Sarah thinks about Aiden and herself, back at uni. How similar he and Oscar sound, in many ways. But, unlike Kitty, she always understood that, back then. Understood that it wasn’t the right time for them both.
‘… and I said, well that’s a joke because it’s not even as if we’re sleeping together, not, like, all the time anyway. And he said he wasn’t happy, and I said well I’m not really happy either, but that wasn’t true because I had been happy, Mum, he made me feel so happy and now… and now… I’m just so sad…’
They reach the road that takes them out of town and up the hill. Already the snow has settled, despite the gritters, and if it were not for the 4x4 she would not attempt this gradient. Others are not so wise, and she has to go slowly to negotiate around the cars that are stuck, already, the ones that have been abandoned, pulled at an oblique angle into the side of the road. Higher up, the snow is heavier and fewer cars have cleared a path; Sarah has to concentrate to stay on a straight line, up what she thinks is the road. On both sides, the black outlines of the dry stone walls are already becoming harder and harder to see as the snow is blasted against them by the wind.
Kitty has stopped talking for now, letting her concentrate. Sarah has the local radio station on low, the announcer listing the roads that are already closed, and the ones that are becoming treacherous.
It’s a nightmare of a journey, and it takes them a full hour longer than the same route would normally take in good weather, but at last they make it to the village. The road here is clearer, as more cars have driven up and down it, and as they pass Sophie’s house Sarah wonders whether Sophie has made it home by now. She’ll phone George, later, once Kitty has gone to bed.
The turn-off up the hill towards Four Winds Farm is easy to miss at the best of times, but with drifting snow making everything look different it is particularly hard to spot. Another 4x4 is following right on her tail, so Sarah slows right down as she approaches the lane, indicating right. The car behind beeps loudly and speeds past in a cloud of snow.
‘Knob!’ shouts Kitty.
Sarah laughs, turns her attention back to the hill. She knows this road intimately, but now it looks strange, alien – full of bumps and dips that shouldn’t be there. The wind is blowing the snow horizontally through the arcs of the headlights, and turning on the full beam results in a total whiteout. She snaps it back to normal again quickly.
Three minutes later and a dark shape appears to the left; it’s the Button house. Thank goodness. They round the bend, turn in through the gate, and finally pull up in the yard.
‘You run for it,’ Sarah tells Kitty. ‘I’ll put the car in the barn.’
‘Don’t be daft, Mum, I’ll come with you.’
‘No, go on. No point you getting covered in snow. Here – you’ll need this.’
From her coat pocket Sarah fishes out the front door key.
‘What? You locked the door?’
‘Go on, you get going. I’ll bring your bag.’
Kitty finally relents; jumps out of the car. Sarah watches her legs wading through the snow. It’s already about a foot deep in places, and this is in the shelter of the yard.
Once she’s got the door open, Sarah reverses the car awkwardly back until she can line it up with the oak beams of the barn; then she drives straight into the shelter. She switches off the engine and takes a deep breath. That journey was scarier than she cares to admit.
She opens up the boot; she had forgotten about the shopping. Slinging Kitty’s rucksack awkwardly on to one shoulder, she lowers the bags to the ground and shuts the boot lid. Then she manages to fit three carrier bags in each hand before heading out into the wind.
The cottage, as she passes it, is in darkness. The car is nowhere to be seen. Somehow, she had expected this. She hopes that this time at least Aiden is somewhere safe and warm, in a friend’s flat, maybe. Or with a client, in a hotel.
So much for that coffee, she thinks. So much for the chat.
Kitty has already put the kettle on to boil, turned on the television and is in the process of trying to light the fire, Tess by her side, tail wagging frantically.
Despite the locked doors, Sarah is almost surprised to see that Will isn’t here. She was almost expecting to find him sprawled across the couch, guitar in hand, picking out a melody.
