by Lulu Taylor
‘I think we’re going to have to go faster,’ Fred muttered. ‘The roads are going to be impassable if it goes on at this rate. I think we’ve got about half an hour before we’ll risk getting stuck.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Tommy, worried. ‘The drive home is half an hour from here on a good day. But I’ll do my best.’
‘You’re doing very well,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Keep going.’
Tommy began to gain some confidence as she went and her eye grew accustomed to making out the road between the larger banks of snow on either side so she picked up speed.
‘That’s it, that’s the ticket,’ Fred said. ‘We’re not too far from the village now.’
But it seemed miles and miles away as they crawled along the deserted road.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so tiny and alone in my whole life, Tommy thought. Huge forces were raging outside. What on earth were they doing, trying to fight them? Well, there’s no choice now. We have to go on. We can hardly go back.
The snow was already a foot deep as they approached the village but the car was ploughing through the soft, hardly set layers. Nevertheless, Tommy could feel the resistance growing. It would not be long before they wouldn’t be able to force a way through. And there was the awful cold too. Her fingers on the steering wheel were numbed and painful, her toes were impossible to feel. Only the adrenaline of driving was keeping her warm at all. She could sense Fred beside her, huddled down into himself, folding his slender body up to preserve warmth, fighting against the urge to shiver.
‘Nearly there,’ he said.
‘Oh look!’ Tommy said brightly. ‘Look, Molly, that’s the village, can you see the lights? We’re nearly home!’
‘That’s good,’ said the girl’s small voice from the back of the car.
‘What a relief!’ Barbara said, and it was evident how worried she had been.
Tommy looked over at Fred, hoping she was conveying the thought that was now in her mind – that they were far from safely home. The hardest part was yet to come.
As they motored slowly through the village, Tommy wondered if they should take a wiser course and stop for the night somewhere. The vicar and his wife would surely give them shelter. The lights were on in the large house by the green where the Hendersons lived. But something in Tommy urged her forward and she didn’t suggest that they stopped. As they left the shelter of the village, the snow grew much worse, the drifts against the hedges now higher than the car and the level of snow in the road approaching two feet. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator as the car nosed forward into the swirling blackness, and stared out through the moving windscreen wipers as hard as she could, trying to see the signpost that would tell her when to turn into the lane. All the familiar landmarks were lost in the dark and the blanket of thick snow. The snow falling on the car was mounting up and the bonnet was covered.
Fred turned to her, his face grey with cold. ‘You’d better stop for a moment – don’t switch the engine off. I’m going to clear the snow off the windscreen.’
She stopped obediently and he opened his passenger door. A gust of freezing snow came whirling in and then he was out and the door slammed behind him. She watched, shivering as he wiped away mounds of snow from the windscreen and bonnet with his arm, and then braced herself for the torrent of cold as he got back in.
‘All done,’ he said, and his teeth were chattering as he huddled back down. ‘There’s no time to lose, old thing. Put your foot down if you can.’
But when Tommy pressed on the accelerator, she could feel how much momentum they had lost by stopping. The car pushed against the snow and began slowly to move, but the pressure against it was growing at every moment. The engine whined as it struggled.
‘How far do you think we are?’ asked Fred in a low voice.
‘We must be almost at the lane. From there it’s half a mile or so to the house.’
‘Half a mile.’ He looked at her grimly and she could see his expression in the half-light. ‘It’s going to be tight. But we’ve got no choice. We can’t walk in this. We’d be lost in no time.’ He turned to look over his shoulder at the passengers in the back. ‘We’ll be home before too long, don’t you worry.’ Then to Tommy he said, ‘Do what you can.’
‘We’ll get there,’ Tommy said determinedly. ‘I know we will.’
It was only by luck that she spotted the turn-off to the lane. The world outside was so changed that it was impossible to get any bearings. Turnings, hedgerows, familiar trees had all disappeared and there was nothing to tell road from field. But the beam of the headlights caught a bit of the sign not covered by snow and Tommy noticed the gleam long enough to recognise what it was.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘We turn right here. We’re not far away.’
