THIRTY-THREE
Remick came to Cass while she slept. His arms were open, but not in welcome; it was as if he were presenting her with a gift. He smiled. His eyes were darker than she remembered. He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t hear the words because it was stuffed with blue stones. As he spoke they fell, one by one, to the ground. Cass reached out but they slipped through her fingers. She understood them now: half of this world, half of another, and every single one of them a lie. Fool’s gold. They wouldn’t be caught. He wouldn’t be caught.
She opened her eyes and pale blue eyes looked back. She took a deep breath. ‘Pete.’
He smiled, and his hand curled around hers. ‘You’re back. I was worried there for a while.’
‘You were worried?’
He laughed, and it made her remember. It was a sound from the good times, before either of them disappeared. It made Cass think of the day she’d spent with Remick, when she had been new and he called to see them and they had walked together through the snow like a family.
She closed her eyes. She could smell the book, tainted, like meat hung too long, and then came the sensation of the teacher’s hands on her body. She opened them again and looked at Pete. His eyes were almost transparent, and she felt she could see right into him.
‘I missed you,’ she said. ‘I missed you so much.’
‘Sorry I’m a bit late.’
She slapped his arm, smiled back. It felt good.
‘Of course, if you will run away to the back of beyond … ’
Her smiled faded. She looked around and realised she couldn’t see Ben anywhere. She pushed herself up. ‘Where’s—?’
‘Ben’s fine. Your dad took him for a walk. He’s been really good, actually, much better than he used to be. Anyway, Ben looked like he needed some air. Cass, have you been okay? How long have you been cooped up inside?’
She shook her head.
‘Maybe you need some air yourself. You said some pretty weird things in your sleep.’
She frowned.
‘It sounded like you were having some kind of flashback.’
‘I did?’
‘Something from when you were a kid – stuff about hell and damnation.’ He looked at the door. ‘It must be your dad’s influence. Cass, are you okay, really?’
It was in his eyes, the real question: how could she not be okay when he’d come back to her? What might possibly stop her being happy about that? An image flickered before Cass’ eyes: Remick’s hand resting on her breasts. She shuddered.
‘Shouldn’t Ben be in school?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s closed. The heating’s broken. There’s no need for him to go back, is there? I mean we’re leaving, aren’t we?’
She could go back to Aldershot, resume her old life, surrounded by other women, people she could be friends with; people she could trust. She need never see Remick again, except perhaps in her dreams.
‘If you like, Cass – if that’s what you want.’
‘Yes.’ She forced a smile, and realised her husband looked just the same, really; apart from the weight he’d lost, the scarring on his cheek, it was the same Pete. She could have her life back, forget about Darnshaw. It would be an episode of madness, of delusion, none of it real. She would escape over the moors and everything would fade behind her, swallowed by the fog.
She took Pete’s hand. ‘It is what I want. I can’t wait.’
The door opened and closed and Ben ran in, smiling in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. It lit up his eyes. He opened his arms and threw them around his dad. Cass rubbed her son’s hair, pulled them both closer, laughing. She felt a hand on her arm, looked up and in an instant she was a child again, with a dark shape looming over her, staring at her dress.
Her father spoke. ‘I need to talk to you, Cass.’
Not good enough, she thought.
Her father’s agitation showed in the quickness of his look, darting from Cass’ eyes to her hair to her crumpled clothing. He closed the kitchen door behind them.
She opened her mouth, but he spoke first. ‘How did Ben get that mark on his hand?’
She found she couldn’t meet his gaze and stared at the linoleum. It was scuffed with footprints. How long had it been that way?
‘Tell me, Cass.’ His voice was gentle.
‘He—’ Cass thought of the boys, sitting together in a circle, children making a blood pact, becoming brothers. ‘He was messing about with his friends. It’s nothing.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Cass. I’ve seen it before. I know what it is.’
So why ask? There was a hollow place inside her chest and she wanted to curl up and climb into it, never come out.
‘Where is he, Cass?’
