A Cold Season (21 page)

The bed looked as old as the house, broad and solid. Theo drew Cass to it and as she fell back she felt his weight on her, his tongue meeting hers. Her blouse was thrown to the floor, a red rag, and now his hands were on her: exploring her back, stroking her neck, supporting her while his tongue caressed her spine. She heard the sound their breath made, rising together without words.

Theo framed her face in his hands while he moved on top of her, found the place their bodies fitted. He eased inside her, paused before pushing his hips against hers. All these things she remembered: him moving against her, the strength of his narrow hips, the sound of his breath against her neck, the wetness of his tongue on her collarbone.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she found Theo watching her. His hands were on her body, stroking her, touching her,
in
her, and suddenly her heart contracted. It turned to pain, as though he had caressed that too, the living, beating muscle at her centre. Cass looked down at his hands. They were resting on her breasts, his fingertips smoothing her nipples. On the surface of her skin.

Then he thrust harder and she cried out because heat blossomed inside her and it felt like everything; an
encompassing heat that didn’t fade even after he pulled away and lay down at her side, one hand resting on her belly.

The heat was still there. Cass twisted away from him, drawing her legs under her. Closed her eyes. She felt hands pulling her close, holding her. She stayed where she was, keeping her eyes tight shut. Watching the darkness behind the lids.

All these things she remembered, and yet she remembered nothing clearly, nothing in focus. There was a series of impressions and deep physical joy, but nothing more.

TWENTY-TWO

Cass woke in the night and turned to see Theo lying next to her. His face was motionless. She watched for the rise and fall of his breath and couldn’t see it. There was still heat, though, radiating from his body. She could feel his heat inside her too, but her skin was cold all over. Her shoulder was gooseflesh. Theo slept on. Cass shivered.

This was the man she’d slept with. She watched him now and tried to regain that sense of togetherness, of being comfortable. The way they’d shared a silence had been easy, good. Now she wanted something to break it, ripple the surface, to give her a reason to get out.

Inside her, the heat burned. Cass wrapped her arms around herself, moving her fingers as though brushing his touch from her skin. She shouldn’t have stayed. It was too soon, that was all. When he woke and looked at her it would be all right, it would be different. Cass closed her eyes.

It had never been like this with Pete. He’d slept with his arm under his head, breathing loudly, deeply. Often
he snored, a living familiar sound. Not like this silence. Cass knew she couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t sleep with this motionless man next to her. If he should reach out in the night, touch her … Revulsion rippled across her skin.

What was wrong with her? Theo Remick was a decent man, a solid man, someone she could talk to. He made her laugh, made Ben laugh. He was a good man.

Cass shivered and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the night air cold on her body, and stood without making a sound.

In the early morning she showered, afraid to wake Theo but unable to bear the idea of his hands all over her skin, running over her breasts, legs, shoulders, thighs, the centre of her. The way her heart had clenched as he touched her.

She ran the water cold and stood beneath it as long as she could.

Theo came to her while she sat on the sofa, staring at the floor. He stroked her dripping hair, planted a light kiss on her head, but didn’t speak. He went away and a few minutes later brought in a tray piled with toast, eggs and bacon. The smell repulsed her and she turned her face away.

‘Cass?’

She looked at him.

‘It was good,’ he said, and smiled.

‘Yes. Good.’

‘I felt like we truly connected. Didn’t you feel that, Cass?’

She nodded.

‘Are you all right? You look pale.’

She glanced at him, looked away again. ‘I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well.’

‘No.’

‘I need a shower,’ she said, and caught her breath; realised that she’d just had a shower.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I need to get Ben.’ She stood. She hadn’t touched the food.

‘You can’t – he’s with Sally, remember? He’s going to school with her. It’s a little early to call in, don’t you think?’

‘Of course. Of course it is.’ Cass wanted to feel her son in her arms, bury her face in his hair.

He sexed her.

She shuddered, pushed the thought away.

Theo reached out and touched her shoulder, and Cass jumped. ‘Is it something I did?’