‘This blizzard is extraordinary,’ Fred murmured. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s Siberian.’
‘What will it be like in the morning?’ Tommy asked.
‘That’s why we have to get back,’ Fred said. ‘Don’t give up, will you?’
‘I won’t,’ Tommy said, trying to force more strength out of the car, ‘but the engine might. The tyres don’t want to turn any more.’
The snow in the lane was deeper than on the road, for it had been blown hard over the fields to fill the gap between the low hedges. The level was almost over the bonnet.
‘Oh Fred,’ Tommy said, frightened now. ‘I don’t think we can get much further.’ She turned to him anxiously. ‘We must be close.’
‘Go on as far as you can, every little counts.’
She pushed down, urging the little car on, and it fought forward a few more feet.
‘I’ll get out and shovel,’ Fred said.
‘You can’t. It’ll take far too long for you to make a path and the snow will fill it up as quickly as you do it. Come on.’ She urged the car on and it made headway of another few feet, and then it would go no further. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘We must be a quarter of a mile from home.’ The thought of Captain Scott and his men drifted into her mind. They had been so close to survival but a blizzard had stopped them from reaching supplies and so they froze in their tent. Is that what will happen to us? Dead in our car, so close to food and warmth? ‘Fred. What shall we do?’
Fred turned to her, pulling the torch from his coat. He switched it on. His lips were pinched and blueish in the pale light that came from it. ‘We could wait here. Till the snow stops.’
Tommy shook her head as she shivered. ‘It might last for days. It will only get worse. We’ll have to walk for it.’
‘You’re right, of course. It’s a quarter of a mile. I’ll take the shovel and make whatever path I can. You try and keep us on track. We must go as quickly as we can, especially Molly.’ He turned in his seat so that he could see Barbara and Molly, quiet and frightened in the back. ‘We’re going to walk. Molly, you must stay close to your mother and right behind me. Tommy will have the torch. We’ll go as fast as we can because we can’t linger in this cold. Barbara, you must leave the cases here. We’ll get them tomorrow.’
Barbara nodded and didn’t demur.
She’s got pluck, Tommy thought. She must be terrified for Molly.
‘Let’s get on our way,’ Fred said with a smile. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m dying for a hot cup of cocoa.’ He passed the torch to Tommy and opened his door. The furious wind burst in again, bringing a flurry of snow. ‘I’ll get the shovel and you all get out.’
Tommy pushed her door open with an effort and struggled out into the freezing darkness, sinking immediately down into deep snow. Thank goodness Fred told me to put on my boots. But Barbara and Molly were not so lucky, their shoes and stockings disappearing into the drift as they climbed out.
‘Follow me,’ yelled Fred, his voice fighting against the howling wind, and he struggled forward with the shovel, pushing what snow he could out of the way. Tommy hustled Molly and Barbara in front of her, so that they were sheltered as much as p
ossible, and urged them forward.
‘Come on!’ she shouted, chilled to the bone by the biting wind. ‘We must press on as fast as possible.’ And she threw out the beam of the torch as far as it would go into the tempest.
Fred tried to shovel but it was almost pointless. Soon he concentrated on fighting a way through the drift with his body, using the shovel more as a machete to chop and loosen snow than to dig it. The others pressed on behind him, their eyes scrunched against the whirl of wind and snow.
But where is the house?
Ahead seemed only blackness, full of storm-tossed snow.
It must be near. Why can’t I see it?
She shone the torch as far forward as she could but there was nothing to be seen more than a few feet ahead. So she lifted the torch skywards and waved the beam upwards, then down, then up again. Every few feet, she did it again.
She could see Barbara shivering as she fought her way through the deep snow. ‘Mr Burton Brown!’ she yelled, thumping Fred on the back. ‘It’s Molly! She can’t go any further. She’s too cold and it’s too deep!’
Fred turned to her and saw Molly, rooted to the spot and shivering uncontrollably. ‘Tommy!’ he yelled. ‘You lead. I’ll take Molly.’ He lifted the little girl up into his arms, wincing slightly as he did, and Tommy plunged forward through the snow, taking the shovel.
