.’

  Cass paused. She had thought she’d heard sounds. In the face of Irene’s calmness, though, she was no longer certain. ‘Could you please tell him I came? I’ll pop back later.’

  ‘Of course I will, love.’

  Before Cass walked away she turned back and looked up at Bert’s windows. The panes of glass reflected back the sky, blank white eyes. She shivered. The air was bitter, colourless and yet heavy, threatening snow. If Bert was out on the moors … But he couldn’t be. And he’d walked these hills many times before, knew what he was doing.

  Of course, if more snow was to fall and Bert was in Moorfoot, he might not be able to get back. Cass bit her lip. If that happened she would take Captain in. She’d find a way of getting the dog out of the flat and look after him even if she had to lock him in her bedroom to keep him away from Ben. She was pretty sure he was all the old man had.

  When Cass reached the mill lane she looked down at the mellow stone building and found she didn’t want to go inside yet. All she could think about was the cross scratched into the front door, a twin to the one at Bert’s flat.

  Instead she walked further down the road, passed the turning that led up onto the moor and followed the lane leading through the valley, out of Darnshaw and towards Mossleigh.

  White fields flanked the road, the ever-present hills rising beyond, with an occasional barn or farmhouse breaking the vista. The road was coated with snow and unmarred by tracks. Cass had to step off the pavement where it had drifted against the roadside walls. After a time she took out her mobile and checked the signal. Nothing.

  She followed a gradual bend and the valley opened out. The river, which had been running parallel with the road, swept round and the road crossed it on a pretty stone bridge. Cass stopped and stared. The snow covering the tarmac was fissured with deep grey scratches like huge claw marks. The road had crumbled, slabs of snow falling into the cracks that had opened up. Ice glistened, translucent where it clung to the dark tarmac.

  Beyond that the bridge was still standing. The surface of the snow was rippled and cracked, though, suggesting that the road was fractured beneath. Cass squinted. What looked like tape was tied across the far side of the bridge. The road was closed. It was clearly unsafe, and the river beneath was high and rushing. Cass could hear it from where she stood, a lonely sound.

  What was it Bert had said? It might look like a tree. Same as t’ other way might look like the road’s cracked and fallen in.

  No wonder Mr Remick’s classes had shrunk. No one would be coming from this direction for some considerable time.

  Cass kept looking up at the hills on the way back. Steep, white, cold. She hoped Bert wasn’t still up there.

  TWENTY-THREE

  In the end Cass’ impatience became too much and she headed back into the village long before she was due to collect Ben. She tried Bert’s door again, pressing her ear to the wood and shouting Captain’s name, but this time there was no answering snuffle. Cass looked up at the freezing hills. The cold made her eyes sting and she wiped at them with her gloves, smearing dampness across her face.

  ‘There, love,’ came a voice. Irene was closing the door to the post office, hurrying towards her, holding something out. ‘Don’t take on. We’ll have a look for him, if you’re still worried.’

  Cass stared at the object in Irene’s hand. It was a key.

  ‘Come on, love. Let’s have a look inside, shall we?’ Irene slotted the key into the lock and shoved the door hard. It rattled open a crack and she kept pushing it until the gap widened. She headed up the stairs without putting on the light and Cass followed, feeling her way, holding on to the banister.

  Irene stopped on the landing. ‘There,’ she said, ‘looks like he did take Captain with him after all. He always comes to see me, that dog.’ She led the way into the lounge. Cass followed, checking each high-backed seat, making sure there wasn’t a figure slumped there. The room was airless, and the jacket where Captain slept gave off a fusty smell.

  The kitchen was small, with fragile-looking units, peeling Formica taped down here and there. A pull-out table was scattered with biscuit crumbs. There was a single folding seat, nothing else: no sign of Captain.

  ‘You see,’ said Irene, ‘they always stick together, those two.’

  She headed back onto the landing, squeezing past Cass in the doorway. There was only one room left to try and Cass found herself reluctant to enter. Irene didn’t hesitate. ‘Have a look, love. Put your mind at rest.’ She beckoned, and now Cass noticed something strange. She shook her head, putting the thought out of her mind; it could wait. She followed Irene into the room.

  The bed cover was a crocheted blanket pulled roughly straight. It was pale pink, as were the curtains. The wallpaper bore a pattern of roses. A Bible lay on the dresser. Bert had left clothes strewn on the bed: a beige shirt, brown socks bundled together, a pair of Y-fronts, greyed from too much washing. Cass looked away.

