The Shadow Year (25 page)

Kat waits for someone to laugh; Simon is beginning to sound more and more pompous and evangelical. But nobody does laugh, for the truth is there is something quite awe-inspiring about him seated at the head of the table, his face intense and serious, his dark eyes shining in the candlelight, the high angle of his cheekbones exaggerated in the dim glow. She watches his face and it comes to her again just how much she loves him.

He’s right, she thinks; this is where she is supposed to be, sitting next to Simon, in this cottage, beside this lake. This is her family now. They just have to get to Christmas and then Freya will leave as planned and everything will return to normal. She lowers her head and reaches for her spoon and the room falls silent as they all turn to their bowls and begin to eat.

11

LILA

December

Every morning, Lila wakes to the remnants of her dreams: running down a landing, a sickening plunge, a shattering impact. It’s always the same until one ice-cold morning she wakes to the haunting fragment of something else, something new, something echoing from deep within the shadows of her sleep. She’s still running, she’s still falling, only this time there are three distinct words tumbling down behind her into the void:
just like her
.

She lies in bed staring up at the ceiling, half of it now painted a bright white, the other half still soot-stained and grey.
Just. Like. Her
. What can they mean? As she ponders this new detail the words beat drum-like in her head.
Just. Like. Her
.

She’s hot. She pushes off the covers and presses the flat of her hand to her forehead. It comes away clammy. Her pyjamas are sweat-soaked too. She swallows, registers the blade lodged deep in her throat and stifles a groan. She can’t get sick, not now. Not when there is still so much to do.

She staggers off the camp bed and makes her way through the cottage to the earth closet outside where she releases a stream of pee into the dark hole in the ground. The winter air is a balm on her skin, cooling her down, but by the time she has made it back inside the cottage she is shivering uncontrollably. She fills a glass of water at the kitchen sink, takes a sip, then stares out of the window. What should she do? She had planned to paint the other half of the bedroom ceiling today, but common sense is telling her that she should light the fire and crawl back into bed for another hour or so.

A movement outside the kitchen window diverts her attention: something red-gold slinking through the dull winter landscape, sliding between the papery-white honesty seed pods. Lila watches, her eyes slowly joining the dots as the creature moves through the foliage, until she can see the outline of a fox. It stops near the collapsed frame of the rotten chicken coop and lifts its nose to the wind, puffs of its breath fogging in the air; then slowly it swings its head round towards the window. Lila doesn’t breathe. Can it see her? Is it watching her? For a moment the whole world is still. It is just Lila and the fox, its ears pricked skywards and those tiny clouds of air frosting above its head. A bird startles in the tree overhead and with a flash of red, the fox darts back into the undergrowth and is gone.

Lila’s brain is slow to catch up. She eyes the empty space where the fox stood just seconds ago, as if the air still holds the imprint of the animal, molecules slowly shifting and closing over the void once more. She shakes her head. She really doesn’t feel good.

Back in the bedroom she notices how her breath fogs in clouds, just like the fox’s. She touches the electric heater standing in the corner of the room and realises it is stone cold. She flicks the ON-OFF switch then turns the temperature dial. She unplugs and plugs it back in at the old wall socket, then kicks the broken appliance in frustration. She can’t be bothered to carry firewood upstairs; nor can she be bothered to carry her camp bed downstairs to the lounge where the basket of logs stands next to the grate. Instead, she crawls back into her sleeping bag and lies on the creaking canvas, hauling the blankets over her. Just a few more minutes in bed, then she’ll make tea and find some paracetamol. Lila closes her eyes against the slow drumbeat in her head and the too-bright light flooding through the window. Just a few more minutes’ sleep.

When she opens her eyes next, the light outside her window has changed; it’s no longer a brutal white but a strange dusky grey. Twilight or dawn, she isn’t sure, but she is drenched in sweat again and shivering uncontrollably. She knows she must get up, get changed and get warm.

