A Cold Season (22 page)

Irene stopped on the landing. ‘There,’ she said, ‘looks like he did take Captain with him after all. He always comes to see me, that dog.’ She led the way into the lounge. Cass followed, checking each high-backed seat, making sure there wasn’t a figure slumped there. The room was airless, and the jacket where Captain slept gave off a fusty smell.

The kitchen was small, with fragile-looking units, peeling Formica taped down here and there. A pull-out table was scattered with biscuit crumbs. There was a single folding seat, nothing else: no sign of Captain.

‘You see,’ said Irene, ‘they always stick together, those two.’

She headed back onto the landing, squeezing past Cass in the doorway. There was only one room left to try and Cass found herself reluctant to enter. Irene didn’t hesitate. ‘Have a look, love. Put your mind at rest.’ She beckoned, and now Cass noticed something strange. She shook her head, putting the thought out of her mind; it could wait. She followed Irene into the room.

The bed cover was a crocheted blanket pulled roughly straight. It was pale pink, as were the curtains. The wallpaper bore a pattern of roses. A Bible lay on the dresser. Bert had left clothes strewn on the bed: a beige shirt, brown socks bundled together, a pair of Y-fronts, greyed from too much washing. Cass looked away.

‘He got some things together before he went,’ said Irene. ‘See? He was obviously planning to stay a while. He wants to be careful he doesn’t get stuck that side of the moors. Looks like more snow’s blowing in.’ She sniffed the air
as though she could sense it and grimaced. ‘He wants to clean up in here a bit. Come on, love. You happy?’

Cass nodded, glad to retreat from these private things. She headed down the stairs ahead of Irene. They felt steeper in the dark. She held on to the rail and went down sideways, as Bert had. Perhaps it hadn’t meant he was frail, just careful.

A gruff bark rang out from somewhere behind the wall.

‘That’s the Turnbulls’ dog,’ said Irene. ‘They’re in the next flat. Maybe that’s what you heard before, love.’

‘I suppose it must have been.’ Cass waited while Irene pulled the door closed, expertly forcing it into the jamb. ‘I appreciate this, Irene. You must think I’m mad.’

‘Of course not,’ she said, grasping Cass’ wrist and squeezing it. ‘Not at all. No, you were being neighbourly, and that’s what we like round here. Neighbourly. That’s us, you know. So kind of you.’ She nodded in Cass’ face. ‘So kind.’

She let go of Cass’ arm, turned and went back into the post office, leaving her standing on the street.

Cass took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching it fade into the air; rubbed her hands together, making her fingers tingle. She felt warmer, more herself than she had all day. Is that why she’d felt so odd with Theo? Was it worry about Bert, guilt that she’d let him go? And all the time Bert had been safe in town, Captain at his side. The next time Cass saw him she would kiss his wrinkly old cheek.

Cass waved at the post office window as she passed, but it was dark inside and all she could see was her own
reflection. Her hair was wispy around her ears, her eyes unfocused. And then she remembered what had struck her as odd in the flat.

When Irene beckoned Cass into Bert’s bedroom, there had been a red line crossing the palm of her hand. Just like Damon’s. Like that other boy’s – James.

TWENTY-FOUR

Cass was at the school before the doors opened. She paused and listened to the singing that came from within: a heavy, slow melody punctuated by clapping. Then came the scraping of chairs.

She didn’t know what she was going to say to Theo Remick. Last night already felt like a long time ago, another world. Far more vivid was her memory of running out of his house, hair dripping, not even waiting to pull on her coat. He might not want to see her again after that, and she wouldn’t blame him.

An engine growled behind her, changing tone as the driver slowed and eased into the car park. Cass turned in time to see Myra’s red hair through a side-window. The woman turned and saw Cass, looked her up and down before turning her attention back to the wheel. Her gaze was like the touch of a cold hand. Brake lights bled over the snow and Myra got out, swinging her hips as she walked past Cass.

Theo Remick appeared in the doorway. He didn’t greet
Myra as she approached, he just reached out his hand, not to shake Myra’s, though, or to wave to her; he touched her hair, just once, a brief stroke, such as someone might give a dog or a cat.

She went past him and inside without pausing to say anything or brush him off, and his eyes fell on Cass. The corner of his lip twitched. Then he gave a welcoming smile.

