A Cold Season (27 page)

Cass remembered her dream: Remick standing outside, his chest bared, raising his arms to greet the snow as it fell.

The church tower loured, a black hole in the sky, and she remembered how she had feared it, standing there as her father inspected her dress, the way he had led her to the altar. Now she felt nothing. In the morning light she couldn’t believe the book was real, any of it: the figures on the moor, Sally’s threats. Nothing in her life seemed real, nothing since the moment they told her that her husband wasn’t coming back.

She looked down at Ben, caressed his hair. His eyes were more shadowed than ever.

His footsteps faltered as she led the way past the rectory. She glanced sidelong at the windows and glimpsed only her own reflection. Would Remick be at home? He could be looking out at them even now. Cass shivered as Ben stopped, his eyes fixed on the church spire.

‘Come on, love.’ She reached out her hand. ‘I can’t leave you here. I just need to look at something, that’s all.’

He swallowed, his eyes becoming hard, but after a moment he slipped his hand into hers. Cass felt the coldness of his skin, found herself tracing the line across his palm with one finger.

Ben hung back as Cass twisted the iron handle on the church door, but as she pushed it open he ducked under her arm and rushed into the darkness of the church. She shoved the door and it scraped on stone as it thudded back.

She went inside, and found herself surrounded by brilliant colours: reds, yellows, blues, and dust motes dancing in the dazzling light. She blinked and started walking, her shoes loud on the stone. She opened her mouth to call Ben’s name, then made out the pale arc of his hair.

He sat in the first pew, looking at the crucifix on the altar: Christ with contorted face, protruding ribs. Cass looked at her son’s rapt expression. She had tried to shield him from such images, not like her, a little girl in a white dress marched down the aisle, the messages repeated and repeated in her ears:

Pray to be delivered from sin. Turn away from evil. His voice will whisper in your ear, call you to the world. You must not listen
.

‘You got dedicated,’ Ben said. He pointed at the place just in front of where he sat, the place where Cass had knelt and bowed her head, her father’s hand pressing her down, opening her mouth and feeling the dry paper on her tongue and the tang of sour wine.
This is love
.

It hadn’t tasted like love.

Cass blinked.

‘I was confirmed.’ Her voice was dry and cracked. ‘I was confirmed, Ben, not—’

He didn’t look at her and she did not go on.
Dedicated
, he’d said, and she had been about to correct him, except
that he was right: she had been dedicated. That was the word her father had used.
I dedicate this child to the Lord
.

The weight of her father’s hand, pressing down. The weight of his words. The sour taste of wine on her tongue.

Gloria, I named thee. You will glorify the Lord’s name
.

She had left that name behind a long time ago, and yet here she was, back in Darnshaw, seeking the memory of her father, perhaps, just as Ben had been seeking a father.

‘How did you know that, Ben? Were you dedicated?’

He closed his fingers over his damaged palm, opened them again and rubbed his hand against his cheek. His eyes never left the window. Colours streaked his face: yellow, red.

Cass stepped towards the altar. There was no book, only the same white cloth she’d seen before, covering the centre of the slab, not hiding the abattoir groove carved into the edge.

Lucy had said something about children and a sacrifice – not
being
sacrificed, but
doing
the killing, the knife in their small hands—

Cass turned back to Ben.

He wasn’t there. She blinked. The coloured light played across the pew where he had been sitting. There was movement in the shadows, a shuffling sound, and Cass could see Ben, crushed against a tall figure. She knew the shape, had felt those hands on her body. Ben wasn’t being held; his arms were wrapped around Remick in a hug. And as she watched, Remick raised his hand and rested it on her son’s head.

‘He’s come home now,’ Remick said.

‘Ben, come here.’

He didn’t move.

‘Do you really think he wants to go with you, Cass? He’s quite comfortable here. He’s happy.’

‘
Ben
.’

Remick smiled and stepped forward, and his hand twisted Ben’s head so that he was facing her.

She could see the silver lines of tears on her son’s face.

‘He needs stability, Cass. Security. Peace.’

He needs
me
.’

‘Really, Cass? Do you think so?’

‘Ben, come here.’ Cass shouted this time, and the sound reverberated from the walls.

‘You can take him, Cass, but you can never have him back.’