She creeps around the room like an old lady, pulling on tracksuit bottoms, a long-sleeved T-shirt, two sweaters and an old pair of hiking socks. She goes downstairs and gives the fire a good go. She lays kindling and firelighters and watches them catch, but she doesn’t have the patience to tend it as she should; she smothers it with logs too quickly and after one smouldering effort and a nasty coughing fit she gives up and creeps back to the relative warmth of her bed. Outside, in the half-light, a lace curtain is falling over the valley. She watches it for a moment, wondering what it could be, until the curtain draws close enough for her to realise that it is snow, falling all around, cloaking the cottage and the lake in a thick veil of white. It is strangely beautiful and she finds herself thinking of Tom and wishing he were there with her.

The veil moves closer until snowflakes flurry at the windowpane, like feathers whirling through the air after a pillow fight. She watches for a while until her eyes tire and she closes them in sleep once more.

Delirious with fever, the night passes in a terrifying, dream-filled state, a steady stream of scenes and images spinning round the carousel of her mind. At one point her father is there; he sits beside her and smooths her brow.
You’re just like her
, he says and she sits bolt upright in the darkness and calls out to him.
Like who? Who am I like
? But he simply smiles and draws his finger across his throat in a macabre gesture before disappearing like a wraith in the night.

Then it is Tom’s turn. He is standing in the shallows of the lake, beckoning for her to join him. She wanders down to the lake’s edge and watches him for a moment. She wants to step into the water. She wants to be with him but she knows she cannot enter the lake because she is afraid. She cannot swim. Tom holds his arms out to her, pleading with her to come to him, but there is nothing she can do. Sadly, she shakes her head then turns and walks away.

Back in the cottage she hears the shrill wail of a baby. She stops and listens, tries to place where the sound is coming from. Upstairs, she thinks, so she races to the bedroom but finds nothing but dust and cobwebs and that strange shadowy mural painted across one wall. It is some kind of trick because the crying is downstairs now, and louder. She checks the living room and then the kitchen, but it’s only as she looks out the window that she sees her: a tiny baby swaddled in an oval Moses basket and a red-gold fox standing over her, sniffing.
Get away!
she cries.
Get away from her!
But the fox just turns and bares its teeth and Lila watches on helplessly as the animal snatches up the blanketed bundle in its jaws and drags it away into the woods.
No
, she cries,
no. Don’t take her from me
. She can’t bear it: the feeling of losing her all over again. Hot tears stream down her cheeks.

Somewhere far away, she hears boots stamping by the front door. There is a knock and a man’s voice calling out, ‘Hello?’

She is too tired to respond and burrows deeper into sleep.

‘Hello? Lila, are you there?’

She knows she should wake but she can’t open her eyes, not even when she hears the front door open and heavy footsteps moving across the floor and up the creaking staircase towards her. A shadow falls across her bed and then a rough hand is laid on her brow. ‘Lila. You’re burning up. Can you hear me?’

She tries to open her eyes. She tries to tell him that she’s OK but everything is so jumbled and confusing and the wrong words leave her mouth. ‘There’s a fox,’ she says. ‘He’s taken my baby.’

‘Shhh,’ says the man. ‘Shhh. You’re not well.’

Suddenly she is airborne, lifted like a snowflake eddying on the breeze. She is carried out into bright daylight, but it is too much and she buries her head in the man’s shoulder. He holds her close and transports her over a vast, white plain, as though she’s flying, a feather whirling in the cold, white air.

When Lila eventually wakes, it is to a warm weight lying across her legs and a raspy, wet tongue slobbering at her face. Alarmed, she tries to push herself up to a seated position.

‘Rosie! Rosie, get down!’

Through bleary eyes she sees a black and white dog bound across the room and wheel in circles around a pair of cord-clad legs.