She unpacks the shopping, half-listening to the news, which is reporting widespread disruption caused by heavy snowfalls in the northeast of England and Scotland. No shit, Sherlock, she thinks. The south is experiencing a light smattering of sleety drizzle and the reporter is standing outside a gritting depot outside Croydon, talking about the council’s plans to keep the roads clear. Good for them.
Sarah opens the oven and puts in a casserole that has been defrosting all day. It’s still half-solid, but she’ll leave it in an extra half-hour and it will be fine. Just as she is opening a bottle of wine, which feels especially well deserved, the phone rings. ‘I’ll get it!’ Kitty shouts from the living room.
A couple of moments later Kitty appears in the doorway. ‘Mum? It’s the police for you.’
Oh, God.
Sarah takes the phone from Kitty and hands her the bottle of wine. ‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Carpenter? It’s DC Amy Foster from Thirsk police station here. I’m calling about the offence of harassment you reported earlier today. Is it a good moment to talk?’
‘Um, yes, I guess so.’
Sarah takes a glass of wine from Kitty, who is perched against the kitchen table, arms crossed, mouthing, What’s up?
Sarah shakes her head and waves her towards the living room. And then again, insistently. Kitty makes a face, but goes.
‘I just need to ask you a couple of questions, if that’s okay,’ says Amy Foster. ‘I’d come out to see you, but the weather… you know.’
‘No, it’s fine. It’s rough out there, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, nightmare. Okay, then. So you know this Will Brewer?’
‘Will is a kind of a friend of the family. He’s stayed with us before, over the years, but I’m here on my own now and just recently he’s been turning up and letting himself into my house. I’ve asked him not to do it, and yet this morning when I got in he was in the house again.’
‘I see. So he has a key?’
Sarah bites her lip. Here we go, she thinks. ‘No, I’ve always left the doors unlocked. I’ve started locking them now, though.’
There is a pause. Sarah can hear DC Foster hammering away on a keyboard.
‘And, when you’ve come home and found him there, is he threatening towards you in any way?’
‘No, not as such.’
‘Not as such?’
‘He – well, he makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.’
More keyboard-battering. ‘Has he ever taken anything, while he’s been in the house? Or damaged anything?’
‘No. Not that I’m aware of. He’s read my mail, I think; he knows things he could only have known that way.’
‘What is it he wants, when he turns up?’
Sarah thinks about this for a minute. It’s a good question. What does he want? Why does he keep showing up? It could be all about Sophie, about how hurt he is, about how he needs attention and comfort and maybe just to be as close to her as he can possibly get – by talking to her best friend. But then, she probably isn’t Sophie’s best friend, is she? After all, Sophie keeps her own secrets, Sarah knows that now.
‘I’m not sure. It’s just somewhere to go, I think. But I just have this feeling that he likes that I’m getting upset about it.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Just that he keeps doing it. It’s my own fault, isn’t it? Because I’ve let him stay here sometimes, he thinks it’s okay to keep coming back?’
‘Mrs Carpenter, it’s your house; you’re entitled to have people to stay and then to shut the doors when you don’t want them there any more.’
‘I don’t know. Look, I’m not exactly vulnerable, you don’t n
eed to be worried. You don’t need to really do anything – I think I was just a bit shaken this morning when I found him here, I didn’t know what else to do when he finally went, I just called the police because I was shaken up. You’ve got a million and one other things to do with the snow and everything; you must be really busy.’
‘Please,’ Amy Foster says comfortingly, ‘don’t worry about it, really. You were right to call us. How about if I have a word with Mr Brewer? I think by the sounds of it he just needs a little reminder about waiting for an invitation before turning up in someone’s house.’
‘You think that’ll help? I mean, I don’t want him arrested, or anything like that. He’s not hurt anybody. And my daughter’s here now, she’s staying for the weekend, so I’m not on my own.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll give you a call to let you know what happens. But in the meantime, if he turns up again unexpectedly and you’re frightened, ring 999 and quote the reference number, all right? That way the operator will see what’s happened previously.’
