‘And he’s good to you?’
What a strange question, thinks Lila. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
William nods. Lila takes another sip of her tea, listens to the wind wrap itself around the cottage, before racing away again into the valley below.
‘Any kids?’
Lila pauses, her lips on the hot rim of her mug, then shakes her head. ‘You?’
‘No,’ says William. ‘No wife. No kids. Never met the right woman. Often think I could do with a few strapping boys around the place though, to help me on the land.’
‘Or girls,’ suggests Lila.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Or strapping girls. To help out. Let’s not be sexist.’
‘Good point,’ says William with a smile. ‘You seem to be managing admirably here.’
For some reason Lila finds his praise brings a flush to her cheeks. ‘To be honest I hadn’t thought I had done much . . . but maybe you’re right.’ She looks around at the kitchen again then busies herself with pouring them both another cup of tea, eventually turning the conversation back to his work on the farm. As they chat, the sound of the drumming rain and the creaking timbers of the house create a cosy, intimate atmosphere inside the kitchen; it feels as if they are at sea in an old wooden ship. Neither of them notice the fading afternoon light as it turns from dark grey to an inky violet twilight; neither of them notice the sound of the rain as it eases slightly on the roof, but they both jump when the front door opens with a bang and the sound of boots stamping on the floorboards in the front room fills the house. ‘Lila?’ a voice calls.
Lila jumps up. ‘Tom,’ she says to William, ‘my husband.’ Her cheeks flush. ‘I’d completely lost track of time,’ and she grins.
‘Lila,’ Tom calls from the other room, ‘are you here?’
‘I’ll be right back,’ she says to William. ‘I’ll introduce you.’
William nods again and reaches for his mug, drains the last of his tea.
Lila finds Tom at the front door, shaking a huge golf umbrella out into the damp night air. ‘You made it,’ she says, going across to him and wrapping her arms about his waist.
‘Hang on,’ he says, pushing her away gently, ‘I’m soaked. Let me get the door shut. I didn’t know if you were here,’ he says over his shoulder. ‘I saw an old Land Rover but I didn’t see your car on the track.’ She backs away and watches as he props the umbrella up against the inside wall, slams the door shut against the wind, then removes his dripping coat and shoes. ‘Christ, it’s been bucketing down out there. Nearly didn’t make it up the track. The car’s filthy, absolutely caked in mud . . . and look at the state of me.’ He holds out his arms and smiles, raindrops dripping down his face and staining the collar of his shirt dark blue. ‘Brrrr,’ he gives a dramatic shiver. ‘It’s lovely and warm in here though. Come and give me a hug. I’ve missed you.’
He looks so incongruous, standing there in a shirt and tie, like a piece of the outside world blown in unexpectedly on the storm. Lila goes to him and wraps herself around him, feels his warm breath in her hair. ‘You feel good.’
‘You too. I’ve missed you.’ He bends to kiss her and she presses herself against him.
When he steps back he looks around at the tiny room in wonder. ‘Wow, just having a fire going makes it seem a little cheerier than the last time we were here. Perhaps you’d better get me out of my wet things, before I catch a terrible cold.’
She catches the cheeky glint in his eyes but resists as he starts to draw her close again. ‘Tom . . .’
‘Oh come on . . .’ he coaxes.
‘Tom, wait, there’s someone—’
There is a loud clearing of the throat and both of them spin round to see William standing at the open doorway to the kitchen. ‘Hello,’ he says, stepping forwards and holding out his hand to Tom.
Tom takes a small step back then turns to Lila with a puzzled look.
‘This is William,’ she explains. ‘We met at the shops. My car broke down so he very kindly drove me back here.’
‘Ah,’ says Tom, relaxing, accepting the hand that’s been offered. ‘I see. That explains the missing car.’ He hesitates, as if getting the measure of the man standing across from them.
‘Yes,’ she says, compensating for her husband’s obvious appraisal, ‘it was really very kind of him. I’ve taken him well out of his way home. We were just having a cup of tea. Would you like one? I can make another pot?’
