Her Frozen Heart

by Lulu Taylor

  She gazed at him, her heart suddenly racing, and the next moment he had pulled her into his arms and was kissing her hungrily. ‘Tommy,’ he murmured between kisses, and she found she couldn’t fight any longer. She had to give in to everything she had been feeling, for all these long days and nights. She didn’t have the strength to keep her promise to herself any longer. It was bliss to surrender to it at last. The warmth of his body and mouth, the woody fragrance of his skin and the need she felt in every kiss were like a healing balm. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the whirling pleasure.

  This isn’t like before, with Alec. Perhaps . . . She allowed herself to feel a tiny bit of hope. Perhaps it will be all right.

  ‘Tommy,’ he murmured. ‘I can’t think of anything but you. I’m in pieces. Please . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered between kisses. ‘I feel the same.’

  He kissed her again deeply, his hand in her hair, the other arm pulling her close with a ravenous tenderness.

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs made them pull apart, awkward, struggling to seem normal. Barbara was standing there, assessing them with a cool gaze.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Tommy said, trying to conceal her breathlessness. ‘We’ve just seen the men clearing the road. Isn’t it marvellous, Barbara? We’ll be able to get out of here.’

  ‘Yes, that’s wonderful,’ said Barbara, but Tommy got the distinct impression that Barbara was not in the least pleased that the outside world was arriving at last.

  Now, Tommy found she had the curious sense of being observed herself. On the one hand, she knew that Fred was watching her, the power of their recent kiss shimmering in the air between them, trying to read her reaction to it. And on the other, there was Barbara. The tables were turned, and now the cool blue gaze was directed at her, watching and waiting.

  ‘Come on, Roger,’ Fred said when they all gathered to share the news of the approaching rescue. ‘We should go out and do what we can to meet them.’

  ‘All right,’ Roger said, unable to resist the infectious enthusiasm around him. ‘I’m sure we have enough shovels.’

  ‘Then we’ll all go,’ Gerry said in excitement. ‘Come on, children, shall we start digging and see how quickly we can reach them?’

  Tommy knew they’d make no more than a few feet of progress through the enormous drifts outside, and that, with the best will in the world, they were still at least a day away from being dug out. But everybody’s spirits were lifted and it was good to see the children scampering about, getting ready to go out and help.

  ‘Perhaps there really is an end in sight to this ordeal,’ Mrs Whitfield said. ‘I would help myself if I could.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to risk your health,’ Barbara soothed. ‘We’ll do more than our bit getting ready to warm them all up when they get back in. And I think we can now put the lights on and spare your eyes, Nancy, dear.’

  She went over to the light switches near the door and flicked them. The bulbs flared into life.

  Tommy gasped. ‘You can’t do that, Barbara! It’s against the rules. We can’t have lights on till twelve.’

  ‘You can see for yourself they’re clearing the road. If they can be bothered to try and get here, they must have opened the bigger routes all ready. You’ll see, the electricity cuts are no longer needed. I’m sure they’ve only been imposed so the government can pretend it’s doing something about the crisis. It won’t do any good. We might as well have light if we want it.’

  ‘But it’s against the law!’ Tommy retorted. ‘There’s a hundred-pound fine if we’re caught! Prison!’

  ‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’ Barbara walked coolly to the sofa and sat down next to Mrs Whitfield who was suddenly concentrating hard on her cushion cover. ‘Can I help you, Nancy dear?’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Tommy said, walking over and standing in front of her. ‘We all have to abide by the rules, until they’re lifted.’

  Barbara fixed her with a piercing blue gaze and said in a low voice, ‘You weren’t so particular about following the rules when you took my penicillin. Where were your high moral standards then? You didn’t mind getting Fred out of trouble when it suited you, even though you knew that those pills weren’t exactly above board.’