She looked up. Light streamed through the curtains, a new day. Ben was at Sally’s, and she was here. It had been good; she knew it had been good. ‘Theo, I’m sorry. I feel a little strange. Too much wine, maybe.’

‘Yes. Maybe.’

‘A walk would do me good. Some fresh air. I’ll go home. It’s fine, honestly. I just need to wake myself up a bit.’ She paused. ‘It’s been a long time. I’m not used to waking up with someone.’

She felt Theo’s eyes on her but she couldn’t meet his look.

‘Cass, I know you lost your husband. If it was too soon, I’m sorry.’

He sexed her
. Sexed
her
.

‘No, it wasn’t; it’s time I moved on. But I just didn’t sleep too well.’ This time Cass met his eyes.

‘You don’t have to feel bad. Your life is your own.’

She smiled, too brightly.

‘You made the right choice, Cass. You may not see it now, but—’

She stood, still smiling, and a moment later she had grabbed her coat and was walking down the road, pulling it on, wrapping it tightly about her body.

The further she walked from the rectory the more Cass’ head cleared. The air was icy on her wet hair and she flicked it away from her neck. She must look ridiculous, hurrying through the streets with dripping hair. What had made her leave like that? Theo Remick had done nothing wrong – and he had been right: it
had
been good.

It had been very good.

All the same, as soon as she reached the mill she would climb into the shower, turn it on full and stand under it for a long time. Her skin still crawled with his touch. It didn’t help that she had no reason to feel guilty. Pete had been gone a long time; he would want her to rebuild her life. That had been the whole purpose of coming here.

Cass wished Ben was with her. She would shut the door on the world, keep him from school and stay inside. He could play his wretched video games all day if he wanted. She frowned. It was fortunate that Ben was with Sally.
She shouldn’t be so selfish. He was happy in Darnshaw, happy at the school. And she should hurry, make sure she got home before any of the other mothers saw her like this. She could only imagine what Lucy might think.

Thinking of Lucy reminded Cass of her client.

Once inside the apartment she didn’t shower after all; there was no time. She dried her hair and put her coat back on, then walked to the top of the lane and watched for Lucy’s car, shifting her weight from foot to foot to keep warm. After a time a Land Rover did go past, but it was silver, not black – not her friend’s. Where was she? Perhaps Jessica was ill. Perhaps she was afraid to go to school after what had happened with Ben.

Cass waited. If she stood here a while she might even see Bert, back from his trip over the moor. She leaned against the wall.

After a time the silver car headed back in the other direction. A face peered at her out of the window, but still Lucy didn’t come.

Cass decided to walk into the village; that way she could still keep an eye on the road but also check on Bert – and see if he’d posted her letter. At least then she’d have some chance of keeping her client. But when she looked up at the hills on every side it felt as though there was no outside world at all; there was only here.

No cars passed as Cass walked down the road. When she reached the post office and banged on Bert’s door, there came a faint answering bark. She waited, but there was no further response. Cass shuffled her feet and stared
at the peeling black door. She fidgeted, brushed at the old paint, revealing the bare wood. Then she frowned and leaned closer, scraping away more fragments with her nail. There were old marks underneath, running against the grain. Now that she was looking closely she could see it without removing the paint; there was the clear imprint of a line scratched into the door, another one at right angles to it.

A cross, like the one at Foxdene Mill.

Cass drew back. This cross was old, long painted over – but perhaps Bert would know why it was there, or when it had happened. Maybe he would know who had carved it.

She banged on the door, louder this time, but no one came.

Cass waited a moment and tried again, and this time she thought she heard snuffling. ‘Captain?’

The noise stopped. Cass bent down and pressed her ear against the door. She heard nothing. ‘Captain, are you there? Bert?’

She remembered the irregular thumping she’d heard yesterday as Bert came to the door, the way he had gone down the stairs sideways, holding onto the banister. She glanced up at the steep hillside. She should never have let him go.

‘I think he’s out, love.’ It was Irene, standing at the post office door, rattling some keys.

‘But he should have been back. He went out yesterday. Have you seen him since then?’

‘No, I don’t think so, love. He’s probably gone out for his walk this morning.’