Tom shakes his head and slings an arm over Lila’s shoulder. ‘I’m fine.’
The three of them stand awkwardly.
‘Well,’ says William after a moment, ‘I should probably get going. Rosie will be waiting for me.’
‘Rosie?’ asks Lila.
‘My collie,’ he explains. ‘She’s very demanding, likes her dinner served in the kitchen at five p.m. sharp, every night.’
Lila smiles. ‘Well we can’t keep Rosie waiting now, can we? Will you be all right finding your way back to your car? It’s dark already. I really should get some outside lights fixed out there.’
‘Stop fussing,’ says Tom, ‘William’s a grown man. He’ll be fine.’ He opens the door and Lila blushes at the abrupt dismissal.
William doesn’t seem to mind. ‘Yes, I’ll be fine,’ he says to Lila and pulls his coat collar up around his neck. ‘Thanks for the tea.’
‘Oh, anytime.’
He hesitates. ‘You know, if you change your mind about those sleepers I’d be happy to come by.’
‘Thank you,’ says Lila, ignoring the tightening of Tom’s grip on her shoulder. ‘That’s kind of you.’
‘And you’ll be all right picking up the car tomorrow?’
‘I’ve got it covered,’ says Tom.
William nods and turns away. ‘Well nice to meet you both . . . goodbye,’ he calls over his shoulder and disappears over the ridge into the darkness.
‘Already mixing with the local country bumpkins I see?’ says Tom, as soon as the door is shut.
She slaps him playfully on the arm. ‘He’s not a bumpkin. And you didn’t have to make it quite so obvious you wanted him gone.’
‘I didn’t.’
Lila gives him a look. ‘He was my guest.’
Tom shrugs. ‘Can you blame me? I haven’t seen you in ages.’
‘It was just a cup of tea. I owed him, he came a long way out of his way.’
Tom nods but his smile is wary. ‘You should be careful, you know, inviting strange men back here when you’re all on your own.’
‘It’s fine. He seems like a good guy. A little shy, but nice enough.’
‘You don’t know him from Adam.’
Lila can read him like a book. ‘You’re jealous,’ she says.
‘Jealous?’
‘Yes.’
He stares at her for a moment. ‘Should I be jealous?’
‘Of William?’ She laughs. ‘Come off it, he’s old enough to be my father.’
He doesn’t answer and Lila tries to laugh again at the ridiculousness of it all. ‘You’re being an idiot. He gave me a lift home – that’s all. Come here.’ She pulls him towards her by the loop of his belt and kisses his cheek, feels the scratch of his stubble against her skin. His scent is achingly familiar. ‘How was the drive up?’
‘Awful. Traffic at a standstill for three junctions on the M1.’
‘You look exhausted,’ she says, taking a step back and regarding him properly for the first time, noting his face pale and the bruise-coloured shadows under his eyes.
‘Yeah,’ agrees Tom, ‘work’s been horrible . . . and I’ve missed you.’ He leans into her.
‘I’ve missed you too.’
Tom studies Lila carefully. ‘So when are you coming home?’
‘Tom,’ she warns. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not yet.
‘I mean it, when are you coming home? Have you got this harebrained scheme out of your system yet?’
‘It’s not hare-brained. Besides, I think I�
��m starting to make some progress.’
Tom looks around the room. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ she says.
‘It kind of looks the same to me,’ he says and yawns.
Lila swallows back her irritation. ‘It doesn’t look any different?’
Tom looks around again. He shrugs. ‘A little,’ but she can tell he’s lying. ‘Look, we’ve got two days together. Let’s not argue. I’ve missed you. Isn’t that enough?’
‘Yes,’ she relents. ‘It’s enough.’
He loosens his tie then undoes the top buttom on his shirt. ‘I’m absolutely starving. Is there anything to eat?’