  Tommy stared at her, dumbstruck. She’s right. Damn it, why did I take those pills? But she knew she had no choice, when it came to saving Fred. ‘That was another case entirely. A matter of life and death. And as long as I’m in charge here, we will have the lights off until instructed otherwise.’

  Her mother looked up, and said, ‘Thomasina, I think it will not hurt to leave them on. Just this once. Barbara is right – it spares my eyes.’

  Tommy stared at her mother in surprise. Then she saw Barbara’s expression. It was one of pure triumph.

  You see? it seemed to say. I am the one in charge now.

  Everyone came back in hot from their exertions and full of high spirits. They had made good progress considering, and cleared a fair few feet down the lane. In the afternoon, once their lessons were over, the children amused themselves by sitting in the window upstairs and watching the black dots get closer.

  ‘Will they be here by teatime?’

  ‘By supper?’

  ‘By bedtime?’

  ‘When we wake up?’

  ‘They’ll be here soon,’ Tommy said, when she kissed Antonia and Harry goodnight. They talked about all the things they would do as soon as they were free to go out and about. Even school seemed like the height of excitement after so much restriction.

  Tommy shut the bedroom door quietly as she went out, and walked along the passage towards the stairs. The day had been stressful in a new way. The situation with Barbara was more worrying than ever. Her act of switching on the lights had been about power in more ways than one.

  She wanted to show me that she can do what she wants. And Mother chose to side with her, not with me. And that’s the strange thing. Mother would never usually break rules. And yet she wanted to show me that being on Barbara’s side was more important than that.

  But there was also the fact of her kiss with Fred. She kept allowing herself to think about it so she could experience the giddy rush of excitement that the memory brought on. They had not been able to speak together since, but she had felt as though they were communicating with one another all the time. Soon, they seemed to be saying silently. Soon we’ll be alone again and then we can share that wonderful thing again.

  As she walked along the passage, she was startled when someone jumped out in front of her, but saw immediately that it was Gerry.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you all day,’ Gerry said. ‘About the dreaded Barbara.’

  ‘Shh,’ Tommy said, looking about in case Barbara was nearby. ‘She might hear you.’

  ‘I’m really worried, Tommy. She’s up to something, and I’m afraid it’s Roger she’s set her sights on. He’s changing, haven’t you noticed?’

  Tommy nodded. ‘Yes . . . but don’t worry. He’s not interested in her, not like that. She won’t succeed that way. My feeling is that she’ll get Mother on side and do her best to worm what she can out of her. I believe it’s money she’s after, as much as she can get before she moves on.’

  Gerry looked anxious. ‘Mother’s not so batty she would let Barbara fleece her, is she?’

  ‘You don’t have to be batty to be dissatisfied with your own family, and liable to be gulled into thinking that other people are much more appealing.’

  ‘But,’ Gerry said, pained, ‘why should she be dissatisfied with us? What have we done to disappoint her?’

  Tommy took her hand and said, ‘Oh darling, it’s not you. It’s me that let her down. And she’s never forgiven me for it.’

  Tommy sent Gerry downstairs, and went over to the window to look out into the blackness. She thought for a moment that she could see lights glowing in th
e distance over the fields, but then she couldn’t. The fog that descended at night was too thick for light to penetrate at that distance. She stood by the window and lit a cigarette, one of the last in her only remaining packet. She smoked rarely but tonight, she felt as though she needed the dark rasp of smoke in her lungs, the adult taste of it, and the sense of being a grown-up who could make her own decisions. Perhaps it was also the effect of the red wine they’d had at dinner. Lately, Roger had been going down to the cellar every evening and coming up with more bottles from the supply down there. Now her head was slightly fuzzy. It reminded her of the old life, the one in London. There had been lots of drinking there. In the drawing room of their small London house, there had been a well-stocked drinks tray where she learned to mix a good Martini and other cocktails Alec liked. She had often drunk one or two before they sat down, and then a couple of glasses of wine at dinner. It had all helped to numb her against reality. When she and Alec went out, they’d end up at a nightclub, usually the Cafe de Paris, to drink until the early hours. She’d tried to be the perfect wife, she really had. She’d spent hours on her appearance, bought the best clothes she could afford. Once, passing a table on the way back from the ladies’ room in the Cafe de Paris, she’d heard someone say ‘Tommy Eliott is so awfully elegant, isn’t she?’ and she’d been childishly happy, but just for a few moments. Because the only way to cope, she found, was to shut her heart, put it away. Only the children could bring her joy. They’d become the only things worth living for.