She held out her hand and Ben left Remick’s side and reached for her.

‘Ben, show her who you are,’ said Remick. ‘Show her who you belong to.’

Ben stared down at the floor and he opened his hand. The cut on his palm was a vivid slash.

‘That’s right. He belongs to me now, Gloria. It doesn’t matter where you go. A part of him – the important part, you’ll find – will always be here with me.’

Remick’s lips continued to move but she couldn’t hear him. She closed her eyes and saw her husband, mouthing words, trying to tell her something. He was holding out his hands. She opened her eyes and Remick stepped back towards the window. Blue light fell across his face. He
smiled. ‘You understand now, don’t you, Cass? Now you see.’

Cass squeezed Ben’s shoulder, indicating he should stay where he was. She walked towards Remick.

‘Welcome back, my dear,’ he said, and opened his arms. But she brushed past him, stood beneath the window and looked up.

The pietà. Christ on the Virgin’s knee, dead in her arms. His face was empty, the eyes black smudges. A fallen god. The Virgin’s cloak was the colour of the sky. The same colour as the stones her husband had been holding.

And then Cass looked at the Virgin’s face and her mouth dried up. It was a narrow, almost hollow face, a little too long, a little too defined. The skin on the cheeks looked mottled. The eyes were dark and triumphant.

It was a man’s face, not a woman’s. ‘You,’ she whispered. She felt Remick’s touch on her shoulder and at the same time she could feel his hands on her face, her arms, her breasts, feeling their way down her spine, her chest, touching her heart.

‘I was always here,’ he said, ‘before time was measured; before the first stone was laid. I was here, watching for those who would take my name.’

‘But—’ Cass looked up at the window, the god held in Remick’s arms.

His voice was at her ear. ‘It’s good, isn’t it? Just think, all that time, all those worshippers looking up and singing his praises, and all along it was me, holding the dead Christ. It’s a nice touch, don’t you think? And funny,
when you think about it: they see me every day and yet know me not.’

‘You’re—’
Just a man
, Cass was going to say, but she felt his breath on her neck, his lips caressing her face, working their way down. She closed her eyes, saw Pete holding out the blue stones, letting them fall to the ground one by one. They were the exact blue of the Virgin’s gown. He had been trying to show her, make her see, but she had been blind to everything.

Remick laughed. ‘Lapis lazuli,’ he said, ‘the stone of the desert, isn’t that ironic? The most expensive colour in the world, and it’s right here in Darnshaw: the colour of sky and the heart of a flame both.
Both
.’ His voice became wistful. ‘A connection to two worlds, Cass. His and mine.’

He nestled close, rested his chin on her shoulder. ‘You know something, Cass? The finest lapis contains sulphur too. Isn’t that delicious? It contains sulphur and iron pyrite – fool’s gold.’ His laugh brayed in her ear.

‘Such a thing your husband chose for you: fool’s gold.’

‘How do you—?’

‘I showed you, Cass. They call me the Father of Lies, but I only ever showed you the truth.’ He held out his hand and she saw blue stones turning to dust in his palms.

And Cass understood. ‘He wasn’t there – Pete was never there. It was you in my dreams.’

Remick smiled. He licked his lips with the tip of his tongue.

Cass looked at her son.

‘Oh, he’s better off, Cass. Besides, the other lot have
been doing it for centuries. “Give me the child for seven years, and I will give you the man.” That’s their boast, isn’t it? I do the same thing and they get all indignant.’

‘Leave Ben alone.’

‘As you like – but he’s already marked as my own. It’s very fetching, don’t you think?’ Remick went to Ben, picked up his arm and straightened his fingers so that Cass could see the mark. ‘It’s somewhat melodramatic, all that writing-in-blood business, but it seals it in their minds; that’s the important thing. And I have always liked the smell, I must confess.’ He turned back to Cass, his eyes gleaming. ‘Do you want to see it, Gloria? Put your hands on the book? Of course you do.’

He danced away towards the lectern and reached up for the book that rested upon it.
It was there all the time
, thought Cass,
in plain view. Like the window
.

Remick’s face grew cloudy. ‘You don’t think I’d hide, do you? Here it is.’ The book was cased in dusty leather and it smelled of animal hide and time. Remick whistled between his teeth as he ran a narrow finger down the open page. He turned the book so that Cass could see, but the words swam in front of her eyes. She scanned down, saw Damon’s name written there, deep brown. Sally. Myra. She did not want to see, and yet she could not stop her eyes following their course down the page.

