Once Upon A Winter (2 page)

Frost crackled underfoot on the footpath leading away from the village. All around, gently undulating farmland rippled up to hills matted with heather. Harreloe nestled drowsily in a valley in the Clwydian Range. A world away from London. A world away from anywhere, it seemed, on a day like today.

The early morning was as breathtakingly clear as the previous night. Sunshine flickered through the recently stripped branches of the trees lining the stream, which babbled under the old stone bridge at the northern end of the village and then curved away westwards towards the woods.

In spite of sleeping on an inflatable mattress in her sister’s spare room, which doubled as a study, and regardless of being woken by stampeding children just before seven, Nell still felt rejuvenated. A much needed rest, however brief, was better than no rest at all. And now this brisk walk after breakfast was perfect. Clearing her head of any last cobwebs, setting her up for the day that awaited, and the unpacking and sorting out of boxes, bags and crates.

All the work that lay ahead had been the reason Nell hadn’t made her way straight to Bryn
Heulog yesterday. Emma had overseen the arrival of the removal van during the afternoon, and thought it best that Nell and the children stayed over at hers to allow an entire day to start settling in. ‘It’s chaos, Nell. Honestly,’ she’d said. ‘You can’t sleep there tonight. And Dad will be exhausted himself from ferrying Nana down from Cumbria.’

So now Nell was going over everything in her head, mapping out her day as her breath formed misty plumes and her sister’s dog yapped around her ankles. Up ahead, four excited children gambolled like spring lambs.

Nell had always walked Freya and Joshua to school, come rain or shine. For fresh air (as fresh as it could be in a city) and exercise. Trudging the hard, cracked pavements and pedestrian crossings for fifteen minutes a day. The car had been reserved for longer excursions at weekends, when they would escape the fumes of the Capital to create more of their own in the country.

But it hadn’t been countryside such as this, thought Nell appreciatively.

Was it really nothing but her pride that had kept her away this long?

Nell knew she could analyse it to death, but still never come up with a clear-cut answer. At least, not today.

There were those who might assume it was her finances that had compelled her to leave London at this stage, after so long; and even those closest to her could be forgiven for thinking money had been a problem, because it wasn’t something Nell ever wanted to discuss.

On the face of it, she had been a single mum struggling to raise two children in a small flat above the letting agency where she worked. No social life to rave about. One child with . . . issues. Life had been tough, surely. Money must have been tight. No sign of the husband who had abandoned her seven years earlier, probably for another woman. Not even any contact with the kids. People were articulate and strident on the subject. It was only Nell who was comparatively silent.

She was almost certain her husband had not deserted her for anyone else. He had left to be on his own; to roam free, not tether himself again - even to someone more attractive - the minute he had escaped Nell.

‘Mum!’ Up ahead, Joshua was hollering for her attention.

Nell gulped down the lump in her throat, and diverted her attention to her son.

He was pointing through the trees. ‘Mum, what’s that?’

Nell followed his finger. From a thicket of short conifers she could make out two crooked, spindly chimneys poking towards the sky. Like an illustration from a child’s storybook.

‘Is there a house in there?’ Joshua seemed enthralled.

A snowdrift of memories tumbled over Nell. ‘Oh . . . That’s the Gingerbread House.’

Her nieces, Ivy and Rose, nodded in agreement. ‘That’s what Mum calls it, too.’

‘Emma and I used to play all around here when we were girls,’ Nell reminisced. ‘This is your granddad’s land now.’

‘But we’ve never walked this way,’ said Freya. ‘I can’t see Bryn
Heulog from here.’

‘I don’t think we’ve ever walked the whole way to the village or back when we’ve visited. Not this route, anyway,’ said Nell. ‘You’ll see Bryn
Heulog in a moment, when we leave the footpath.’

But Joshua’s army-camouflage
wellies seemed glued to the spot. ‘Who lives there?’ he asked.

‘Where?’ Nell looked back at him.

His eyes were round, wide with fascination. ‘That house? It can’t really be made of gingerbread. It’d go soggy and crumble up when it rains.’