‘Come on,’ says Lila. She throws another log onto the fire before leading him into the kitchen where she lays out the bread and cheese and ham and opens the bottle of wine. They eat and drink in silence, listening to the wind howl around them and the rain splatter against the windowpanes. Seeing things through Tom’s eyes now, Lila suddenly feels overwhelmed again. All the small changes she’s made, the little things that she hoped would make a difference – the berries on the table, the bowl filled with oranges, the clean-swept floor and the fire blazing in the hearth – they aren’t enough. She can only see all the things that still need fixing. Feeling irrationally cross with Tom for bursting her bubble, she shivers in the draught and pulls her sweater more tightly around her body. So much for her Bonfire Night celebration.
It’s not the weekend with Tom that she’d been hoping for. They wake early on Saturday morning and even though she has given him the camp bed, he still seems tired and fractious. ‘I don’t know how you sleep on that thing,’ he grumbles, ‘it’s like a prison bed.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ she lies.
‘We should get you a proper mattress at least, if you’re really going to stay up here.’
‘I really am,’ she says and busies herself at the sink so she doesn’t have to see the look on his face.
‘So what did you have planned for us today?’ he asks and Lila’s heart sinks again, knowing that he’s going to hate her.
It is more than twenty miles to the nearest home improvement store. They drive out in Tom’s car, skidding down the muddy track and then on through the country lanes, passing through pretty stone-clad villages and on to more substantial A-roads until they finally locate the retail park on the outskirts of Glossop. It’s still raining and it seems that everyone within a fifty-mile radius of the shops has decided to take refuge inside the cavernous shopping complex. The car park thrums with traffic. Tom has a stand-off with a man in a flashy sports car over a space near the entrance to the store then they race across the tarmac and in through the sliding glass doors. ‘Christ,’ says Tom, staring around at towering shelves stretching before them, ‘where do we start?’
‘Paint,’ she says, grabbing a trolley and leading him through the aisles. She has a shopping list in her head and she systematically fills the trolley with paint and brushes, white spirit and rollers, checking it all off as they go.
‘You know, this isn’t how I’d hoped we’d spend the weekend,’ he says, pushing the trolley a little faster then lifting his feet and gliding towards the checkouts like a little kid.
Lila sighs. ‘It’s just a couple of hours. I needed to get this stuff and an extra pair of hands is helpful.’
‘OK,’ says Tom, ‘but at least let’s salvage some of our day and go to the pub for lunch, shall we?’ He hefts the contents of the trolley one by one up onto the conveyor belt.
Lila nods. ‘Sure, we can do that.’
She feels the woman at the till glance at them both as she scans their items and Lila sees them suddenly, as if through her eyes: just another bickering couple in a DIY store on a Saturday morning. She can understand why Tom is annoyed.
They can’t decide where to stop on the way home but eventually settle for a decidedly average-looking pub in a small market town. The food is bland and their conversation stilted and after a while Tom pushes his half-eaten burger across the table. ‘Come on,’ he says, admitting defeat, ‘let’s go and sort your car out.’
It’s exactly where she’d left it the night before, parked outside the village shop. Tom takes her keys and tries them in the ignition. ‘It’s your battery,’ he says, listening to the stutter of the engine. ‘You probably haven’t been driving it enough. I’ve got jump leads, we can get it started if you pull my car right up to your bonnet here.’
It takes them forty minutes but finally they get the engine going and she follows him back in his car to the cottage, relieved to see he manages to get her car to the top of the muddy track in one mud-splattered piece.
‘Why don’t you drive mine for a few weeks?’ he suggests as she meets him round the back of his car to unload the shopping.
‘Really?’
‘Sure,’ he says. ‘Borrow it. Bring it home at Christmas.’ He spoils the generous gesture with an eye roll. ‘If that’s the only way I’m going to entice you home?’
‘Thank you,’ she says, leaning in to kiss him, her lips meeting his chin as he turns back to the boot.
He shrugs. ‘Come on. I guess we’d better start lugging this lot up to the cottage,’ he says, indicating Lila’s purchases with a shake of his head. ‘It’s going to take us long enough.’
By the time they retire to bed that night they are too tired for anything more than a perfunctory kiss goodnight. Tom offers Lila the camp bed but she declines. ‘I’ll be fine, you have it.’