Remick closed the book with a snap.

‘All there,’ he said, ‘all signed, sealed and dedicated.’ His eyes went to the spot where Cass had once knelt.

The church spun around her. Her father’s hand, resting in her hair: had it even been that way? In her mind’s eye
she saw her own palm held out, small and white, and a knife raised above it. An open book waiting on the altar. She shook her head. That’s not how it was. Her father had been a good man who did his best. Gloria, he had called her.

‘Quite so.’ Remick’s voice was in her hair. ‘He possessed your every thought, did he not? He took you from me. He thought he could protect you, give you to the other. Well, I will tell you this, Cass: you can only ever give yourself.’

Cass reached out for the book, felt the decaying cover beneath her fingers before he took it away.

‘You can’t take it back.’

Cass forced herself to stand tall. ‘You’re deluded,’ she said, ‘insane. Nothing more.’

‘Am I?’ He looked at the window. ‘A simple sign, isn’t it, Cass? Anyone who cared to come here could see it. This church was built long before you were born. I’m doing well for my age, aren’t I?’ He grinned. ‘Still plenty of life in me, didn’t you find?’

Cass looked back at the window. It was a coincidence, that was all; whoever made the window couldn’t have meant—

She looked into the Virgin’s face and Remick’s eyes looked back at her.

‘You see,’ Remick breathed, ‘you
do
believe.’

She remembered the touch of his face pressed against her own, his kisses on her skin.

Remick smiled and Cass felt her nerves prickle. She shuddered.
I knew
, she thought.
My body always knew
.

She met his eyes, caring, loving eyes, and they were full of amusement. She shook her head. ‘You can’t have him,’ she said. ‘You can’t have my son.’

He smiled, set the book back on the lectern.

‘I’ll burn it.’

He laughed. ‘Will you, Cass? We’ll see. Of course, it’s written on his skin too, is it not? In his heart, his eyes—’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps it’s best for you to go, Cass. Your destiny is written on you too. Gloria: for the glory of God. Well, now you can take your son and go. Glorify him.’

Cass stared. ‘They’ll come for you,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell them everything. I found the bodies – Bert, Lucy.’
Jess
. Jess was still in the house with Sally.

‘Cassandra.’ He smiled. ‘How ironic, that you should have her name. Do you know who she was, Cass? She had the gift of prophecy, and yet she was doomed never to be heard. Funny you should choose it for yourself.’

‘My name is Cassidy.’

‘If you like.’

‘You can’t have him.’ Cass felt tears spring to her eyes. ‘You have to let him go.’

‘
Have
to,
have
to—’

‘Please.’

‘Ah, begging – I like that. I like it.’

Cass stared. After a moment she dropped to her knees. The stone was cold, unyielding.

Remick smiled.

‘Please. Whatever you did to him – took from him – let him go.’

‘You’re begging me?’

‘I’m begging you.’

Remick’s eyes shone. He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Oh, Cass, please – really?’ He paused, became serious. ‘There is one thing and one thing only I want, and you know exactly what that one thing is.’

He fell silent, but his lips continued to move. Cass heard the words quite clearly:
I have tasted you
.

Cass opened her lips. ‘
Me?
’ She felt his hands on her body once again, shivered. The thought was in her mind:
You already had me
.

‘Oh, not your body, Cass, sweet as that was – although I wonder what your father would have said? No, I don’t need that; that was a foretaste only. A flavour.’ He kept his eyes on her.

She shook her head.

‘Your love? No, your heart is turning cold, Cass; I don’t want it. That’s not what it is at all. You know the game, you were taught the rules as a little girl: that part of you that was signed over, sealed, dedicated to
Him
: That’s sweet, Cass, the sweet, sweet soul of a forbidden flower.
Give it to me
.’ His eyes were suddenly greedy. He licked his lips, and a drop of saliva remained visible. ‘
Give it to me
.’ He couldn’t stop the words falling from his mouth. ‘Sign it over – one little thing, one moment, and it’s done. I’ll let him go, expunge his name, and it will be as though it had never been written.’