Cass turned away, staring at the snow as blood rushed to her cheeks. She felt heat at the core of her, deep inside. It burned.

She heard childish voices and turned to see Ben standing on tiptoe while Theo spoke in his ear. Ben grinned, took a bundle from the teacher and ran towards her. It was like old times, Ben with a big smile on his face, no consciousness of who might be watching or what they might think. And it was Theo Remick who had made him that way.

Ben skidded to a halt and pushed the bundle towards her. ‘From him,’ he said, jabbing a finger towards the teacher. Cass peered inside the brown paper bag: bread, eggs, bacon. How did he get such things? She smelled warm dough.

She looked up to see Myra snaking her hips past Remick, leaving now, her child in tow. The woman went past Cass without looking at her.

The scent rose from the bag, and Cass imagined Ben eating, a smile on his face. She bent and kissed him. ‘Did you have a nice time?’

He nodded. His eyes were too bright, almost feverish. ‘We shared again.’

‘What did you share?’

‘Things.’ He frowned. ‘A game.’ He put one hand in the other, tracing a line on the palm. Cass caught it, turned it over. The palm of his hand was clean and unblemished.

‘What game, Ben?’

‘Just a game.’ He pulled his hand away.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up last night,’ Cass said. ‘I missed you.’

‘It’s all right, Mummy. Sally said it was supposed to happen.’

‘What? She said what was supposed to happen?’

‘Not picking me up.’

Cass touched his hair. ‘Is she here? I should thank her.’

He shook his head. ‘She went.’

Cass turned and looked around for Theo. He was still standing in the doorway, hands behind his back. ‘Wait here,’ said Cass. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

He smiled as she walked towards him. ‘I didn’t think you were going to come over.’

‘Of course I was.’ Cass bit her lip.

‘I thought … I mean, what we did. It seemed a good way of ending the evening. A special way. It meant a lot to me, Cass. I wouldn’t want you to think it didn’t.’

‘No – I didn’t—’ She held the bag in front of her. ‘Thank you – for these, I mean. That was kind of you.’

‘We wouldn’t want the boy going hungry, would we?’

Cass looked away, then forced herself to meet his eyes. They were wide-open, candid.

‘Theo, I’m sorry I ran off.’ She wanted to say more, to offer him something, but found she could not. She
remembered how her heart had contracted when he touched her. As though his hands were inside her skin.

‘Are you all right, Cass? I mean if it was too soon … ’

‘No.’ Cass drew herself up. ‘I like you, Theo, but— I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.’

‘You’re ending it?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘No— I mean— Theo, I’m sorry, but I think I have to.’ She hadn’t known she was going to say it.

‘If this is about your husband—’

‘You know, I don’t think it is. I thought it was guilt, but it just doesn’t fit, somehow.’

His fingers on her chin, lifting her face.

‘I don’t think I’m ready.’

‘You’re ready, Cass.’ He smiled. ‘You just don’t know it.’

His skin was dry and she recoiled from his hand.

‘You’ll come to me, Cass. When it’s time.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t think ill of you. Remember that, Gloria. When the time comes.’

‘That’s not my name.’ Cass couldn’t catch her breath. The air was cold in her throat. ‘What’s wrong with you, Theo? I didn’t mean to upset you – if I did, I’m sorry.’

He raised his head, a gleam appearing in his eyes, and a smile spread slowly across his face. He reached out and touched her hair, the same gesture he’d made to Myra.

Cass pulled away, turned from him and hurried back towards her son. Ben was glowering. ‘You always spoil everything,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You spoiled it.’ Ben’s face crumpled. ‘He won’t want to be my daddy now.’ His voice rose.

Cass looked back, but Theo had gone back inside. ‘Ben, you
have
a daddy. Pete will
always
be your daddy. But he’s gone. Mr Remick isn’t your daddy; he’s only your teacher. You know that.’

‘You’re a liar,’ he said, yanking his arm away. ‘You’re a lying bitch.’

‘Ben!’ She had never heard him use that word before – it was wrong, a dirty thing in his mouth. ‘Ben, don’t say things like that.’

‘A lying fucking bitch.’

‘Ben, that’s enough!’

‘You’re his whore now. Damon said.’

‘What?’ It was as though he’d slapped her.

‘That’s what girls are. That’s all, just his fucking whores.’