‘It’s just a cottage,’ said Nell. ‘It was built for the gamekeeper to live in. Someone who would look after the estate, years and years ago, in Victorian times. When your Aunt
Em and I were girls, your granddad used to rent it out to this old lady we used to think was a witch. Except of course, she wasn’t. But we called it the Gingerbread House, and the name stuck.’

‘A witch - like in Hansel and Gretel?’

Nell nodded, perturbed by her son’s curiosity. ‘Joshua, no one lives there now, it’s derelict. You mustn’t ever go there on your own, it might be dangerous.’

‘Because of the witch?’ he said breathlessly.

‘No.’ Nell frowned. ‘Because no one’s lived there since the old lady died, and there might be loose bits of wood or masonry. Bricks, rotting windows, things that might fall on you -’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Ivy interrupted. She was eleven years old, with all her mother’s looks and charm. ‘Grandpa’s doing it up.’

‘Well, not Grandpa
himself
. He’s got workers in,’ continued Rose. Ten years old, tall and sturdy like her father Gareth. ‘They’ve been renovating it. Structurally,’ she added, repeating words she must have heard the adults use. ‘Grandpa said he wants to rent it out again. When he gets back from his holiday.’

‘Oh . . . I didn’t know.’ Nell pursed her lips. She wondered why her dad or Emma hadn’t told her. Then again, they’d probably assumed she had enough on her plate with the move.

‘It’s a bit more than a holiday,’ scoffed Ivy. ‘He’s going round the world for four months.’

‘But he’s coming back,’ said Rose. ‘So it is a holiday. Just a very, very long one. And he’ll bring us back presents. Souvenirs, he said.’

‘OK, OK.’ Nell stuck up her hand. ‘There’s no need to argue about it. And talking of your granddad, who reckons he’ll be up yet?’

‘What’s the time?’ asked Joshua. ‘I can’t say whether he will or he won’t, if I don’t
know what the time is.’

Freya looked at her watch. Pink and girly, with flowers embroidered on the strap. ‘It’s half-eight.’

‘I think he’ll be up then,’ said Joshua. ‘He’ll probably be making his pancakes right now. He told me on the phone when I asked that he still makes pancakes every weekend. But Nana Gwen will still be asleep, I reckon. It must have been shattering for her yesterday, travelling all the way down from that place Windy Mere. She’s very old, isn’t she, Mum? Probably a hundred.’

‘Ninety-three,’ giggled Rose. ‘And my mum says Nana Gwen sleeps till noon every day.’

‘Well,’ said Nell, ‘we’ll find out, won’t we? When we’re living with her. But maybe, to be on the safe side, we shouldn’t just turn up this early.’

‘But we can’t go back to ours yet,’ said Ivy, sharing a look with her sister. ‘Dad will have got back from his shift. He’ll want to have a fry-up and then sleep. Mum always asks us to walk Truffle after Dad’s been on night shift. He gets really grumpy.’

‘Dad, not Truffle.’ Rose stooped to ruffle the shaggy terrier’s ears. ‘We always go back home once we reckon Dad’s flat-out upstairs.’

‘Unless it’s a school day,’ added Ivy. ‘Then Mum meets us at the gates and walks Truffle back.’

Nell regarded her nieces. Lovely girls, very different in looks, but each pretty in their own way, and good-natured on the whole. It was disturbing to see them growing up this fast.

‘Right.’ Nell made her decision. ‘Your mum never mentioned anything, but we probably shouldn’t head back too soon. So we keep going, all right? Even though it’s uphill from here. All the way to Bryn
Heulog.’

‘In time for pancakes!’ whooped Joshua.

‘Anyone would think you hadn’t had breakfast already.’ His sister shook her head despairingly, as if she was older than him by years, and not thirteen minutes.

*

Daniel Guthrie let the paper slip from his hand. The end of an era. The excuse, some people would have it, to throw a party. Or at least go for a few beers to their local.

Daniel wasn’t in a mood for celebration. He didn’t view a Decree Absolute as
something positive. Perhaps those trapped in worse marriages would. It wasn’t his place to judge. He could only comment on his own failed relationship, and the fact that it hadn’t been his fault, if not wanting it to fail could be viewed that way.

