Alison Littlewood Read online

  Cass parked by the door. As soon as she stepped out she heard the river, rushing and burbling down the valley. The air smelled green and fresh: woodland after rain. She stared up at the building, spotted the clock tower she had seen in the pictures. The clock had a white face, as she remembered, but no hands. Time was standing still in the valley – that was appropriate. She remembered herself as a little girl, leaning over the garden gate and listening to the river rushing by.

  Ben got out and stood by her side. She ruffled his hair and he squirmed, but she didn’t care. ‘Do you smell that?’ she asked.

  He wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Come on. Let’s have a look at the place before we unload.’

  ‘Where is everybody?’

  Cass tapped the entry code into the panel by the door. It beeped and she grabbed the brass handle. ‘I could get used to this,’ she said. The door was double-width and panelled. Probably not original, but it looked grand enough.

  The hall was wide and a little cold. To their left a stairway led up, carpeted in red. Mailboxes, each bearing a brass number, were set into the right-hand wall and ahead was a door which must lead towards the ground-floor apartments. The lobby was flagged, the rough-surfaced stones showing the wear of many years.

  Cass felt like she already knew the way: up the stairs, through the fire-doors and into the hall. Ben hung back as they went, stomping his feet behind her.

  The upstairs hall was as grand as the entrance had been, red-carpeted, wide and lined with white-painted doors. Cass went down without looking to left or right until she stopped in front of one of them. It looked like all the others they had passed but somehow she knew it was theirs. Sure enough, the brass number set into it was a 12.

  A delightful apartment with stunning views to the millpond and down the valley, the picture of peace and solitude …

  Cass pulled the key from her pocket. It had a cardboard tag with the number 12 scrawled on it in biro, along with a dirty fingerprint, a builder’s fingerprint. The mill had been freshly converted. Everything would be new; they were to be the first occupants. Cass felt a shiver of excitement as she pushed open the door. When she turned to smile at Ben, though, there was no expression on his face at all. Cass beckoned him inside.

  The apartment’s hall was also lined with white doors, all of them closed except the one directly ahead. Cass went through and found herself in a wide lounge with windows set into two of its walls. She went to the nearest, realising as she approached how large it was. She would be able to sit on the sill quite comfortably, reading a book maybe, or simply taking in the view. She looked out.

  The millpond was a line of acid-green between the trees. Between the mill and the water were piles of gravel and sand, with a yellow digger standing desolate among them.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ said Ben, and Cass realised it wasn’t the first time he’d asked.

  ‘It’s a Saturday,’ she said. ‘They won’t be working on a Saturday. They must still be fitting out some of the apartments.’

  ‘So where are all the people?’

  Cass frowned and went to the other window. This one looked over a wide gravel parking area with an outhouse at one end. What looked like bags of cement were piled against its wall and beyond it, a stile led into a field and a path wound towards the river. Behind everything, the hills rose steeply away.

  ‘Look,’ said Cass, ‘we can walk along the riverbank. Won’t that be nice?’

  ‘But where are all the kids?’ Ben scowled, his eyes narrowed. There was a gleam in them Cass didn’t like. She turned back to the window and noticed an odd thing. The parking area was completely empty.

  ‘I want Dad,’ Ben said.

  ‘Ben, please.’

  ‘I want him back – how’s he going to find us now? He won’t know where to look.’ His face crumpled.

  Cass bent and put her arms around her son. Ben’s whole body was hot to the touch and she felt his forehead. He didn’t push her hand away. ‘I want him,’ he repeated.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, Ben. But you have to understand, he’s not coming back.’

  Ben struggled in her arms and she drew him in closer. Holding him. ‘I want him too,’ she whispered. ‘Ben, I want him too. I do. But we’ll be okay.’ She drew back. ‘It’s you and me now,’ she said, ‘and everything will be all right.’

  TWO

  Cass opened her eyes. Everything was in shades of grey, and that wasn’t right. There was no sound, and that was wrong too; she’d heard something. It had woken her.