I’ve never been so cold.
They seemed to have been walking for hours. She was exhausted, blinded by the snow, freezing to her marrow. But there was no way they could give up. They had to keep on. She could hear Fred grunting with effort as he carried the shaking Molly.
Could we really die out here? The possibility suddenly seemed closer than it ever had. Death was very near, she knew that. Life, it turned out, was fragile. Just a walk in the snow could snuff it out. And how long before it was a blessed relief to give up the struggle, and sink away from the cold and noise and fear into silence? Stop it! I mustn’t think that way. She fought against the shivering and the pain in her hands and feet. Come on, now, Tommy. Be sensible. Don’t think about such awful things. We really must get home. But where is it? Why can’t I see it?
She swung the torch beam back up into the sky and then she saw an answering flash. Two strong points of light suddenly came to life just a little way ahead. ‘There!’ she yelled. ‘We’re nearly there, come on!’
With new energy, they battled on, and the lights grew closer until Tommy saw that they were lanterns, put up on the gatepost pillars.
‘It’s the last push!’ she yelled, and then, to her great relief, she saw two figures bundled up in coats and hats, standing in the snow, waving torches desperately towards them.
‘Over here!’ yelled Gerry against the howl of the wind.
‘We’re coming,’ shouted Tommy as they struggled the last few feet along the lane. She was almost weeping with relief. ‘We’re coming. We’re home.’
Chapter Seventeen
Nicholas came to collect Caitlyn for their trip to the country, arriving just after she returned from dropping Max at school.
‘I don’t keep classic university hours any more,’ he said as she made him coffee. ‘I’ve got that middle-aged sense of time running short, so I get up early. Eat healthily. Go to the gym. Got to make the most of it.’
‘Ouch, middle-aged,’ she said. ‘Surely not.’
‘When you spend most of your time teaching students, you don’t just feel middle-aged at forty. You feel bloody ancient!’
The sun was out, clouds scudding over the sky in little battalions, the treetops waving in the breeze. Nicholas had an open-topped MG sports car in bright green – ‘All right,’ she said with a smile, ‘you win. You are middle-aged’ – and they roared through Oxford, the wind whipping up her hair until she managed to tie it back with an elastic band she found in her bag. The city was not yet clogged with traffic and they were soon westbound on the A34, speeding along in the sunshine. Talking wasn’t possible with the roof down, and she lost herself in the enjoyment of the ride, the wind battering the top of her head, the sun bright on her dark glasses. She didn’t feel nervous as she had with Sara, despite the speed. In fact, sitting here with Nicholas, even though she’d not seen him in twenty years, felt absurdly comfortable and natural.
They followed the road westwards towards Wiltshire for half an hour, passing Spring Hall on their way.
‘Nearly there,’ Nicholas said as they drove into a market town, around its tortuous one-way system and out the other side, flying along country lanes. Suddenly they were in a pretty village of grey-stone houses and imposing gateways that obviously led to large mansions. A bright and lively looking pub flashed past, and then they were out the other side and turning up a long narrow lane. They went about half a mile along the lane until suddenly, almost magically, a beautiful house appeared, a seventeenth-century Jacobean manor house in mellow golden stone, with deep-set mullioned windows and a studded oak front door.
‘Here we are.’ Nicholas slowed down as they pulled up in the lane opposite it. The house, magnificent but not lonely in its isolation, overlooked a wonderful view of forests and fields, with the roofs of the village and spire of the church visible over the distant hedges.
‘Your great-aunt lives here?’ Caitlyn said, surprised. The house was enormous; she’d imagined they were going to a largish but sensible house, perhaps even a sprawling bungalow. A great-aunt had to be fairly old, after all, when Nicholas was nearly forty. Not a place like this.
‘She does. Come on, let’s get out and see how the old bird is doing.’
They left the MG as it was – ‘It doesn’t look like rain,’ Nicholas said, squinting up at the sky, ‘I think she’ll be all right’ – and crossed the lane to the house. Instead of going to the large front door in the central part of the house, Nicholas skirted down the side and knocked on a door at the back, in the west wing of the house. A flurry of barks greeted them and the sound of racing paws and panting excitement.