‘Sorry about that. She gets a bit excited around strangers.’ William comes into view by the open door; he has the dog by the collar now. ‘We don’t get too many visitors up here at the farm. Rosie’s my old working dog – retired now – and I’m afraid she’s thoroughly spoilt, aren’t you girl?’ The dog beats her tail on the floor.

As she props herself up against the bedhead Lila sees a beautiful grey cat stretch languidly at the end of the covers then, disgruntled to have lost her warm sleep spot, jump down off the bed. Lila gives a weak smile and adjusts her pillows.

‘How are you feeling?’ William asks, hovering in the doorway.

‘I’m – I’m not sure.’ She puts a hand to her temple: her skin feels cool and dry. ‘Better, I think.’

‘Good.’ William nods. ‘The fever must have broken.’

‘Where am I?’

‘God, sorry,’ says William, looking horrified. ‘You’re at my farm.’ He shifts his weight from foot to foot, rubs his arm. ‘You must have thought I’d kidnapped you.’ He swallows and can’t quite meet her eye. ‘You were in a bad way and I just thought it would be better – warmer – and easier too, if we needed the doctor.’

‘You called a doctor?’

‘Yes. You were delirious.’

‘I was?’

William nods. ‘A nasty case of flu. Apparently there’s a lot of it going around. Doc says you’ll be fine in a few days, though. You need rest and plenty of fluids.’

‘How long have I been here?’

‘About twenty-four hours.’

Lila stares at him. ‘I’ve been asleep for twenty-four hours?’ She shakes her head. ‘I should call Tom.’

‘It’s OK. I rang him last night. He wanted to come straight away but the doc recommended bed rest so I told him you’d call as soon as you were awake. Now, how about a drink? A cup of tea?’

Lila nods. ‘Yes please. Can I . . . where is . . . the bathroom?’

‘Second door on the left, just before the stairs. I’ll bring your tea up.’

‘No, that’s OK. I’ll come down. I think I’m feeling strong enough.’

‘Well don’t rush. Take your time.’

‘Thank you.’

William steps out the door and Lila can’t help herself; she lifts the sheets and is relieved to see she is still fully clothed, still wearing tracksuit bottoms and her old university T-shirt. Well that’s something, at least.

Looking around, she sees that she is lying in a single bed in the corner of an attic room with a low, sloping ceiling and a dormer window. A radiator clanks and creaks on the far wall opposite. Spread upon the floor is a colourful, knotted rug, while curtains adorned with pretty blue and green butterflies hang across the window. She pulls one back and is amazed to see the landscape stretching out before her, snow-covered fields and moorland rising up to meet the pale white sky. They must be high in the peaks because it feels as though she can see for miles and there is snow everywhere, a thick layer of it clinging to the hedgerows and bare branches of the spindly silver birch trees standing like ghosts on the horizon. Directly below the window she sees the roof of William’s Land Rover and a series of farm buildings dotted around a yard, muddy boot marks stomped here and there through the snow. As she gazes out at the scene, a low wind sweeps across the ground, picking up a dusting of snowflakes and tossing them about like shreds of torn paper.

Turning her gaze back into the room she sees her mobile phone on the bedside table. She pulls up Tom’s number and is relieved when he answers almost immediately.

‘Lila, are you OK?’

‘Hi, yes.’ Her voice is croaky. ‘. . . I think so. I’m at William’s.’

‘I know. He called me from your phone last night. Are you OK? How are you feeling?’

‘I . . . I don’t know. I’ve just woken. I’m a bit shaky.’

‘I want to come and get you.’

‘Um . . . I – I don’t know.’ Her brain is still foggy. She tries to think. ‘I have your car here.’

‘Forget the car, I’ll come up there right now. You shouldn’t be there. You should be here at home.’

Lila thinks for a moment. ‘There’s snow. Lots of it. I don’t know if my car would manage it. Don’t do anything just yet. Give me an hour or two. Let me see how I’m feeling first. I’ll call you again in a bit. OK?’

There is silence at the other end of the phone.

‘OK?’