  For a second everything turned sepia, the colour of the desert. She rubbed her eyes. It had been Pete; she’d been dreaming of him.

  She heard a sound. Scritch, scritch.

  Pete had been holding her close. He held her while the building shook and crumbling plaster rained down on her head, settling in her hair like snowflakes.

  Scritch, scritch.

  Cass turned, put out a hand and touched the wall at her back. It was rough under her fingertips. The scratching stopped. She heard a different sound, like the pattering of little feet running away. She grimaced.

  Cass turned back to face the empty room, and that was when she saw Pete standing in front of her.

  She blinked, but he was still there, his blond hair palegrey in the dark. He held out his arms and his lips moved. She couldn’t hear what he was saying. As she watched he opened his fists to reveal handfuls of blue stones. They were bright, the only colour in the room. The stones fell, one by one, to the ground, and the ground swallowed them. Everything was soundless, everything colourless, except the things he held.

  Cass heard a noise and she jumped from her bed. When she turned back to face Pete, he had gone. She found herself looking for the blue stones on the carpet, but of course there was nothing.

  She swallowed and took a deep breath. She had to keep it together. Of course she had just been dreaming of her husband. This thing she thought she’d seen – it was an after-image, nothing more, a clinging remnant of sleep.

  There came a new sound. A dry scrape, as of heavy boots treading through sand.

  She shook her head. The sound went on, but it resolved itself into something she could understand and Cass began to breathe once more. Scritch, scritch.

  There were mice behind the walls. Scritch, scritch. It didn’t sound like sand any more; it was more like the scratching of tiny claws. Of course an old building like this was bound to have mice. She should have thought of it. She’d have to get traps or poison. Cass had a sudden image of Ben coming across a trap, holding up a grey-furred body by its tail, and pulled a face.

  Cass squinted and let her eyes adjust to the dark: ahead and to the right, where there was a darker patch, that’s where the door was. She went towards it, felt her way into the hall without switching on the light. Ben’s door was outlined by the pale glow that crept beneath it. She felt for the handle and went in.

  Ben’s nightlight glowed, a small plastic blue moon. It was one of the first things she’d unpacked. Her son didn’t like to sleep without a light, not since Pete had left them for the last time.

  He had the covers heaped up over his body, a snug bundle. Cass leaned over and looked into his face – then started back. His eyes were wide open, staring up at her. She took a deep breath, then waved her hands in front of his eyes, but he didn’t move. His cheeks looked wan and sickly in the nightlight’s steady glow.

  He was sleeping with his eyes open.

  Cass eased the covers away from his face, loosening them, careful not to wake him. Part of her wanted to see the expression restored to his eyes, but it must be better not to interfere. Better to let him sleep. She tucked the bundle of covers in around him. She felt the need to do these things but then remained standing there, looking at his face. She knew there was something else she needed to do for him, but couldn’t think what it was.

  Then she knew, and put out a hand before she could catch herself.

  She pulled away at the last moment. The thing she
’d wanted to do was reach out and put her hand to his eyes, smooth his eyelids down, like closing them on a corpse. Cass shuddered.

  Quietly, she backed out of the room.

  THREE

  Ben stood in the lounge, looking out of the window. Cass stretched as she went to join him, still trying to shake off sleep, and put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘We’re still here,’ her son said in a small voice.

  She bent and hugged him, feeling frail bones through his pyjamas. ‘Why don’t we set the telly up?’ she said. ‘And your video games.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Can we? I’d like that, Mummy.’

  Mummy. It was as though he was a toddler again. Cass grinned, lifted him onto the windowsill, propped a cushion behind his back. ‘Watch the world go by,’ she said. ‘Tell me if anything happens.’ She glanced out of the window. There were no cars, no movement. It was overcast, the colours muted, not even a breeze stirring the branches. Nothing happening at all. Good, she thought. Nothing was good.