He’d been fighting a losing battle, though. Like the sensation of sand running through his fingers as a boy, when he’d desperately tried to keep hold of as much of it as he could. His mother had warned him fondly, “It belongs on the beach, Danny, you can’t take it home with you.’

And Lauren had more or less said the same, with different imagery, though, when she’d first brought up the subject of separation over a year ago.

As always, on a Saturday morning, Daniel bent to tie the laces of his trainers, but this time shifting his eyes from the paper on the hall mat. Ignoring the uncompromising black words against the white backdrop. The finality of it, compared to the day when it had all begun with a tailored black suit and a white lace dress.

Daniel opened his front door, only to be blasted by a gust of icy air. Drawing a sharp breath, Daniel braced himself and walked out. He locked the door behind him and zipped up the key in his tracksuit pocket.

Slowly, easing himself into it, he broke into a gentle jog, the gravel crunching underfoot as he rounded the large white house, heading for his usual route through the woods. He had only gone a few yards when a fuzzy fur-ball collided with his ankles. It had come out of nowhere, and was now making an odd, plaintive whining noise, as Daniel stumbled, grasping thin air as he vainly tried to keep his balance.

He toppled over, sprawling on to the gravel, a burning pain in his palms as they scraped the sharp, tiny stones lining the driveway. The fur-ball yapped, and a wet nose pressed into his temple.

With a groan, Daniel rolled on to his back and tried to sit up, just as a woman came into view, running out of the trees on the left with the ener
gy of a rubber ball. A bundle of flame-red anorak, blue jeans and zebra-print Wellington boots. Four children bounded alongside her, two of whom Daniel knew well enough to be able to deduce who the other two were.

‘Truffle!’ the woman shouted sternly. ‘Bad boy, Truffle. What have you done?’

Truffle tilted his head to one side and played the injured party.

The woman tilted her head, too, as she stared down at Daniel, her eyes growing wide
as if in surprise, and then abruptly narrowing. ‘Sorry,’ she said, at last. ‘Did Truffle trip you up? He just ran off.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Daniel quickly. ‘I’m fine. Is Truffle OK?’

The woman scooped up the dog and checked him over. ‘He seems to be.’ She put Truffle back down. ‘I’m sorry, but what were you doing here anyway? Are you visiting . . . ?’

One of the two girls Daniel knew well tugged at the woman’s sleeve. ‘Aunt Nell,’ she muttered.

‘Hang on, Rose,’ the woman cut her off, ‘I’m talking to -’

‘Daniel Guthrie,’ said Daniel. ‘I live here. And you’re
Ellena Mason. Sorry, no - not Mason. Jones, isn’t it? Ellena Jones.’ Shock and pain easing, he clambered inelegantly to his feet and brushed himself down.

‘You live . . . here?’ The woman pointed to Bryn
Heulog. She seemed confused. ‘You - you can’t.’

‘Aunt Nell,’ said Rose insistently. ‘This is Mr
Guthrie
.’

‘Oh, I know who he is, Rose. He used to be in my class at St Cecil’s.’

It was Rose’s turn to look nonplussed.

‘St Cecil’s?’ echoed Daniel. ‘Wow. That was, like, a century ago. And didn’t everyone call you -’

‘Nell. Practically everyone’s always called me Nell.’

‘Your father doesn’t,’ said Daniel. ‘He’s been talking about you coming back to Harreloe. That’s why I called you
Ellena. I mean, I remember we were at school together - sort of - vaguely - but I haven’t actually seen you in years. You look really different. Well, I can’t exactly picture what you looked like before, but I would have remembered if you’d looked like you do now.’

Stop blathering, Daniel. She’s a woman, she’s attractive. Get over it
.

Her delicate nose crinkled. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say
you’ve
changed all that much.’

‘You don’t reckon?’ In Daniel’s mind, he was a completely different person from the boy who’d paraded around the most exclusive school in the area as if he owned it. ‘I can’t agree with you there.’ He shrugged awkwardly. ‘Time waits for no man.’

Nell frowned. ‘What did you mean when you said you lived here?’ She gestured towards the house.