Winter’s Children (27 page)

Evie, December 2001

 

Nora’s Christmas Biscuits

 

2 oz icing sugar

2 oz custard powder

6 oz margarine

6 oz plain flour

Cream them all together, shape into small balls and freeze until chilled.

Cook on a greased tray in fairly hot oven, 375°F or Gas Mark 5 or 190°C for 5 mins.

Cool on rack.

Decorate with coloured icing and silver balls.

Evie was awake, waiting for first light. She jumped out of bed and opened the curtains. ‘I thought you said it was going to snow.’ She reached over to the twin bed, shaking her mother out of her dreaming. ‘When are we going to Granny’s? I’m bored.’

‘Go back to bed, it’s still too early,’ Kay replied, turning on her side to finish off her dreaming. Tim was in that dream somewhere and she wanted to see his face again and feel his presence. She wanted to cry but there were only fingers pinching her arm.

‘Stop it, Evie! Read a book or get yourself some Weetabix,’ she mumbled. Tiredness was dragging her down a spiral staircase back into sleep. The fire had drained her of all her energy. She ought to be rising soon and helping out Nora, making herself useful, not lazing in bed. She leaned over to read her watch and it wasn’t yet seven o’clock.

‘They don’t have any Weetabix. I don’t like porridge oats. Why can’t we go back to Granny’s?’ Evie was now tugging at her pyjama sleeve.

‘Then go down and watch TV or a video.’

‘My videos are all burnt up … everything’s burned. I want to go home.’ Her whining was like a droning plane in Kay’s ears. She pulled the blankets over her head to blank out Evie’s protests. Evie pulled them back.

‘Find something to play with,’ Kay shouted but then remembered Evie had no toys left.

This was not how it was supposed to be – the escape to the country to find respite from all the Christmas hullabaloo. It was like living in some strange dream and the strained atmosphere downstairs didn’t help.

The Snowdens must have been quarrelling. You could cut the ice between them, and it was all bound up with the fire. Perhaps they blamed her for carelessness, but it was a freak accident. Everyone assured her of that fact. She pushed back the covers. ‘Come in with me, darling, just for a few minutes. The fire has made us all grumpy.’

Evie slid under the covers. Her feet were cold. The bedroom was freezing and Kay was glad of fleecy pyjamas.

‘How will Daddy find us now?’ Evie whispered.

Kay went cold. ‘He can’t find us, love. I told you before, Daddy’s not coming home. He had an accident, a car crash, and he died. The doctors tried to save him but he was too sick.’ She could feel her child shivering and cuddled her, but Evie sat up rigid.

‘Is he with Jesus in Heaven? Mrs Nora says that’s where Shirley and the Lavender Lady live but she comes down to visit here.’

‘That’s just make-believe, not proper visiting. Ghosts aren’t real. Daddy has no body now but he still loves you.’

‘He promised to bring me a real Christmas tree and he didn’t come.’ Evie’s voice sounded puzzled. ‘If he is in Heaven he can do anything. Why’s there no Christmas in this house? Can Daddy bring me Christmas here?’

‘It’s not quite like that,’ Kay groaned, knowing every word must be chosen with care. ‘Daddy can’t do that for you now, but we can go and find a new tree from the greengrocer’s shop. There’ll be some left.’

‘There’s plenty of trees in the fairy wood. Mr Grumpy can cut one down.’ Evie began to bounce up and down. ‘I want one of them.’

‘Want doesn’t get. They’re not our trees, but we can buy one for everyone to enjoy.’

‘I want one from the wood where the White Lady plays,’ Evie insisted. When she got an idea in her head she could be so stubborn. All this talk about ladies in the hall and in the wood was disturbing.

‘That’s enough of your nonsense. We’ll ask Mr Snowden later – and don’t call him Mr Grumpy. They are kind to take us in.’

‘I want to go to Granny’s. She says we can come. I rang her yesterday and told her about the fire,’ Evie added.

‘Oh, I wish you hadn’t. They’ll only worry … Perhaps we should never have come here,’ Kay sighed out loud.

Evie pounced on her words. ‘But you did and you packed away our house and packed us up from Granny’s and now we’re stuck here and Daddy won’t be able to find us. I hate you!’ Evie shouted, turning her head away from her mother.