‘Down, girls, down!’ said a loud voice and the door opened to reveal three excited terriers and a stout red-faced woman with steel-grey curls wearing a large striped apron over her sensible skirt and jumper. She smiled. ‘Well, hello, how nice to see you.’
‘You did know I was coming, didn’t you?’ Nicholas said, going up the step and kissing one cherry-red cheek. ‘I left a message on the answering machine.’
‘Oh yes. Of course you did.’ The woman’s gaze turned to Caitlyn.
‘This is my friend, Mrs Balfour,’ Nicholas said.
‘Caitlyn, please,’ she said quickly.
‘This is Renee,’ Nicholas said. ‘She helps my aunt in the house.’
Renee nodded, smiling. ‘A little more than help, but yes. Glad to meet you.’
So this isn’t his great-aunt at all, thought Caitlyn.
‘Is she in the sitting room?’ Nicholas asked.
‘That’s right, you go through. I’ll make some tea.’ She called to the dogs, ‘Come on, girls, excitement’s over. Back in your beds.’
Nicholas led her through a kitchen warmed by an old iron range in the chimney breast and full of the comforting smell of a stew cooking. It was much smaller than Caitlyn had expected, what with the size of the house. It wasn’t much larger than her kitchen in Oxford. The kitchen led straight into a sitting room, with low dark beams and a vast fireplace where a stove burned brightly, warming the room to a solid stuffiness. The wood-panelled walls were covered in paintings and prints, and the furniture was worn but comfortable-looking. There was, Caitlyn realised, nothing new in the room at all, including the piles of ancient magazines, and its occupant looked equally elderly; she sat dozing on the sofa, a book sliding off the rug that covered her knees, her white head nodding and her breathing heavy.
‘Aunt Geraldine!’ called out Nicholas, and the old lady jerked awake, blinking hard and looking about to find the source of the disturbance.
‘What? Oh! Nicholas, it’s you.’ She blinked harder and then smiled to se
e her nephew.
‘How are you?’ boomed Nicholas as he bent to kiss her powdery cheek.
‘No need to shout, dear, I’m not deaf,’ she said, accepting the kiss.
‘You are a bit deaf,’ Nicholas said loudly.
‘Well, a little, I suppose. Still, no need to yell at the top of your voice.’ She readjusted the blanket on her knees. ‘I’m fine, thank you, and very glad to see you as it means Renee will now be forced to minister to my needs and bring me a cup of tea.’ Her bright eyes turned to Caitlyn. ‘And who is this?’
‘This is my friend, Caitlyn Balfour. I want to show her the house.’
‘Well, I always do like to meet new people. It can get a little dull here, you know. How do you do, Caitlyn Balfour.’
‘Very well thank you,’ Caitlyn said politely, realising that she didn’t know Great-Aunt Geraldine’s surname, and so had no idea what to call her. Great-Aunt didn’t seem entirely right, and Geraldine a bit too familiar.
‘Please, sit down, both of you.’ Aunt Geraldine frowned. ‘Now, are you cold? Shall we stoke up the fire? It’s been rather chilly lately.’
Nicholas said, ‘Oh no, we’re not cold. Quite the opposite. It’s like an oven in here.’
‘Is it?’ Geraldine shivered. ‘I don’t quite feel it any more. This house was always so icy cold, I never seem to warm up. We’re spoiled now – you should have been here when the winters were frightful. You wouldn’t have believed it, the way we got snowed in. And when the rain came, well, this place was an island, cut off from everywhere by water right across the fields.’
Caitlyn sat down, thinking that being stranded in this cosy place seemed rather appealing. Nicholas sat next to his aunt and she asked him about Oxford life. A few minutes later, Renee came in with the tea and they were occupied pouring it out and handing it round. With focus off her, Caitlyn was able to look around, taking in the shabby but pleasing nature of the room. Still, it seemed far too small for the size of the house they had seen from the lane.