Winter’s Children (22 page)

Refuge

 

Kay stood in a daze, sifting aimlessly through the wreckage of Side House. Everything was ruined. It looked as if a bomb had hit the building; an empty skull with windows like blackened eye sockets. The stench of burning singed her nostrils. Even though they were temporary residents, the place was full of their belongings. Now she was standing in borrowed clothes: a thick sweater of Nora’s that drowned her, and some baggy pyjama bottoms with Wellingtons that made her look like a refugee.

Evie was subdued, still in shock, wearing an old-fashioned Fair Isle jumper and a kilt that Nora produced out of tissue paper, making her look like an evacuee from the Second World War. They would have to go into town and kit themselves out, but Kay hadn’t the energy to drive that far. The sky was glowering overhead and the forecast was for snow.

Part of her just wanted to get down to the railway station and catch the first train south. The thought of negotiating motorways and traffic in bad weather, returning to another borrowed bed, was too awful to contemplate. I just can’t do it, she cried. I can’t move. We’re trapped. What on earth shall we do?

News of the fire was wafting like a bonfire across Scar Top moor and down into Wintergill by police, postman, milk lorry, and within hours the local reporter was at the gate, wanting to make a big Christmas story out of their plight. He made Evie pose looking disconsolate outside the old barn. It was amazing just how much he had picked up from Stickley’s about them; that Kay was a widow whose husband had died tragically last year at the same time and that all their presents were burned.

Evie was gabbling on about Father Christmas finding another chimney to come down and Kay felt sick, knowing that all her presents so carefully hidden in the under-stair cupboard had melted in the heat. She should have locked them in the boot of the car but it was too late now.

‘What will you be doing for Christmas now?’ the reporter asked.

‘I don’t know … back to the Midlands, I suppose. I really can’t concentrate on this,’ she said briskly, hoping he’d go away, but he stayed rooted to the spot.

‘Just a few more questions, love. This will make a good human-interest story. Locals will be very generous to the kiddie, just you see.’

‘If you have any Christmas spirit at all, just leave us out of your newspaper. The fire is public knowledge. The rest is personal to us. Don’t make it any worse for my child either. It’s the Snowdens who you should be interviewing. Nik saved our lives. You can remind your readers to buy smoke alarms too. Thank you.’ Kay walked away, suddenly exhausted.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ the reporter promised. She sat nursing a mug of strong tea, shivering at the thought of what might have happened, wondering: when is this run of bad luck going to end? What have I done?

Why were her dreams turning into nightmares?

The phone at the farmhouse never stopped that morning as everyone in the district wanted a blow-by-blow account of the night’s excitement. It reminded Nora of the phone calls after their stock was ‘taken out’.

Nora was not surprised that the local farmers’ wives wanted it straight from the source. Ringing in for a good craic on the phone just to while away minutes between chores after breakfast was something she was guilty of herself. She was ready for all their enquiries. If they wanted the lowdown then they must help out, and she began to galvanise action to support her guests.

‘The poor lass has nothing but her nightdress. The bairn hasn’t a toy or stitch to her name. They’ve lost the lot, all their Christmas gone up in smoke … We shall take them in, of course, but I’ve been laid up with flu and not a thing prepared for an invasion. Nik’s rushed off his feet trying to sort out the insurance inspections before the holiday shuts everything down.’ She made a big sigh into the earpiece.

‘Days before Christmas is not the best time to have a blaze … so if you can find your way to helping these poor souls, I’d be most obliged … Ethel, Audrey, Kirsty, Pam …’ Soon she was hoarse repeating her message.

She finished each phone call with a smile. Don’t let me down, girls. I’m relying on your good-hearted generosity to show these offcomers a right Yorkshire welcome, she thought.

Then the sight of the ruined barn caught her eye. If truth were told there was a little part of her heart that was glad it was derelict. It had such a place in her own story. How strange to see Evie wearing Shirley’s clothes; the ones she had kept by for the Christmas her daughter never got to see. She had kept them wrapped like a relic in tissue paper in the back of her bottom drawer, but now they could be better used. Evie was so unlike Shirley and it was all that could be found in an emergency. It wasn’t morbid but oddly comforting to see the kilt swishing on a living child.