He hesitates a moment. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Still he doesn’t move. He stands there in a T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms and watches her for a moment. ‘I wish we could both fit.’
‘Ha,’ she says, ‘I’d like to see us try,’ and she moves away and distracts herself by arranging her own nest of blankets on the floor, secretly grateful that they won’t be sharing a bed that night. Her physical bruises may have healed but she can still feel her emotional scars deep inside. The thought of sleeping with him terrifies her – she doesn’t even know if that side of her exists any more: the one all about need and desire and intimacy – and she certainly doesn’t know what she will say if he presses her.
‘Goodnight then,’ he says, switching out the light and settling onto the creaking bed.
Lila breathes a silent sigh of relief. ‘Goodnight.’
Silence fills the darkness.
‘Lila . . .’
‘Yes?’
There is a pause. ‘Nothing.’
She holds her breath but Tom remains silent. ‘Tomorrow will be a better day,’ she says eventually, ‘I promise.’ But he must be asleep already because he doesn’t reply.
‘Lila!’ Tom is shaking her in the dark. ‘Lila, wake up.’
‘What?’ she asks. ‘What is it?’ Her heart hammers wildly in her chest.
‘You were screaming.’
‘I was?’ She props herself up on one elbow, tries to focus on the outline of him in the darkness.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh,’ she says, putting a hand to her sweaty brow, ‘I was.’
‘Are you OK?’
She thinks for a moment, tries to calm her thudding heart. ‘I’m OK. It was just a dream.’
‘You frightened the living daylights out of me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’ He hesitates, then sits down next to her and puts his warm hand on her shoulder, strokes the curve of her neck with his fingers. ‘What were you dreaming about?’
Lila swallows. ‘The fall.’
‘Oh.’ In the darkness she can see his head droop slightly. ‘Do you dream about it much?’
She nods.
‘Have you remembered anything new?’
‘It’s strange. Tiny fragments are coming back to me but there’s still this huge hole. Every night now it’s the same. I’m in my bedroom, trying on clothes. The sun is shining through the window. I look in the mirror.’ She swallows again. ‘That was all I could remember for a long time bu
t there’s a little more now.’
‘What?’ asks Tom.
‘My memory jumps – like a stuck record – and it’s the strangest thing . . .’ She hesitates. ‘You see, I’m running down the landing at home and I reach the top of the stairs,’ she swallows, ‘but then I’m just falling – plunging into darkness.’
Tom is quiet for a moment. ‘Perhaps you’re confusing dreams with memories?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. It feels real.’
Tom reaches out to smooth a loose strand of hair away from her face. ‘Don’t you find this place spooky, out here on your own?’ he asks quietly.
‘Spooky how?’
‘I don’t know.’ He shivers in the cold night air. ‘It’s hard to explain. There are just some places that feel . . . that feel as though something has happened there. I think this cottage might be one of them.’
She understands: the logs in the basket . . . the bullet hole in the kitchen . . . the abandoned possessions . . . the inexplicable sensation of being watched; ever since she arrived at the cottage she hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that the old cottage has been trying to tell her something.
‘Don’t you find it unnerving?’ he persists.
‘No,’ she lies, ‘not really.’
He sits with her a while longer, stroking her hair until sleep’s creeping tendrils wrap themselves around her once more. ‘Tom,’ she murmurs.
‘Yes, Lila.’
‘Go back to bed.’
‘OK, Lila.’
It is her suggestion to hike up onto the moorland the next morning. It has finally stopped raining and looking out over the blue eye of the lake, she is desperate, suddenly, to offer Tom a different side to her life in the valley. She wants to show him how beautiful it can be there, how peaceful and still. ‘Come on, it’s your last day. You should get a good look at the place.’
‘But what about the painting? I thought you wanted my help?’
‘It can wait. Let’s go, while there’s a break in the weather . . .’
Tom nods. ‘Come on then,’ he says, the slightest challenge in his voice, ‘show me what you love about this place.’
The Shadow Year Page 17