  Soon Ben was glued to the TV and Cass set up her computer in the corner. The Web connection worked fine, just as the estate agent had promised. Still, it was a relief. She’d known mobile phone reception would be poor here, but the Internet was her lifeline. She had a website to develop for her client – her only client so far – and she had to make this work. With Pete gone, she had to take care of Ben: build something for him, a new life for them both.

  ‘I want to play a game, Mum,’ Ben called out.

  She set it up for him, and then returned to the computer screen: there was an email from her client, listing some changes needed for the website. She responded: ‘Will upload site changes for checking ASAP.’ Her client wouldn’t even know she’d moved.

  That done, she closed it down; it was Sunday, and work could wait. That was something her father had always insisted on, and she found the habit had stuck.

  She looked at Ben, who was sitting on the floor, the controller loose in his lap, staring at the television, his mouth hanging open.

  ‘Ben, what is it?’ She went to him and saw that his favourite game was on the screen. It was a war game and the ground was littered with rubble and barbed wire. Everything was sepia, the colour of sand.

  ‘Ben?’

  The game had been a gift from his father. At the time Cass had thought it a little old for Ben, but Pete had liked it, and he’d played it with him: for a while the two of them had been soldiers together.

  She reached out and smoothed her son’s hair, then took the control pad from Ben’s lap. His lip started to jut out, and she knelt down and hugged him, holding his head tight to her body.

  ‘Come on, sweetie,’ she said, ‘it’s a beautiful day. Let’s go out and see it, shall we?’

  Cass looked back at the mill as they walked up the lane towards the village. The mellow stone suited the dour weather, blending with the surrounding greens and browns. It was good to be outside, breathing in cold, clean air. On their way out of the building it had struck Cass that she didn’t like the walk through the silent mill. She had strained her ears, but still she had heard no sound from any of the other apartments. The crimson carpets swallowed the sound of their footsteps too, so that it felt like no one was there at all.

  All of the shops in the village were closed save one, the general store. Cass bought some sweets for Ben. The grey-haired woman at the till was stony-faced; she took Cass’ money in silence and gave the change in silence, only nodding when Cass said goodbye. Outside, Cass exchanged a glance with Ben; they both burst out laughing and she felt a stab of gratitude for the unfriendly woman. Ben offered her a sweet and she took one.

  They headed towards the park, which sloped down towards the river. The grass was short-cropped and scabbed with patches of bare earth and at the bottom there was a little playground with some swings, a roundabout and a slide. Empty crisp packets and sweetie wrappings had accumulated under the shrubbery hiding the chattering water, looking as though they were sheltering from rain.

  Cass and Ben raced for the swings, and sat there side by side.

  ‘How do.’ A man’s voice came from behind them.

  Cass turned to see an old man emerging from the riverside path. A grizzled black dog followed him through a gap in the bushes. The man had patches of grey hair clinging to his scalp, as though just holding on. He was hunched over against the cold, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His cheeks were red and veined.

  Ben jumped from the swing and ran to his side, bending to pet the dog. As Cass made a mental note to talk to him about strangers she was smiling at the same time.

  ‘You’ll be from t’ mill,’ the man said.

  News spread fast. Did the whole village know about them?

  ‘Bert Tanner,’ he said, ‘from t’ flats.’ He said this as though she should know where the flats were.

  ‘I’m Cass,’ she said, holding out her hand to shake his. ‘This is Ben.’ They turned and watched Ben stroking the dog, whispering something in its ear. The dog was a squat, stolid thing, greying around the chops. It huffed in Ben’s face and he wrinkled his nose as he smelled its breath.

  ‘’e’s an owd un,’ the man said, ‘like me. Been ’ere man and boy, I have.’

  Cass didn’t know what to say. ‘That’s nice.’

  Ben jumped up and ran to the bushes. He thrust a hand underneath, among the litter.

  ‘Ben, don’t – that’s dirty,’ she started as he turned and held up a faded green tennis ball. It looked well chewed. He held it under the dog’s nose.

  ‘Captain dun’t chase balls no more, lad.’

