A Cold Season (16 page)

She swallowed, shifted in her seat.

‘I hope you’ll come again. Humour an old man.’

‘You’re not old.’

He met her eyes. ‘I’m older than I look.’ He paused. ‘But there’s life in me yet.’ His lip twitched, making him seem suddenly vulnerable, and he sat down next to her. Cass didn’t move. ‘May I kiss you, Cass?’

May I
. Cass didn’t take her eyes from his. She nodded.

He reached out a hand, and when he touched her cheek she caught her breath. His finger stroked her skin. He kept his eyes on her, as though she were some rare, perfect thing. Then he leaned in, again so slowly she thought he would never touch her at all, that this moment would stretch out until one or the other of them pulled away. His face was a dark shape against the candlelight, features merged in shadow. Then his breath was warm on her face, scented with sweet red wine, and his lips touched hers as lightly as was possible; almost a touch, almost nothing at all. He drew away, smiling, ran a wine-dark tongue across his lips. His hand was still on her cheek.

‘Mm,’ he said.

She could still feel the faint contact on her lips. ‘Theo,’ she said, trying out the word, conscious that she hadn’t
called him by his first name before. He had always been ‘Mr Remick’.

‘Theo it is.’

‘I’d like you to kiss me.’

They leaned in to each other this time and paused only a second before their lips touched. This time the contact was firm, his lips fitting hers, easing them apart, the kiss widening, growing, the touch spreading its warmth down Cass’ spine. She felt the tip of his tongue. She opened her mouth, meeting it with her own, drawing him close. He eased himself over her, his hand slipping under her back.

He lifted his head. He didn’t speak, just looked down at her, his face almost lost in darkness. ‘You are a very special lady, Cass,’ he said.

She shook her head, looked away.

‘And you don’t even know it.’ He pushed himself up, his heat fading, the cool air something like disappointment on Cass’ skin.

She sat up too, glanced at the clock. ‘Oh Lord, I should go and get Ben.’

‘Of course. Listen, why don’t I come with you to fetch him?

She smiled and stood.

‘A very special lady indeed,’ Mr Remick said, and pushed himself to his feet.

Cass felt the cold air envelop her body, and yet the warmth of the wine and Theo Remick’s touch stayed with her as she stepped into the road. Their breath mingled. She found it was good to walk with someone’s arm in hers, to not
be alone. They turned together into Sally’s driveway. Mr Remick knocked and they exchanged glances when they heard a welcoming bellow.

Mr Remick went in first. The boys were sitting in a circle, teeth and eyes glimmering in the lamplight.

‘We were just having supper.’ Sally bustled through with a tray loaded with cheese and biscuits. ‘Care to join us?’

‘Perfect.’ He squatted in the circle and as Cass squeezed between him and Ben she noted that her son looked calm now. The children sat close together, their legs crossed. Sally set down the tray and they dived in, stuffing biscuits into their mouths.

‘So, how are my boys?’ Mr Remick asked.

They stared up at him.

‘We shared,’ said Ben.

‘You did? That’s great. It’s good to share.’

‘We played games,’ Damon cut in.

‘It’s good to play games,’ he said, grinning sidelong at Cass. His thigh was warm against hers. ‘Did you have a good night, Ben?’

Ben bobbed his head, pushed a cracker into his mouth with his palm.

‘James, why don’t you pass the cheese around?’ Mr Remick said to the boy sitting opposite, and he jumped to attention, grabbed the plate and held it out.

‘Oh,’ said Cass, ‘you hurt your hand.’ She could see a red line on his palm, half-hidden by the plate. It looked like the mark she’d seen on Damon’s hand.

He whipped his head round and glared at her, and Cass
thought suddenly of the darkened corridor at school, the bright eyes shining. Then James looked at Mr Remick. ‘I slipped playing football,’ he said.

The teacher turned to Sally. ‘A fine spread. You’re a wonder, as ever.’

Cass said, ‘Thanks, Sally – I should be getting Ben home now.’

‘You’re very welcome. It’s a pleasure to have you all here. Any time.’

Mr Remick stood and helped Cass up, then pulled Ben to his feet. He didn’t complain about leaving this time, just waited quietly with his hand in Mr Remick’s. ‘Are you coming too?’ he asked. There was no resentment in his voice, only curiosity.