  ‘He got some things together before he went,’ said Irene. ‘See? He was obviously planning to stay a while. He w
ants to be careful he doesn’t get stuck that side of the moors. Looks like more snow’s blowing in.’ She sniffed the air as though she could sense it and grimaced. ‘He wants to clean up in here a bit. Come on, love. You happy?’

  Cass nodded, glad to retreat from these private things. She headed down the stairs ahead of Irene. They felt steeper in the dark. She held on to the rail and went down sideways, as Bert had. Perhaps it hadn’t meant he was frail, just careful.

  A gruff bark rang out from somewhere behind the wall.

  ‘That’s the Turnbulls’ dog,’ said Irene. ‘They’re in the next flat. Maybe that’s what you heard before, love.’

  ‘I suppose it must have been.’ Cass waited while Irene pulled the door closed, expertly forcing it into the jamb. ‘I appreciate this, Irene. You must think I’m mad.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, grasping Cass’ wrist and squeezing it. ‘Not at all. No, you were being neighbourly, and that’s what we like round here. Neighbourly. That’s us, you know. So kind of you.’ She nodded in Cass’ face. ‘So kind.’

  She let go of Cass’ arm, turned and went back into the post office, leaving her standing on the street.

  Cass took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching it fade into the air; rubbed her hands together, making her fingers tingle. She felt warmer, more herself than she had all day. Is that why she’d felt so odd with Theo? Was it worry about Bert, guilt that she’d let him go? And all the time Bert had been safe in town, Captain at his side. The next time Cass saw him she would kiss his wrinkly old cheek.

  Cass waved at the post office window as she passed, but it was dark inside and all she could see was her own reflection. Her hair was wispy around her ears, her eyes unfocused. And then she remembered what had struck her as odd in the flat.

  When Irene beckoned Cass into Bert’s bedroom, there had been a red line crossing the palm of her hand. Just like Damon’s. Like that other boy’s – James.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Cass was at the school before the doors opened. She paused and listened to the singing that came from within: a heavy, slow melody punctuated by clapping. Then came the scraping of chairs.

  She didn’t know what she was going to say to Theo Remick. Last night already felt like a long time ago, another world. Far more vivid was her memory of running out of his house, hair dripping, not even waiting to pull on her coat. He might not want to see her again after that, and she wouldn’t blame him.

  An engine growled behind her, changing tone as the driver slowed and eased into the car park. Cass turned in time to see Myra’s red hair through a side-window. The woman turned and saw Cass, looked her up and down before turning her attention back to the wheel. Her gaze was like the touch of a cold hand. Brake lights bled over the snow and Myra got out, swinging her hips as she walked past Cass.

  Theo Remick appeared in the doorway. He didn’t greet Myra as she approached, he just reached out his hand, not to shake Myra’s, though, or to wave to her; he touched her hair, just once, a brief stroke, such as someone might give a dog or a cat.

  She went past him and inside without pausing to say anything or brush him off, and his eyes fell on Cass. The corner of his lip twitched. Then he gave a welcoming smile.

  Cass turned away, staring at the snow as blood rushed to her cheeks. She felt heat at the core of her, deep inside. It burned.

  She heard childish voices and turned to see Ben standing on tiptoe while Theo spoke in his ear. Ben grinned, took a bundle from the teacher and ran towards her. It was like old times, Ben with a big smile on his face, no consciousness of who might be watching or what they might think. And it was Theo Remick who had made him that way.

  Ben skidded to a halt and pushed the bundle towards her. ‘From him,’ he said, jabbing a finger towards the teacher. Cass peered inside the brown paper bag: bread, eggs, bacon. How did he get such things? She smelled warm dough.

  She looked up to see Myra snaking her hips past Remick, leaving now, her child in tow. The woman went past Cass without looking at her.

  The scent rose from the bag, and Cass imagined Ben eating, a smile on his face. She bent and kissed him. ‘Did you have a nice time?’

  He nodded. His eyes were too bright, almost feverish. ‘We shared again.’

  ‘What did you share?’

  ‘Things.’ He frowned. ‘A game.’ He put one hand in the other, tracing a line on the palm. Cass caught it, turned it over. The palm of his hand was clean and unblemished.

  ‘What game, Ben?’

  ‘Just a game.’ He pulled his hand away.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up last night,’ Cass said. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mummy. Sally said it was supposed to happen.’

  ‘What? She said what was supposed to happen?’

  ‘Not picking me up.’

  Cass touched his hair. ‘Is she here? I should thank her.’

  He shook his head. ‘She went.’