‘Our big house was sold when Daddy moved his job. We thought we were going to London so we were going to stay with Granny Partridge for only a few weeks. You remember Glenwood Close? I thought you liked Wintergill.’ Kay could feel herself tensing up as she tried to stay calm. Evie could be such a pain and it was too early in the morning for all this serious talk and explanations. It was better to say nothing more to upset her.

‘I don’t like it here with no Christmas, no one to play with, nothing to do. I’m bored!’ Evie added, rubbing insult into injury.

What a mess I’ve made of everything, thought Kay. I thought I was doing right by making this break. Nothing’s going right for us and still I haven’t made any decisions for the New Year. Are we going to carry on like gypsies, wandering the country? Our cash won’t last for ever. If only I didn’t feel so tired and such a wimp, shillyshallying, putting our lives on hold. This can’t go on.

Kay felt her irritation mounting as Evie bumped up and down on the mattress. ‘Don’t keep doing that, it’ll ruin the bed.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘Well, I do, Geneva Partridge. It’s not our bed to ruin. I’ve had enough of your whingeing so get up, please, and find something to do. Don’t you think I would like everything to be as it was before Daddy died? But it’s not … Christmas is never going to be the same, and especially this year. Not for any of us. I wanted to give Granny and Granddad a break, so be reasonable. I can’t get us a tree right now but I will later. I can’t bring Daddy back and I can’t bring back what the fire burned, but I’m trying to do my best. There are children in the world far worse off than you … with no parents, no food or shelter.’

‘I don’t like you,’ Evie shouted, pulling a face.

‘And I don’t like you very much when you’re in your stroppy clogs, so just get off my case and make us a cup of tea. You can manage the little kettle, not the one on the big stove, and let Muffin out for Mr Snowden. When it’s light we’ll go and ask if we can find a blasted fir tree and choose a nice one. I’m sure they’ll let us have it in the hall. It’s Christmas Eve soon and there’s lots to do. You can help me choose some proper decorations.’

The bedroom door slammed shut and Kay snuggled back down into the blankets for a few more minutes of peace. Evie could be such a little madam when she was thwarted. They had all spoiled her this last year, given in to her, and now she was fast becoming a selfish little brat. It would do her good to go without for once. Kay was tired of having to manage on her own without support. She knew it was time to start job hunting. She still had some contacts in the City, but unlike most of her old friends she’d given up work as soon as Evie was born. Now it was time to find an accountancy firm that might take her on part time. It was all too much to think about now, she thought, burying her head back onto the pillow. Why must everything rest on her shoulders? Who was there to look after her? Who would give her a Christmas present this year?

Evie padded down to the big kitchen, her feet chilled by the flag floors. She opened the door to the yard for Muffin and grabbed her new track bottoms and thick fleece, her wellies and her Puffa anorak, dressing by the stove. She was not going to make anyone a cup of tea.

It was almost light now. The outlines of the empty barns were dark and forbidding and the smell of charred timbers filled the air. No one was about, not even Mrs Nora. She would take Muffin to the fairy wood and find the perfect fir tree herself.

There was a bank of grit by the field gate and she had to climb over the gate to get into the field, rolling down onto cold grass.

There was so much to do if there was snow, but everywhere was grey-green and misty, not even Jack Frost was on the trees, so she called in the dog and ran back to the kitchen to make some toast on the wire rack on the stove. It wasn’t fair if Mum was going to lie in bed all day. Nobody cared about her and she didn’t want a winter with no Christmas.

She sat at the table munching toast, and then a big idea came to her all at once. She would go on her own expedition with Muff, the two of them like in
Lassie.
If she found her school bag and filled it with food from the pantry fridge: a bottle of Sunny Delight, some of the Christmas biscuits she’d made with Nora before the fire. They could stay outside all day and no one would shout at them. Perhaps if she borrowed some money from Mummy’s purse or the Toby Jug on the mantelpiece, she could find a café or catch a bus to Skipton and then a train … Then she had the most wonderful idea.

She scribbled a note on the back of an envelope, pulling her bobble hat over her ears and stuffing her gloves in her pocket. With her school bag on her back she set off in the morning light like an explorer, a Red Indian on a trail, scouting for treasure. She’d seen
Home Alone,
and even children could have big adventures. She could be anyone she wanted in her special kingdom but first it was time to go in search of the White Lady to see if she was waiting for a secret meeting by the fairy triangle.