‘Not this time. I’m just walking with you for a while.’

They said their goodbyes, and again the ring of cold eyes turned on Cass and she shuddered, but when they shifted to Mr Remick and Ben they only looked like young boys saying goodbye to their friend and their teacher. It was Cass who didn’t fit, not Mr Remick, not Ben.

When Mr Remick took her arm again she felt it as a stranger’s. She drifted along, only half-listening to her son and his teacher as they talked. But Mr Remick’s voice was warm when they parted at the foot of the rectory lane. The church stood above them, a black shape against a curiously pale night. The sky was pregnant with snow. Cass didn’t know what she said to him, some automatic thing, but she smiled when he said something about doing this again.

Ben fumbled for her hand and she let him lead her. They didn’t speak again until they reached the mill and
Cass tapped the code into the door. It buzzed and she turned the handle, opening it onto the dark hall.

She turned back for Ben and saw that his eyes were cold, reflecting back the light from the entry panel, gleaming in the dark like the eyes of the boys in the school corridor. Cass remembered Jess, the streak of red on her cheek. Then Ben came inside.

He stomped on ahead, up the stairs.

‘What is it? Didn’t you enjoy yourself?’ she asked.

He turned and leaned over the balustrade. ‘I
hate
you,’ he said.

‘
What?
Ben, what’s got into you?’

‘You sent him away. You send
everyone
away.’

‘I didn’t send anyone away – Ben, what do you mean?’

‘You made my teacher go away. You shouldn’t have done that.’ Ben’s face collapsed and she realised he was holding back tears. ‘You sent Daddy away.’

‘Ben.’ Cass went up and put her arms around him. He was trembling. ‘Sweetheart, I didn’t send Daddy away – I loved him, you know that. Is that what this is about? Did Jessica say something about him?’
Past tense
, she thought,
I
loved
him – no wonder he’s confused
.

Ben twisted away from her and said forcefully, ‘He’s coming back.’

‘What?’

‘Daddy’s coming back.’

Cass stroked his hair. She tried to look into his eyes, but his face was obscured by shadow. ‘I’m sorry, Ben, but you can’t go on thinking that. I wish it was true, but it’s not going to happen. Daddy died.’

Ben shook her off, and as Cass started back he lashed out and struck her face.

She put a hand to her cheek, not sure if the blow had been an accident or something else.

‘He’s coming,’ said Ben, ‘and you can’t stop him.’ He ran along the hall, turning the corner before Cass could bring herself to move.

Above her, a door banged and she raced up the stairs, slamming through to the first-floor hall. Where was he? But Ben was there, sitting with his back to their door. She still couldn’t see his face, but as she went to him she realised he was crying.

‘Theodore’s going to be my daddy now,’ he gulped.

‘Oh Ben. No, sweetheart— Shh. Look, it’s okay. No one will ever replace your daddy.’ She looked at him helplessly. ‘Ben, if it upsets you so much, I won’t see Mr Remick again.’ How had he known his name was Theodore?

Ben looked up and brushed tears from his eyes. ‘You have to,’ he wailed, ‘you
have
to.’

Cass gathered him in her arms and sat with him. Eventually she spoke. ‘I know this is hard, Ben. So many things have changed. But you know your daddy loved you very much, and no one can ever take that away. No one’s trying to replace your daddy.’ He shifted in her arms. ‘You’re my Number One, you know that? No one will ever take that away from you either.’ She tightened her grip. ‘Come on, let’s go inside.’

‘But Sally says that Theodore—’

So that was it. Cass bit her lip. ‘Sally shouldn’t be saying anything at all.’

Ben scowled, his eyes going distant, and she bent and kissed his head again. When she unlocked the door he pushed past, knocking her into the frame. ‘
Ben
. Maybe you shouldn’t go to Mrs Spencer’s any more, if it upsets you so much.’

He went straight to his room, slamming the door in her face, and Cass rubbed her elbow where she’d banged it.

When she went into the bathroom and flicked on the light, Cass flinched at the sight of her face in the mirror. She was deathly pale, save for a red mark where her son had hit her.