She looked up.
‘I should never have let you come back here. I knew, as soon as I heard. I knew you’d be in danger, but I told myself it was all over. He tried it when you were a child – did you know that? He tried to teach you things, but he lost, Cass. He lost. I got you both out.’
‘What?’
‘Cass, you have to understand – I thought I did the right thing, leaving you both, making your mother get out of Darnshaw. When I went into the church, I dedicated you to the Lord – do you remember that? I thought I was protecting you. I thought it was enough.’
Cass blinked. What did this have to do with leaving them behind? He had abandoned them – he didn’t want them any longer because she wasn’t good enough.
‘I knew I’d have to face him again – how could I not? I vowed to fight him in all his forms, Cass. I thought if I went my own way, left you two out of it, you’d be safe.’ Spittle flew from her father’s mouth. ‘I was wrong – such a bloody fool. Cass, I should have armed you better – I tried, I did try …
‘What has he done, Cass?’
She tried to speak, found herself choking out the words. ‘He took everything,’ she said. ‘I thought he was my friend. Daddy, please—’
‘Aye, that would be right. He is the Father of Lies, Cass – did you listen to nothing I taught you? But Ben – he’s nothing but a child, an innocent. He can’t understand what he did.’
‘No, no, he’s free. Remick said so.’
‘Remick, is it, now?’ He paused. ‘Right, we’ll go, get you out of here, the pair of you. I’ll come back on my own, once you’re safe.’
She shook her head once more and he looked into her eyes and after a moment he got it. ‘Cass – Gloria. No—’
She didn’t need to answer. His face paled and he stepped back, leaned against the table, stayed that way for a long time. Then he bent to Cass and kissed her forehead. He strode from the room and she heard the front door bang behind him.
Ben came chasing into the kitchen, followed by Pete, who bent and caught the child, his bass laugh mingling with Ben’s giggle. He looked up at Cass and his smile faded. ‘Where’s your dad? Cass, what’s going on? I thought we were leaving.’
‘He— There’s something he had to do.’ Cass’ face twisted.
‘What’s up, love? There’s something not right, isn’t there? Are you going to tell me?’ Pete bent and whispered to Ben, who ran from the room to set up his video game.
‘There’s somebody he needs to see. He had trouble with him when he used to live here, and now he’s back.’
Pete stared. ‘It’s hard to see how anyone’s caused trouble for him when he’s not been here ten minutes … unless it’s you that’s in some sort of trouble. Cass?’
‘It’s complicated – you wouldn’t understand, Pete. It’s more my father’s sort of thing.’
‘What, a religious thing?’ He snorted.
Cass stared at the floor.
Pete dragged out a chair, but he didn’t sit. He stood with his hands resting on the back of it. ‘So you come here to the middle of nowhere, and what – have some sort of conversion? Is that it?’
She shook her head.
‘Then what does this have to do with your father? Who’
s he gone to see? Is it a man, Cass, is that what it is? Have you met someone?’ He looked at her, his frank blue eyes preparing to feel pain.
‘Sort of. Pete, I – I guess that’s part of it. But it’s more than that. He’s not really a man, Pete, or not just a man. He – he’s evil, that’s all, and he made me do something.’
‘What? Did he force himself on you?’ Pete straightened. There was an expression in his eyes that was something like anger, but also something else, a little like hope. She couldn’t bear to look at it.
‘No, Pete, he didn’t force me to do anything, but he did manipulate me. Pete, he took everything from me. He took my soul.’
Pete let out a snort and pushed the chair away and it rocked, almost fell. ‘What? Cass, you’re getting as mad as your father. You know that doesn’t make any sense. You never believed in any of this stuff. I know things must have been hard, but—’
‘It’s true.’
‘Did you sleep with him, is that it? And now you can’t face up to it? Is that what this is about?’
She shook her head, but not in denial. ‘Pete, that’s not it. I mean, I did sleep with him, and I’m sorry: I thought you were gone. But Dad – he’s trying to save my soul.’