‘He can’t have. Captain’s still inside.’

‘Is he?’

‘I’m sure I heard him.’

Irene fiddled with her keys.

‘I’m really worried. He was going to walk over to Moorfoot yesterday. I’m afraid he might not have made it.’

‘Was he? That’ll explain it. He’ll have stayed over, love. Not one to tear hisself away from the pub once he’s found it, our Bert.’

‘But he wouldn’t leave Captain.’

‘He’ll be fine, love. He’ll have left him some food. Don’t worry. He’s done it before.’

‘He has?’

‘Oh aye. It’s a bit much, there and back in one day. He’ll have broken it up.’

‘So he’ll be back later.’

‘I should think so, unless he decides to stop.’

‘But Captain—’

‘He’ll have sorted the dog, don’t you worry. Are you sure he didn’t take him? It’s not like Bert to leave him behind.’

Cass paused. She had thought she’d heard sounds. In the face of Irene’s calmness, though, she was no longer certain. ‘Could you please tell him I came? I’ll pop back later.’

‘Of course I will, love.’

Before Cass walked away she turned back and looked up at Bert’s windows. The panes of glass reflected back the sky, blank white eyes. She shivered. The air was bitter,
colourless and yet heavy, threatening snow. If Bert was out on the moors … But he couldn’t be. And he’d walked these hills many times before, knew what he was doing.

Of course, if more snow was to fall and Bert was in Moorfoot, he might not be able to get back. Cass bit her lip. If that happened she would take Captain in. She’d find a way of getting the dog out of the flat and look after him even if she had to lock him in her bedroom to keep him away from Ben. She was pretty sure he was all the old man had.

When Cass reached the mill lane she looked down at the mellow stone building and found she didn’t want to go inside yet. All she could think about was the cross scratched into the front door, a twin to the one at Bert’s flat.

Instead she walked further down the road, passed the turning that led up onto the moor and followed the lane leading through the valley, out of Darnshaw and towards Mossleigh.

White fields flanked the road, the ever-present hills rising beyond, with an occasional barn or farmhouse breaking the vista. The road was coated with snow and unmarred by tracks. Cass had to step off the pavement where it had drifted against the roadside walls. After a time she took out her mobile and checked the signal. Nothing.

She followed a gradual bend and the valley opened out. The river, which had been running parallel with the road, swept round and the road crossed it on a pretty stone bridge. Cass stopped and stared. The snow covering the
tarmac was fissured with deep grey scratches like huge claw marks. The road had crumbled, slabs of snow falling into the cracks that had opened up. Ice glistened, translucent where it clung to the dark tarmac.

Beyond that the bridge was still standing. The surface of the snow was rippled and cracked, though, suggesting that the road was fractured beneath. Cass squinted. What looked like tape was tied across the far side of the bridge. The road was closed. It was clearly unsafe, and the river beneath was high and rushing. Cass could hear it from where she stood, a lonely sound.

What was it Bert had said?
It might look like a tree. Same as t’ other way might look like the road’s cracked and fallen in
.

No wonder Mr Remick’s classes had shrunk. No one would be coming from this direction for some considerable time.

Cass kept looking up at the hills on the way back. Steep, white, cold. She hoped Bert wasn’t still up there.

TWENTY-THREE

In the end Cass’ impatience became too much and she headed back into the village long before she was due to collect Ben. She tried Bert’s door again, pressing her ear to the wood and shouting Captain’s name, but this time there was no answering snuffle. Cass looked up at the freezing hills. The cold made her eyes sting and she wiped at them with her gloves, smearing dampness across her face.

‘There, love,’ came a voice. Irene was closing the door to the post office, hurrying towards her, holding something out. ‘Don’t take on. We’ll have a look for him, if you’re still worried.’

Cass stared at the object in Irene’s hand. It was a key.

‘Come on, love. Let’s have a look inside, shall we?’ Irene slotted the key into the lock and shoved the door hard. It rattled open a crack and she kept pushing it until the gap widened. She headed up the stairs without putting on the light and Cass followed, feeling her way, holding on to the banister.