Cass had a sudden clear vision of the way Myra had looked at her, the way she had looked at Theo, and she swallowed. ‘My God, Ben, what’s got into you?’

‘All of them.’ Ben threw his head back and grinned, but there was no humour in it.

‘Where did you hear such things?’

‘They all say it – all the boys.’

‘The boys? Well if you say it again … Ben, I never want to hear—’

‘Or you’ll do what?’ His eyes burned. ‘What will you do? Run away? You’ll never get away from here, not now.’

‘What did you say?’

I don’t suppose the lad’ll leave now
.

‘We belong here. He said so.’

‘Damon. It was Damon, wasn’t it?’ Cass remembered the boy’s cold eyes, the way he looked at her. ‘He said it when you went to Sally’s, didn’t he? And those other boys. Ben, you’re not to see them again. They’re not good boys.’

‘They’re not good boys, Ben,’ he sing-songed. ‘It wasn’t at Sally’s. Sally doesn’t know anything. She’s just a dirty whore, like you.’

Cass raised a hand and Ben stared at it. There was no fear in his eyes, only contempt, and she let it fall back to her side. ‘What’s happened to you?’ she whispered.

‘I want my daddy.’ His lips twitched.

‘Oh Ben.’ Tears flooded Cass’ eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. You’re hurting so much. All this— I know you’re just upset; I know everything seems too much sometimes. Especially now, when everything’s new, and we haven’t really settled in. But we will, Ben. We’ll be happy again. You’ll see.’

He stared at her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him, drew him close. His body was small and frail, but unyielding.

When she pulled back and looked at him, he was staring into space, his eyes unblinking. Cass hugged him close once more, burying her face in his shoulder. ‘I love you, Ben,’ she said. ‘It will be all right. I promise.’

TWENTY-FIVE

Ben sat in front of the screen, staring at the game. The intensity had drained out of him and his body was loose, slumped.

Cass brushed back her hair, thinking of the way Remick had touched it, like something possessed and cast off.
You’ll come to me
. She shuddered. And those things Ben had said; she wished she could keep him inside, playing his game, never letting him see those other boys, or Sally or Mr Remick, if that was what made him say such things. Maybe she should keep him away from school tomorrow.

A headache was starting behind her eyes. She frowned. If she did keep him at home tomorrow, there would still be the next day, and the day after that. And Ben liked his teacher.

Cass suddenly wished Bert was there to ask about everything, or Lucy. She should have tried harder to meet some of the other mothers, but she had only really spoken to Lucy, and now she was out of reach. And Bert might have known what the cross on the door meant, the circle of
bones on the riverbank, the doll, its body crusting with bloody yolk. Had Bert seen the mark on the mill door? Is that why he had warned her to be careful?

This made her think of the empty apartment. Even now someone might be down there, looking up at the ceiling. Cass shuddered. She watched her son. The curve at the nape of his neck, frosted with pale hair, looked innocent, vulnerable. He was sitting perfectly still.

Cass looked at the door. The key was in the lock. She wouldn’t be gone long; she could lock him in, make sure he was safe. ‘Ben,’ she called, ‘I’m going out for ten minutes. I’m just popping downstairs, okay?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Ben?’

A slight turn of his head, a shrug of a shoulder. It would have to be enough. Cass went into the kitchen and grabbed a torch from the cupboard. When she checked on Ben he hadn’t moved. She went out and closed the door softly, locking it behind her. She jumped when the lights flickered on and hurried down the hall towards the stairs.

Her footsteps rang out on the flagstones then were silent on the ground floor’s crimson carpet. The door to Apartment 6 was closed. Had she done that? She couldn’t remember. She only remembered the feeling of revulsion when she touched the dusty surface of the doll, felt the viscous fluid spill over her.

The same feeling she’d had with Theo Remick.

She put her hand on the door handle. Someone could be in there now, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt empty,
like the rest of the mill. The way even their apartment felt.

Cass opened the door and saw the skeleton of a home and the gleam of moonlight on the snow outside. She didn’t know what she’d expected to find. The place was empty. Dust blanketed the floorboards, scuffed here and there with her own footprints or Ben’s and the grey shuffling of rats. There was no sign that anyone else had been here. Even the rats were gone.

Perhaps no one had called them
.

Cass blinked, pointed the torch and pushed the switch.