  And now, here was Fred, making her experience all kinds of new emotions. It was terrifying and exhilarating. She blew out a stream of smoke and stared out at the winter night. This freeze has done something nothing has succeeded in so far. It’s made me stop. It’s forced me to do little more than think, for hours. I don’t think I can resist coming back to life, even if I want to. The pull is too great. She took the last inhalation from her cigarette and turned to go back downstairs to join the others. But what will I do if he hurts me? I couldn’t bear it. A small, high-pitched sound, throbbing and repetitive, came down to the landing. Tommy turned and listened and realised that it came from the room where Molly slept. Barbara had long since moved her daughter out to a smaller room along the passage. Tommy went quickly to the door and stood outside; the noise resolved itself into sobs. She opened the door and went in to the small dark shape huddled under the covers of the bed. Molly was shaking as she cried, clutching her pillow over her face to muffle the sounds.

  ‘Molly, darling, what is it?’ Tommy asked, sitting down beside her and putting an arm around the girl’s shoulders. ‘Why are you crying?’

  It took a while before Molly could speak, but then she said, ‘Because they’re coming.’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘The people who’re going to get us out. With the tractors and ploughs. They’re going to come and take me away.’

  ‘What? Of course they’re not!’

  ‘They will! We’ve been safe here while there was snow. But now . . . I’m going to leave you and I’ve been so happy here.’ She sobbed again. ‘Mother is happy too. I don’t want us to leave, and be alone, not knowing where to go or where we’ll stay.’

  ‘Oh Molly.’ Tommy was full of pity, and torn between her desire to see Barbara gone and the wish to care for Molly, whom she’d grown to love.

  ‘Can I stay here, with you? I want to be with Antonia and Harry. I want to stay. Can I?’ Molly asked in a whisper, gazing up with wet, pleading eyes. ‘Please?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen. But I’ll make sure you’re all right. I’ll not desert you, Molly. I promise.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Back at home, Caitlyn found the conversation with Nicholas echoing in her mind. Patrick had invited her to go through his most private world when he gave her his passwords. She had thought it was simply a practical step, so that she could access bank accounts, administrative info and the apps that ran their home. Perhaps it was more than that. She remembered the treasure hunts he used to set for her. He would always tell her to keep her eye open for clues, and to stay alert.

  ‘Sometimes you’re too blinkered,’ he would scold her. ‘Always think about what you’re seeing and why.’

  I’m missing something. I’ll look again.

  After Max was in bed, Caitlyn went to her bag and took out Patrick’s tablet. She typed in the password. The tablet sprang into life, the screen glowing blue, its neat rows of apps like little doors promising entry into other worlds. She ran her finger over the display, scrolling through the screens. There were the standard applications – nothing mysterious about those. She noticed again the backgammon app that he used to play in the cinema while they waited for the main film to start. He hated adverts but he also had to arrive early, so he needed the distraction. There were other games too: a fantasy cricket game, spider solitaire and snake, the old-fashioned computer version where the snake is made to eat apples, growing longer with each bite so the challenge is to avoid it meeting its own tail. There were his favourite news apps, his stocks tracker, his Spotify.

  Caitlyn went back to his email account. It gave her a horrible sick sensation to see the last one he sent, on the afternoon of the day he died. It can’t have been that long before he decided to call her. It was to Stacey in his chambers, reminding her to bill a client for Patrick’s hours.