‘Right. OK, thanks. ‘Have you got his mobile number?’
‘Yes, it’s on your initial report, thank you. I’d be surprised if he troubles you in the next few days, anyway – looks as though we’re all going to be staying put for a bit.’
DC Amy Foster gives Sarah her contact details, and rings off. Sarah goes into the living room and replaces the receiver. She takes a big sip of the wine.
‘Right, Mum,’ Kitty says. ‘What the hell was that all about?’
‘It’s fine,’ Sarah replies. ‘Nothing to worry about. All over with now, anyway.’
‘You were talking about Will.’
‘Yes. It’s not really a problem, just that he keeps turning up when I’m here on my own. I asked him not to, but he’s still doing it.’
‘Oh, God, really? What’s the matter with him?’
‘I don’t know; I think he’s just had a rough time lately. Maybe he’s a bit lonely.’
Even as she says it, it sounds lame.
‘I know, but even so. There are things you just don’t do. What does he think he’s playing at?’
‘Kitty, it’s fine. There’s no point you getting all upset about it.’
‘But you called the police! That’s pretty extreme. You must have been bloody scared to have called the police.’
‘It just took me by surprise, that’s all. And, with Basil being sick, Tess has been really jumpy, barking for no reason. Then he just kind of… appeared, in the doorway, and it made me jump.’
‘He just walked in?’
‘He said he knocked, I wasn’t here, and he just came in.’
Kitty has finished her wine. Sarah looks at her daughter, snuggled up on the sofa with her feet tucked underneath her. The fire crackles and roars, starting to throw out some proper warmth now. Sarah stretches out her socked feet towards it, trying to thaw them out. ‘I should try and take Tess out. She needs to have a wee.’
‘You’re kidding! Look at it!’
The window is a black and white blur, snowflakes pattering at the glass, the wind swirling them around in the darkness.
‘I won’t take her anywhere, I’ll just see if she wants to nip out.’
But when it comes down to it, kitted up, Sarah can’t find the key to the back door. It’s locked fast. She put the key somewhere safe, didn’t she? It’s not on her keyring, not in her pocket where she’d thought she’d put it.
In the end she lets Tess out through the front door into the yard. She disappears into the darkness, slinking around behind the workshop.
‘Don’t be long,’ Sarah mutters, shivering in the doorway despite her thick coat. The snow has piled up against the side of the cottage, the whole yard a beautiful clean bed of white. Their footprints have already disappeared.
Two minutes later Tess scampers back, runs through the hall into the kitchen and shakes the snow from her coat, scattering the tiled floor with snow, which melts quickly into small puddles.
‘Thanks, Tess, just what I needed.’ This is why she goes in and out via the utility room.
Kitty has gone upstairs to have a bath before dinner. Sarah can hear it running. She takes the opportunity to ring George, but there is no answer. It rings and rings for ages. Maybe he has gone to meet Sophie somewhere, to talk things through, and got stranded. She hopes this is the case; maybe they are sheltering in a nice hotel in York.
When she hangs up, it rings immediately.
‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Carpenter? This is DC Foster again; we spoke earlier this evening.’
‘Oh, yes, right.’
‘Just to let you know I’ve had a chat with Mr Brewer.’
‘Oh, okay. How was he?’
‘He seemed surprised, but I think he understood that what he did this morning wasn’t acceptable and I got his agreement that he’s not going to do it again. He wanted to get in touch with you to explain, but I told him he should leave you in peace and that if you wanted to speak to him you’d call him and not the other way round.’
‘That sounds perfect, thanks. I don’t want to – I mean – he’s only a lad, and he’s been through a lot. I do feel sorry for him.’
‘Even so, Mrs Carpenter, he’s a grown man and he’s perfectly capable of sorting himself out, by the sound of things. Don’t let him take advantage of your kindness, if you do get in touch with him again.’
‘No, of course. Thank you.’