Her husband looked away, staring around at the kitchen as though trying to memorise it. ‘Where is this guy?’ he asked quietly.
‘He … ’ Cass realised she wasn’t sure. ‘The church, I think.’
‘So he’s like Satan, and he’s in the church. Right? Right.’
‘Pete, Dad’s trying to help me. Please believe me. I was stupid, but I tried to do the right thing. It’s just he had Ben, and—’
‘He what?’
‘He was Ben’s teacher, or pretending to be. I don’t know, it all sounds completely insane.’
‘He had my son?’ Pete’s voice was quieter, more dangerous.
‘Sort of. He—’
But Pete was already turning, heading for the door. ‘I’ll handle this,’ he said and ran out, shutting the door in her face. Cass went after him, almost tripping over Ben as she rushed into the hall. Ben looked up at her, fright in his eyes, and she bent and hugged him. When she opened the front door and looked out, Pete had already gone.
Cass rested her hands on her boy’s hunched shoulders. ‘Sweetheart,’ she said, ‘there’s something I need you to do.’ She told him, and she told him again once she’d pulled on her shoes and grabbed the keys. ‘Don’t answer the door,’ she repeated, ‘not for anyone. Not for anyone.’
With that she kissed him and slipped out, listening for the click of the latch before heading away.
THIRTY-FOUR
Cass raced up the lane after her father and her husband, and only when she reached the top did she realise she could probably have taken the car; she simply hadn’t thought of it. Stupid. Not good enough. She was starting to see her life through Pete’s eyes and she didn’t like the things she saw: the way she’d let Remick get a grip on her son.
We’re your family, Sally had said to Ben, and when Cass thought of it her fists clenched.
Remick was just a man after all, she told herself: an odd, insular man with odder ideas who had carried a few bored locals along with him. She remembered Myra’s smirk outside the school. It was clear that Cass wasn’t the first he’d taken to his bed. Well, Cass was a fool, and that was all there was to it. She ran up the hill to the church, which towered over her head, blocking out the light.
The scrape of wood on flagstones was loud; she could feel the vibration through her fingers. She heard raised voices from inside. It was Pete. She caught ‘—can’t do that.’
Her father was standing behind the altar, his arms raised as though delivering an impassioned sermon. Pete stood to one side, his head thrown back in contempt. There was no sign of Remick.
Cass’ footsteps echoed from the walls as she walked down the aisle, like a bride in some twisted ceremony. A book lay open on the altar.
Her father held something over the book. Light flared in his hand – a burning match.
‘You can’t do that,’ Pete said.
Cass wasn’t sure he was aware of her until he flicked a glance in her direction. ‘He’s lost it, Cass,’ he said. ‘He’ll burn the place down.’
She felt a stab of gratitude that he had spoken to her, but she couldn’t answer. She knew what lay upon the table; she wondered if her father had seen her name written there, her name and Ben’s.
Her father held the match to the book. It lit his face from below, distorting his features. Nothing happened – then a page caught, and a flame darted up. It hissed, faltered, grew stronger. A fragment of charred parchment floated up like some dark antithesis of snow. It settled in her father’s hair and he knocked at it, leaving a charcoal smear on his forehead. Marking him.
Pete snorted.
Cass stepped forward, her eyes greedy to see it burn. The flame swelled, feeding on the fat pages. It hissed again and there was a smell like burning meat. The heart of the flame was blue.
After a while it began to die. The book had been reduced to a sooty mass. Only fragments remained.
‘It’s done, Cass,’ her father said. ‘You’re free now.’
She stared into his eyes, hoping it could be true, and heard an echo of Remick’s voice: It’s written on his skin too, is it not? In his heart. His eyes— Your destiny is written on you too.
Remick was nothing but a madman; saying the words didn’t make them true. Cass forced a smile, tried to make her heart lift.
‘Come here,’ her father said. He indicated a place before the altar.