Cass pulled the box from under her bed. She ran her palm over the top, heard the dry rustle of ageing paper. Pete was in there somewhere, in among the old bills and papers and pictures. His voice.

She found the bundle by touch, slipped off the smooth ribbon and held the letters against her cheek.

Pete had always said he wasn’t good at writing letters, that it didn’t come naturally to him, but once he started, he could describe a scene exactly – she could almost see it through his eyes.

We saw a wedding party today. Life going on as normal, at least for some, or as normal as they can make it. They do what they can. The bride wore the local dress and had ribbons in her hair. They all danced in the street, kicking up a big cloud of dust, and they never stopped smiling. Everyone danced, the grandmothers
and grandfathers and everyone right down to the little kids. It was so loud, but
good
loud, you know? Not like the shelling. It was strange, hearing something so loud that wasn’t trying to kill me
.

I thought about our wedding, and wondered if your family would have come if you’d asked. Isn’t it time you made up, Cassie? Life is short. Too short, sometimes
.

Cass started and almost dropped the letter. She had forgotten that – how strange that she should choose that one to read out of them all, the dry, desert-smelling letters, when she had so recently received one from her father.

It must be her father Pete had meant. The rest of her family had been at the wedding – her mother and an uncle she’d almost forgotten she had. Neither of them had danced.

Life is too short, sometimes
.

He got that right.

She stuffed the letter back into the pile. There was no point thinking about it now; with no post going in or out of the village she couldn’t write to her father anyway.

And yet … just why had Cass chosen to come back to Darnshaw?

She shoved the bundle back into the box and pushed it out of sight, lay down and closed her eyes. After a while she heard a sound and she half-sat, turning towards the wall at her back. It was sharp and loud and deliberate:
scritch, scritch, scritch
, like fingernails scraping on wood. Cass put her hand against the cool plaster. Now it sounded
as though the noise was coming from her hand. She tapped it against the wall.

The scratching stopped and instead there came a skittering, heading away.

Cass wondered if Ben had heard it too. It had been louder than before. Maybe he was right: it could be rats, not mice. She shuddered, pushed herself up from the bed and went to check on her son.

She switched on the hall light, blinking in the sudden glare, cracked open Ben’s door, then pushed it wider: his bed was rumpled, the sheets pushed back, but it was empty. She stepped in, looking about. There was no sign of him.

‘Ben?’ she whispered. She switched on his nightlight. There were his clothes, in a pile, his books all heaped on the shelf, but no Ben. And then Cass did a double-take. It was his pyjamas lying on the floor: Ben had never changed out of his daytime clothes.

She stood stock-still, then rushed into the lounge, flicking on the lights, checking behind the sofa in case he was hiding. She kept expecting to hear him giggle, but never heard a sound except her own ragged breathing.

The bathroom was empty too. She swept back the shower curtain, hurried into the kitchen—

—and stopped in the doorway.

The cupboard doors gaped, their contents strewn across the worktop. It looked as though everything had just been thrown out, cereal boxes and tins and packets, but she had never heard a thing. It had been done quietly.

There was nowhere left to look in the flat.

Cass caught her breath, putting a hand to her chest. The blood rushed in her ears and she leaned over the counter, feeling sick.
No Ben
. She pushed herself up and went back into the hall. He could have sneaked from one room to the next while her back was turned, could even be hiding in his own room, or in hers – in the wardrobe, or under the bed. He could be lying in the dark, grinning, one hand resting on the bundle of letters.

But no, she knew he wasn’t. And as if in answer to that thought she saw that the front door was ajar.

Cass pulled on her shoes, grabbed her dressing gown from the bathroom and went out.

The hall was quiet, but the lights were flickering: someone had come this way a short time ago, the movement triggering the lights. Cass hurried along the hall. If she was quick, the lights might show her where Ben had gone.

A yellow glow shone through the glass panel of the door to the stairwell. She ran to it, trying to keep quiet, and reached for the handle just as the light on the other side went out.

‘No! Damn.’ Cass banged through the door, the lights coming back on in response. Downstairs it was brighter, as though the entrance hall lights were on too.

She swallowed her panic, trying not to think of worst-case scenarios: if Ben had gone outside she might never find him. She brushed away the image of the millpond that came into her mind, inky-black water beneath an acid-green coating.