If her refugees were coming to stay then a bit of dust and clutter would have to be shifted to give them an aired bed and some privacy. There were meals to prepare, food to be bought in, and she was still too wobbly on her pins to drive into town. She would give orders, make lists and do sit-down jobs like chopping vegetables. She could keep an eye on the youngster and try to take her mind off the shocking experience. Kay must have a hundred things to do so Nora decided to ring Pat Bannerman and put her in the picture. She was proving a good friend to Kay and she would help Evie come to terms with the event.

Perhaps it was not too late to salvage something from this mess if they all pulled together.

Nik ran Kay down to Settle to buy some clothes for Evie. She would have to sort out credit cards and inform Stickley’s, but she was working on automatic pilot, silent, sad-eyed, close to tears at the slightest sympathy. Nora had made them a list of essentials: toiletries, underwear, warm clothes and boots, and he left her to it. He had his own mess to sort out at Laytons Insurance brokers.

His mother was doing her best to cheer up the child. She ought to be convalescing, not baby-sitting, but it was all hands to the pump in this emergency. This is what happened when you let out your house to strangers … Hang on, he thought, they’re not strangers now.This was Kay and Evie, who’d had a bellyful of bad luck. They’d brought life back to the yard, Evie dancing about with Muffin. She’d softened his mother’s eye these past weeks, and as for Kay …

They’d had a great lunch in Skipton. She’d told him about her accountancy career and how successful Tim had been, and for a second he found himself jealous of a dead man. They’d talked through some of his confusion about compensation tax relief until their lunches were almost cold.

When Kay laughed he felt a glow of satisfaction. Here was a woman he could really fall for, but now she was homeless and would leave Wintergill with only bad memories. He couldn’t have that. Mother and he were responsible now for their welfare. Neither of them would walk away from the enormity of what might have happened.

If only he had left the barn untouched, spending so much money in the hope of a good return. Now it was a writeoff. What on earth was he going to tell his mother?

‘I wish I could put you both up,’ said Pat Bannerman as they queued in the supermarket. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve just the two rooms. You must come for dinner, though.’

‘Thanks but no,’ Kay smiled. ‘We ought to go back to Tim’s folks after all this, but I just can’t think straight.’ She was desperately trying to clear her head. ‘I’ve just been into the shop to buy some clothes for Evie but I couldn’t even remember her size! My mind keeps going blank. I’m sure I’ve bought a load of rubbish.’

The bank had been sympathetic issuing an emergency chequebook, phoning her branch in Sutton Coldfield and transferring cash straight away. She found herself standing in the cobbled marketplace amid the Christmas lights, and wanting to howl.

All around her were excited faces with their bags of presents and holly wreaths. All those families together, and never had she felt so alone.

They don’t know about us … They don’t know what happened. She could feel the tears spouting from nowhere again. It felt as if the whole world was against her. No one cared that we nearly died, she thought, sniffing into a tissue, pretending she had a cold. It must be the shock.

‘Have a good cry, let go of it all. Release the energy.’ She could hear her grief counsellor whispering in her ear. ‘You’ve been so brave and courageous. Good times will come again … Keep battling on … All shall be well.’

How could all things be well when they’d no clothes, no roof over their heads and not one present to give Evie for Christmas? It was a stupid idea coming north and now she’d lost everything! She drove back to the farm in a daze of misery and confusion.

‘I’d better start packing,’ she sighed, knowing there was nothing left but the car. ‘We’ll get out of your hair,’ she added as Nora hovered in the hall.

‘Nonsense. You’re staying here for Christmas and that’s an end on it,’ Nora ordered. ‘There’s no blame on you for the accident. It was just one of those things. I wouldn’t dream of letting you go to some hotel. We’ve made a start already. Edna Danby’s been round to give me a hand clearing out a guest room for you both with twin beds. She’s left a big apple pie with mincemeat. You’ll have met her husband at the quiz show, I expect.’

Kay nodded, not having the foggiest clue who this Edna Danby was, feeling much calmer now after the tears.