  Cass turned and looked around for Theo. He was still standing in the doorway, hands behind his back. ‘Wait here,’ said Cass. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  He smiled as she walked towards him. ‘I didn’t think you were going to come over.’

  ‘Of course I was.’ Cass bit her lip.

  ‘I thought … I mean, what we did. It seemed a good way of ending the evening. A special way. It meant a lot to me, Cass. I wouldn’t want you to think it didn’t.’

  ‘No – I didn’t—’ She held the bag in front of her. ‘Thank you – for these, I mean. That was kind of you.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want the boy going hungry, would we?’

  Cass looked away, then forced herself to meet his eyes. They were wide-open, candid.

  ‘Theo, I’m sorry I ran off.’ She wanted to say more, to offer him something, but found she could not. She remembered how her heart had contracted when he touched her. As though his hands were inside her skin.

  ‘Are you all right, Cass? I mean if it was too soon … ’

  ‘No.’ Cass drew herself up. ‘I like you, Theo, but— I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘You’re ending it?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘No— I mean— Theo, I’m sorry, but I think I have to.’ She hadn’t known she was going to say it.

  ‘If this is about your husband—’

  ‘You know, I don’t think it is. I thought it was guilt, but it just doesn’t fit, somehow.’

  His fingers on her chin, lifting her face.

  ‘I don’t think I’m ready.’

  ‘You’re ready, Cass.’ He smiled. ‘You just don’t know it.’

  His skin was dry and she recoiled from his hand.

  ‘You’ll come to me, Cass. When it’s time.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t think ill of you. Remember that, Gloria. When the time comes.’

  ‘That’s not my name.’ Cass couldn’t catch her breath. The air was cold in her throat. ‘What’s wrong with you, Theo? I didn’t mean to upset you – if I did, I’m sorry.’

  He raised his head, a gleam appearing in his eyes, and a smile spread slowly across his face. He reached out and touched her hair, the same gesture he’d made to Myra.

  Cass pulled away, turned from him and hurried back towards her son. Ben was glowering. ‘You always spoil everything,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You spoiled it.’ Ben’s face crumpled. ‘He won’t want to be my daddy now.’ His voice rose.

  Cass looked back, but Theo had gone back inside. ‘Ben, you have a daddy. Pete will always be your daddy. But he’s gone. Mr Remick isn’t your daddy; he’s only your teacher. You know that.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ he said, yanking his arm away. ‘You’re a lying bitch.’

  ‘Ben!’ She had never heard him use that word before – it was wrong, a dirty thing in his mouth. ‘Ben, don’t say things like that.’

  ‘A lying fucking bitch.’

  ‘Ben, that’s enough
!’

  ‘You’re his whore now. Damon said.’

  ‘What?’ It was as though he’d slapped her.

  ‘That’s what girls are. That’s all, just his fucking whores.’

  Cass had a sudden clear vision of the way Myra had looked at her, the way she had looked at Theo, and she swallowed. ‘My God, Ben, what’s got into you?’

  ‘All of them.’ Ben threw his head back and grinned, but there was no humour in it.

  ‘Where did you hear such things?’

  ‘They all say it – all the boys.’

  ‘The boys? Well if you say it again … Ben, I never want to hear—’

  ‘Or you’ll do what?’ His eyes burned. ‘What will you do? Run away? You’ll never get away from here, not now.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  I don’t suppose the lad’ll leave now.

  ‘We belong here. He said so.’

  ‘Damon. It was Damon, wasn’t it?’ Cass remembered the boy’s cold eyes, the way he looked at her. ‘He said it when you went to Sally’s, didn’t he? And those other boys. Ben, you’re not to see them again. They’re not good boys.’

  ‘They’re not good boys, Ben,’ he sing-songed. ‘It wasn’t at Sally’s. Sally doesn’t know anything. She’s just a dirty whore, like you.’

  Cass raised a hand and Ben stared at it. There was no fear in his eyes, only contempt, and she let it fall back to her side. ‘What’s happened to you?’ she whispered.

  ‘I want my daddy.’ His lips twitched.

  ‘Oh Ben.’ Tears flooded Cass’ eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. You’re hurting so much. All this— I know you’re just upset; I know everything seems too much sometimes. Especially now, when everything’s new, and we haven’t really settled in. But we will, Ben. We’ll be happy again. You’ll see.’

  He stared at her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, drew him close. His body was small and frail, but unyielding.

  When she pulled back and looked at him, he was staring into space, his eyes unblinking. Cass hugged him close once more, burying her face in his shoulder. ‘I love you, Ben,’ she said. ‘It will be all right. I promise.’