  Ben threw it anyway and it flew up the slope and rolled part of the way back. The dog looked up, sniffed, turned its head to Ben and then waddled, tail moving in a slow wag, up the slope. It picked up the ball and then turned as if to say, Aren’t you coming?

  ‘Well, I’ll be,’ said Bert. ‘You’ve got the touch, lad.’

  He turned to Cass and pointed towards the river. ‘It’s a nice walk, that,’ he said. ‘A long way, mind. It keeps me going. Not that I go out of Darnshaw much.’ He started to tell her where the school was, and the shops, and Cass let him talk. No need to let on that Sally had already pointed them out. They walked together back towards the village. ‘Up there’s the post office. I’m above, if you ever need owt. Just say.’

  She smiled, touched. ‘That’s really kind. Thank you, Bert.’

  ‘And up there’s t’ church.’

  He pronounced it ‘chuch’, without the r. Cass followed his gesture and froze.

  The church stood almost at the top of the hill, its tower rising against the pale sky. From here it seemed to loom over them, a forbidding presence. But that wasn’t what made her shudder.

  ‘Tha’s not a churchgoer, then,’ Bert said.

  She looked at him. He had very pale eyes, rheumy under their drooping lids.

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘We always went when I was a kid. It’s just that it’s the only part of Darnshaw that looks really familiar. Memories, I suppose.’

  ‘Goose walked over your grave.’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘Well, anytime you want to go, you’re right welcome. Priest comes ower from Moorfoot every other Sunday. Next week’s his turn.’

  Cass started to tell him she didn’t attend any longer, not now, but something in his gaze stopped her and she merely nodded. Ben came chasing up, the green ball in his hand, a sparkle in his eyes.

  Bert nodded. ‘We’ll be off. Remember what I said. You ever need owt, come see me. Ower the post office.’

  They watched him go, Ben still panting. Her son had been running about more than the dog. Cass glanced back across the quiet park. When they were gone, it would be empty. That was sad. She’d promised Ben children to play with, lots of children, and all they’d found was one old man and a dog.

  Still, her son smiled at her, flashing his teeth. ‘Can I keep it, Mum?’ he asked, holding out the grubby spittle-covered tenni
s ball.

  ‘Of course you can.’ Cass smiled back at him. She looked up into the sky. It looked completely flat. As she watched, pinprick flakes floated out of it, drifting like tiny fragments of ash.

  Ben held out his hand. ‘It’s snowing,’ he said.

  Cass craned her head back and let the snowflakes fall on her face. They were so fine she barely felt them land, just felt the chill spread slowly across her skin.

  FOUR

  The valley was clothed in swathes of mist, a half-erased picture. The snow hadn’t settled, but Cass got Ben’s warmest coat ready anyway. When she woke him he screwed up his face, a nasty-medicine expression, but he didn’t say anything. Monday morning, and he was going to school.

  The main road through the village was busier than Cass had yet seen it. Every car had a child in the passenger seat and she barely needed to think about the school’s location, just followed the line. The car park was already full but she managed to fit into an end slot narrowed by an overhanging Land Rover.

  ‘Sorry.’ A young woman with sleek dark hair waved from the other side of the vehicle. ‘In too much of a rush this morning. I’m Lucy.’

  ‘I’m Cass. And it’s no problem.’ Cass spotted a young girl peering round the Land Rover’s bonnet and smiled at her while encouraging Ben from the car. She introduced her son.

  ‘This is Jessica,’ said Lucy. ‘You two will be good friends, I think. Jess, you could watch out for Ben, since he’s new. Why don’t you show him inside?’

  ‘We have a meeting with Mrs Cambrey first,’ said Cass. ‘But you could play later, couldn’t you?’

  The little girl nodded. She was a couple of inches shorter than Ben, and a girl – he didn’t often make friends with girls. Cass saw her son’s lower lip jutting. Well, they’d tried, and who knew? The children might hit it off anyway.

  ‘Mrs Cambrey’s really nice,’ Lucy said. ‘Well, I’d better get off.’ She watched Jessica walk towards the double doors, then waved before climbing into the Land Rover.