  Caitlyn thought of those last moments again, picturing Patrick in the back of the taxi, talking in the darkness, not expecting the lorry speeding towards him. She thought of the impact. Patrick’s inquest had gone into detail about his injuries and the way his body had torn and shattered under the force of the crash. She believed them when they said it must have been instantaneous: a moment of surprise and then doused, like a candle snuffed. From light to dark, in one violent second. He would have been dead before he felt any pain, and that was a comfort. She thought of his telephone that had connected them both at that moment of elemental transition. It was amazing really that his phone was not more damaged. Perhaps it flew out of his hand and landed under a seat where it was protected from the crushing of the lorry.

  As she thought this, Caitlyn got up and went upstairs to the spare room. Almost mechanically she opened the box of Patrick’s electronics and saw his phone lying there, chipped and scratched with a long hairline crack across the screen, but otherwise intact.

  Why didn’t I think of looking here before?

  She tried to switch it on but, just as the tablet had been, it was completely out of power after months of disuse, so she took it downstairs, searched about for her own charger and plugged it in. A few minutes later, it was ready to access. She found the paper with Patrick’s codes and passwords and tapped in the pin. The screen popped into life in a mini version of Patrick’s tablet, and she wondered why he needed so many of the same thing.

  Caitlyn held the phone lightly in her hand, feeling its roughened surface. It had been the last thing Patrick had touched when he was alive. She went to the telephone icon at the bottom of the screen and tapped it. Up came his contacts list. There would be no surprises there. She tapped on the ‘recent calls’ icon at the base of that screen. There it was – the list of his very last calls. The final one was, of course, to her. One and a half minutes. Was that all it had been? It had seemed so much longer. She would have said five minutes at least. And at what point did the lorry driver take out his phone and start texting? Twenty seconds before the impact? Thirty? At some point while they were talking, Patrick’s death had been set in motion, and they’d not realised that every moment took them closer to the final severance, when death would part them forever.

  Now his life was here, on this phone, on the tablet, frozen forever, kept in a permanent limbo. Present and yet not present.

  Then she saw that the call before hers was a long one. Twenty minutes. It had started almost exactly twenty-one minutes before Patrick had called her. It was to someone she had never heard of.

  Allegra.


  She stared at it, her heart thudding. Who is Allegra?

  Patrick had made his last call to her, his wife, but it was to warn her that Sara had something to tell her. So who was Allegra? The name echoed through her mind, reminding her that she had heard the word recently, but not as a person. It was . . . she grasped at the thought, screwing up her face with the effort of concentration, and then it came to her. On Patrick’s bank statements. A lot of money went to Allegra Communications. A flood of ideas came into her mind as things began to link together. This must be the key she had been looking for, the one that would unlock Patrick’s hidden life.

  Allegra.

  If she was right, then Allegra was Sara, and in the course of her conversation with Patrick, she had said something that meant Patrick felt it was time to tell Caitlyn the truth. It was something important, something that might threaten . . . what? Caitlyn herself? Her life with Patrick?

  She wanted to tell me they were at it and he wanted to get in first, for all the good that would have done.

  There was still the sliver of doubt, though. The call was evidence but it wasn’t conclusive. She got up and walked around the room thinking, the phone still in her hand. Then, on a whim, she went to the contacts in Patrick’s phone. She looked up Allegra and there it was, almost the first name in his contacts list. Then she looked up Sara, and she was listed under her full name. The two telephone numbers were different as well.

  But Patrick had called her specifically to warn her about Sara. Not some other person. Sara. Unless Allegra was a friend or . . . someone else entirely?

  She gasped at the sudden idea that Allegra was someone Patrick was having an affair with, and Sara had found out and was going to tell her, Caitlyn, unless Patrick did.

  But that makes no sense. Because it’s Sara who had the flowers and the hotel. And it’s Sara who keeps insinuating that she and Patrick were more than friends. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that Sara has two phones, after all.