Cass stepped forward and knelt where her father pointed. He placed a heavy hand on her head. She squeezed her eyes shut.
‘I dedicate this child to the Lord.’ His voice rang from the walls. ‘Gloria, I name thee. Glorify his name, Gloria. Glorify him.’ He pressed down on her head with each word. She bowed beneath the weight. It occurred to her that her father might be mad too; that everyone here had the same sickness growing inside them.
‘Go in peace,’ he said, and suddenly the pressure was gone.
Cass looked around, blinking.
Pete refused to meet her eyes. He would never see her the same way again, she knew that. She bit her lip. It didn’t matter; she was free now, her father had said so. Her gaze blurred and she saw the colours behind her husband as though for the first time: brilliant colours in a monochrome world. A smile played on her lips and her eyes focused on the lapis blue of the Virgin’s cloak, Remick’s eyes looking back at her. She started, felt her father’s hands pulling her to her feet. He was saying something about Ben, how it was over and she could ask him to come inside now. She looked at him.
The door slammed and Pete was striding back down the aisle, his face grim. He stopped in front of her. ‘He’s not outside,’ he said. ‘Where’s Ben, Cass? Don’t tell me you left him. Tell me you didn’t leave him on his own.’
THIRTY-FIVE
They crowded around the door and Cass had to push her father aside before she could insert the key into the lock. She shoved the door open and for a moment she thought Ben was there, playing his computer games. She blinked and the lounge was empty.
‘Ben,’ Pete called, pushing past her. Her father followed. Cass didn’t go in. She could already feel the emptiness in the apartment, an echoing, silent space. Ben wasn’t there. Something cold nestled in her stomach. She backed away, listening to her father’s voice, and Pete’s. She could still hear them as she ran towards the stairs.
She went down and the light in the ground-floor hall flickered on, spilling over the carpet. The door to the apartment beneath hers was open, but she knew which way Ben had gone before she reached it. There was mud on the carpet, a child’s footprints – not Ben’s, though – larger than his.
The dust was trodden into a filthy paste that clung to her shoes. Scuffed footprints led to the window. It reminded her of the aisle in the church. She knelt. The doll was still there, stained with albumen. Th
e boy doll was gone, taken, along with her son.
She looked about her. The place was already rotting. It had a pungent, almost fungal odour. She thought she heard an echo of young voices, children’s voices. Laughter reverberated around the walls, and it was cold and cruel.
Sally’s. If the boys had come for Ben, they would have taken him to Sally’s.
She pushed herself up, her hands shaking. She turned to go and her foot struck something on the floor, something that hadn’t been there before: black stones, rough things that stared up at her. She bent and touched them, snatched her fingers away. The stones had something red-brown and flaking on them. She knew she had seen them before, pressed into an old man’s face.
It was a sign, a message. They hadn’t taken her son to Sally’s after all. She looked out of the window, seeing the white slopes rising all around. The moor. They had taken him to the frozen lake, the place where they left their dead.
THIRTY-SIX
Pete was silent as they followed the road out of Darnshaw. His face was pale, his mouth set into a hard line. Cass knew what he was thinking. How could she have left Ben alone? How could she have mixed with people who had done this? And most of all, how could she have seen the things she claimed up on the moor? She had been acting crazy herself, after all.
Maybe he was right. They would reach the witch stones and find only an empty white space, the wind breathing snow over everything. Of course they would find nothing. It was far more likely that Ben had gone to Sally’s. He trusted her and her sly, silent son. Cass pressed her hands to her eyes. She had to find Ben. He would be there. He had to be there.
Her father was in the driver’s seat, his jaw set, his eyes aglow. He believed he was going to find his grandson on the moor. He had to be right.
Cass pointed to the place and they pulled in close to the stile. She was out of the car in an instant, pulling the driver’s door open and helping her father down. Pete was already looking over the wall. His breath came in clouds. The thaw hadn’t even begun up here. The moor clung to the cold with reaching fingers of grass and heather.
Alison Littlewood Page 23