She waited by the wood edge but there was no one in sight, no birdsong, no sound but the crunch of twigs and dried leaves. ‘I’m here,’ she shouted. ‘Come and play with me,’ hoping the lady in the mist would come out of hiding, but it wasn’t a day for hide-and-seek in the wood when there were adventures to be had. She left the shadows of the copse and turned up the high field path. She wanted to walk in a straight line all the way round the world and back, or at least to the nearest bus stop. Granny would get such a surprise when she landed on her doorstep on Christmas Eve.

Blanche stirs from fitful slumber. She can smell movement in the copse. There is always white mist when she sits vigil around Wintergill, but this morrow is clear. She feels no cold or ice, only the fire of that yearning to find her lost child warms her bones. She spots a flash of gold, little legs in the field, golden hair. Blanche starts to run. She is coming, my Nonie … she is mine at last …

Nik slept in after a fitful night. He had read Agnes’s journal late into the night and it had troubled his dreams with strange whirling scenes. He was half expecting to wake up to a whiteout since snow was forecast sometime in the next few days and the barometer had dropped. If it were true then the sheep would be making their own way down the moor to safety. Time to get the fodder ready. And then he remembered: there was none to feed.

How would his new flock learn such survival skills? They would be strange to these hills and the dangers. It was a good job he was in no position to be buying stock yet. Agnes’s scribblings had unnerved him; all that stuff about unquiet spirits needing direction back to their resting places … What bunkum!

Yet he could sense strange mischief in the air as he’d sat sipping last night’s toddy, as if someone was in the room watching him as he read through all those recipes. He must be going soft in the head to believe a word of them but for some reason he felt compelled to finish the book. It was as if it were being spoken directly to him and it gave him the shivers. He’d tossed and turned in a sweat, uneasy, as if he needed to be on guard. What the hell had any of this to do with him?

It must be the fire and the quarrel with his mother, leading to all those revelations. Her threat to leave the farm was reasonable enough. She was past learning new ways now. He would have to set on a student to help out but there would be no shortage of farmers’ lads ready to give a hand. He would manage without her.

If only he could be sure he was doing the right thing, restocking, but traditions must be continued or they would be lost for ever. This heritage was too precious to be abandoned. That’s what this government wanted, no doubt – to get rid of half the upland farms – but this farmer was not so easily seduced by money or the comfort of village life. He’d cope with just his own company, he preferred the wild hills to town streets.

The thought of any weird apparition haunting this place made him uneasy. If he hadn’t seen something for himself now and again, he’d dismiss it all as nonsense. Nik liked his beliefs simple. It was enough for him to be steward of these hills like generations of his forebears. He didn’t like to think of some ghoul stalking round his land up to no good. Yet he had seen that face in the mist the other night on the road, and then, there was this weird barn fire. Was finding Agnes’s ‘Herball’ a mere coincidence?

Nik sat on the windowsill, his arms stretched over the stone lintel like Samson holding up the pillars. If only walls could talk, he smiled. Sometimes he felt this house had a soul of its own and he was drawing his strength from its sunlit rooms and its friendship. He looked down through the mullioned window into the far field, with its steep slope rising towards the limestone scree. He thought he saw a flash of red climbing up the slope. Who on earth was that? Some rambler out early to catch the best of the day? Did they not realise it was almost a cliff face and the footpaths were still closed to the public? The rise was full of boulders and rocky outcrops. No one should be on his fields anyway. Still, if they wanted to fall and break their neck it was their lookout.

He turned from the window to get on with his own day. All this surmising was giving him a headache.

Evie sat on the rocky ledge, wondering how to tackle the slope. It was steeper than she’d thought but it would be more fun than the other little hills she’d scrambled up. She lay back, looking up at the grey morning sky, and had her first snack of the day. To her annoyance, Muffin kept following behind her and she couldn’t shoo him back. He sat with his nose nudging her lap, touting for a biscuit. Perhaps he would show her the way to the main road.

This was not the quickest road to Granny’s house, but if she followed the normal fell track, someone would soon spot her and take her home where she’d be told off and sent to her room.