‘Karen Grimoldby, who’ll be having her own sad Christmas since her husband died this back end, sent some anoraks and sweatshirts her boys have grown out of for play clothes. Pat Bannerman rang and will send up a pile of books and bits for Evie to amuse herself with over the holiday. The Pringles from Dry Beck called in with a plucked goose and some sloe gin to take your mind off your troubles so you won’t go hungry.’

‘How kind,’ Kay sniffed, humbled by all this concern. ‘That’s how we do things in the dale,’ said Nora. ‘We help each other, good times and bad. A bit here and there – it all adds up.’

‘Thanks, I shall write and thank them,’ Kay replied. ‘We’ll stay on condition that we help out too. Keep me busy. It’ll take my mind off it all. I keep seeing the flames rushing up the stairwell.’ They were sitting in the little snug with a roaring fire, and the flames licking the logs looked so harmless.

‘If you’ll see to your own sheets in the linen cupboard and sort out your beds, that’ll be a help.’ Nora was giving her orders for the day. ‘There’s no central heating in here. I don’t hold with it in bedrooms. I think it causes all sorts of ailments but we’ve got hot-water bottles somewhere. Put on your socks in bed and pile on a sweater.’

‘There could be just a bit of a problem with Evie’s bed,’ Kay whispered, knowing she’d have to confess now. ‘She’s still a bit unreliable at night, and after all this, I’m expecting a setback in the wee department.’

‘There’s a rubber sheet somewhere at the back of the linen cupboard. I’m not that reliable myself some nights. Coughing plays heck with your bladder and getting old is no picnic!’ Nora was laughing away any embarrassment and Kay could have kissed her. ‘This place is too big for the both of us. It’ll be good to have some noise around the house, like the old days. Evie’s a breath of fresh air.’

‘We must do our share, though,’ Kay insisted, wanting no charity. ‘But I don’t know how to thank you both, Mrs Snowden.’ She touched the old woman’s arm.

‘Then start by calling me Nora,’ came the reply.

‘Mrs Nora feels more respectful after all you’ve done.’ Kay felt such relief not to have to pack up and head south. The decision was out of her hands.

The older woman rose slowly to her feet and made for the door. ‘If that’s what you wish to call me, then Mrs Nora will suit me fine. Come on, let’s get stuck in. Christmas is coming and the geese are getting fat.’

Nora was sure that the insurance bumf was in the concertina file under the letter L for Laytons but Nik must have removed the policies when he went into town. She tried ringing their office but got some dreadful musak and slammed the phone down. Nik was out doing some walling on the fells and not due back until dusk. Trust him to disappear when he was wanted. She needed to know where they stood as regards the Side House so she hovered in his kitchen sorting out the mess until he kicked his boots through the door and put the kettle on the hob, ignoring her.

‘Well?’ she asked. ‘How did it go?’

‘How did what go?’ he muttered, banging his mug on the stove.

‘When are the insurers going to pay up? I saw the reminders myself.’

There was a silence and she noticed he was trying to be busy with his tea, not even bothering to answer her concern.

‘There’s been a bit of a complication,’ he said in his ‘no nonsense now, Mother’ voice.

‘Why’s that? We’ve paid our premiums for years, buildings and contents, one after the other. They always come before November. What’s the problem, son?’ She didn’t like the way he was avoiding her eye.

‘The contents are fine … It’s just the buildings that have lapsed.’

Those words poured over her like a drenching in cold water.

‘I forgot … I thought we had the buildings sorted, not the other way round,’ he said as he cut a crooked slice of bread.

There was another icy silence and she found herself gripping the table for support.

‘Are you saying we’re not covered for the Side House? All that brass we spent doing the damned thing up and it’s all for nothing?’ Her chest tightened in a spasm, her breath mangled up by the pressure. She sat down with her head in her hands. ‘You bloody fool!’

‘It’s not that bad, Mother. The contents are covered, furnishings and stuff. There was a pile of reminders and I meant to sort it out. I thought they could wait a while longer,’ he said, sitting down with his tea and shoving a mug towards her in a gesture of contrition.

‘What good’s carpets and curtains without a room to put them in? Have you seen the state of the place? It’s just an empty shell.’ She could hear herself shouting. How could her son be so useless?

‘We’ve got a new-for-old policy with our contents. We can rebuild the shell somehow.’ He was trying to sound optimistic.