‘But if he does turn up, or call you, and you feel uncomfortable about it, do call us again. I’d like to think that this will be an end to it, but you never know. We’re here if you need us, any time, all right?’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah says again, warmly.
She goes upstairs to make sure Kitty has everything she needs. At the top of the stairs she glances down the corridor to the spare room at the end. The door is firmly shut. She knows Will isn’t here, because the police have just spoken to him, but it can’t hurt to check.
She opens the door quickly, before she loses her nerve. The bed is unmade, the duvet neatly folded at the end of it. The radiator has been turned off again – did she do that? – and it’s cold in here, draughts coming from somewhere. The room is at the north end of the house, and the wind and snow are hitting the window with a force that rattles the panes alarmingly.
She shuts the door firmly. Will is not here. She heads down towards her bedroom, then Kitty’s. The door is open and already it looks lived-in, a pile of dirty clothes on the floor that have spilled from Kitty’s rucksack. The lights are on and Kitty’s laptop is open on the bed, connected to a portable speaker that is blasting out something with a heavy bass.
‘Kitty?’
‘In here!’
The bathroom door opens. Kitty is in her robe; the bath is full and bubbly and smells of Sarah’s favourite hand and body wash.
Sarah sniffs pointedly.
‘You don’t mind, do you? Only I’m really whiffy…’
Sarah laughs as Kitty emerges fully from the bathroom and gives Sarah a big hug.
‘I rang Will,’ she says, into Sarah’s shoulder.
‘What?’ She pulls back to look at Kitty, who raises her chin defiantly.
‘I just called him and told him off a bit,’ she says.
‘Oh, Kitty, I wish you hadn’t…’
‘He’s all right. He just didn’t really get that turning up and letting himself in wasn’t appropriate. He was really sorry. In fact he was snivelling a bit, I think he’d just got off the phone with that policewoman you spoke to.’
Sarah sighs deeply. ‘This is all just getting a bit out of hand. I wish I hadn’t called the police; I overreacted. Now he’s going to bloody hate me, and you too probably.’
‘I said he’s fine. I might meet up with him for a coffee if the snow eases up.’
‘You might not be able to get back to uni if it doesn’t,’ Sarah says.
‘I’ve brought loads of work home with me, and I can log on to the site to keep up with a
nything I miss. To be honest, it looks as though the snow’s bad there too; the place has probably gone into lockdown.’
‘Well, that’s okay, then,’ Sarah says. ‘Go and have your bath, and then we’ll eat.’
The bathroom door shuts.
Sarah goes downstairs. Tess is in her bed, asleep. Every so often she lets out a little growl.
When I realised he wasn’t going to talk I got excited because I knew then it was going to happen, and I was going to enjoy it because I always do; this is the fun part. It’s only afterwards that you think what have I done?
In fact it was better than ever, the best yet, because this one was not some random person I fancied the look of, someone who’d got in the way. This one had made me angry and hurt people I care about and that made it personal.
And that made it his fault.
Oh, for a while there it was glorious. It went on and on and I thought he was never going to give up struggling. He’s tougher than he looks, but once I’ve started I get stronger and stronger because it drives you on, the blood does, and I know there’s no way he’s ever going to be able to match me.
There was more blood this time; it went everywhere and once it started there was more and more of it. I think once there is blood on something then you just have to carry on, don’t you? There’s no point in stopping.
You can’t clean it up properly, everyone knows that, so there’s no point trying to.
Blood everywhere. All over my skin. The smell of it.
I sat there afterwards with it covering me and I didn’t want to wash it off but I knew I was going to have to. That’s always the shit part, like coming down off a high; you don’t want to do it but you must, and it gets worse the longer you leave it.
I stripped off and found a pair of socks and put them on to get to the bathroom, then I washed off all the blood.
There was no point trying to clean up in the bedroom; it would have taken me weeks. I found some fresh clothes and I shut the door.