In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  He swallowed again. “I saw a face at a window.”

  Granddad pursed his lips. “What sort of face?”

  Peter’s heart pumped louder. Granddad believed him and that relieved some of the fear. Talking might make it real, but sharing it lessened the shock. “I think - I think it was a girl.”

  Granddad’s eyebrows rose, not in surprise, but understanding. “Ah yes - could be.” He placed an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Don’t let it worry you. She means no harm and later I’ll explain a bit more. Want a cheese scone?”

  If granddad, like his dad, didn’t frighten at the unexpected, then bad things hadn’t the power to harm. “Yes please.”

  “Come on then,” and together they walked into the kitchen. “Stand back now,” granddad announced. “There’s a wolf needs meeting.”

  ***

  Peter’s bedroom, next to mum and dad’s, looked out across the flagstone path that split to the left and right just below his window. The left path went round the side of the house to the kitchen and the right up to the front door. The snow shone, even though no moon lit the cloudy sky. The trees, their trunks shrouded in shadows, circled the house. Peter knew that the face at the window didn’t appear in this room, because the wooden staircase, which creaked with every step as he followed granddad up, had climbed to higher floors. That window must be far away. Stay there, he wished to whoever stared out when he waited by the car.

  His breath steamed against the diamond-shaped panes as the snow piled up on the sill. Sometimes, when the wind blew, it hit the glass with a shushing sound.

  *

  “You can build a snowman tomorrow,” grandma said after dinner. They sat in the big room at the end of the passage. A log fire crackled in the enormous stone hearth and yellow lamplight pooled in distant corners.

  Beside the hearth stood a Christmas tree that reached halfway up the wall. Red, gold, green, white and purple tinsel hung from its boughs and baubles and angels and jolly Father Christmas’ decorated with glitter, sparkled. Fairy lights glowed white then blue then back to white again.

  Granddad called this room, The Hall. He joined them last with his glass of whiskey and sat next to Peter. High above, dark wooden beams spanned the ceiling, their undersides lit by the fire’s glow. The windows too, built into the walls a long way above the ground, glimmered orange and yellow when a flame flared in the hearth. Three big sofas surrounded the fire and everyone’s faces glowed red from the heat.

  Dad laughed. “We can all build snowmen. Look how much is falling.”

  “I hoped to go into Hastings tomorrow,” said Mum. “Just to buy some last minute bits and pieces.”

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve had this much snow,” grandma replied. “We could ring Farmer Brunt first thing - get him to bring his tractor round, if we can’t clear a path to the lane.”

  “We’ve got shovels,” granddad said. “If it comes to that.”

  Grandma beamed her cosiest smile. “And what do you want Father Christmas to bring you this year, Peter?”

  Peter didn’t believe in Father Christmas. The plastic bag full of brightly wrapped boxes he’d carried in earlier made believing in Father Christmas impossible. He’d known what went on at Christmas for years, but adults still pretended it was the best kept secret in the world, so he did too.

  “A bike with ten gears and a satnav.” The bike didn’t look promising, he’d watched mum and dad load the car when they thought he was asleep and nothing like the shape of a bike appeared. One of the boxes in the plastic bag might be a satnav though.

  “A bike, that would be nice,” agreed grandma. “Well, not long to wait now.”

  “Ay, just three more days,” said granddad.

  Three days! It sounded forever. Peter sipped his hot chocolate. Granddad and grandma didn’t even have a television!

  A log shifted in the fire and clouds of sparks erupted like a volcano. The adults’ voices murmured over Peter’s head and he stopped listening. He heard his name mentioned, how the new school suited him better, that he tried hard to make friends, but it was all grown-up talk that he didn’t want to hear. Then, with a jolt, his stomach clenched and the dread that came with the wound-up feeling tightened. He jumped, for during dinner all those feelings evaporated. Now they returned and worse than before.

  The wind buffeted the windows and thick smears of snow slid down the glass. The fire flared and shot flames up the chimney and every light in the room flickered. Shadows darted, some towards the group sitting around the fire, others up the wall towards the dark expanse of the ceiling.

  Everything watched and waited, just like he’d experienced when he arrived, because outside, in this wild night, he knew that something approached the house. Peter gripped his mug of hot chocolate and his fingers trembled.

  His parents and grandparents all turned towards the lights.

  Grandma exclaimed. “Oh! Please, don’t let there be a power cut.”

  Dad groaned and mum covered her mouth, which she did when worried.

  The lights flickered, then held, then flickered again. Granddad leaned forward and rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder as he stood. “I’ll fetch a torch.”

  Grandma stood too. “I’d better hunt out some candles. Where did I put them, I wonder?”

  The lights went out and the room glowed red with firelight. Peter gripped his mug tighter. Then, dim at first, the lights came on and the shadows retreated, except one, a silhouette against the far wall. A girl, the same girl he’d seen in the upstairs window. She held a candle and glided towards a distant corner. The lights brightened and she evaporated. His heart thumped. She moves around the house!

  Peter pointed. “Did you... it’s the...” when, Bang, Bang, Bang! Somebody pounded on the front door.

  Bang, Bang, Bang! went the echo through the old house.

  Grandma’s hand went to her chest. “Oh goodness gracious, whoever’s that?”

  Dad frowned. “Someone at the door in this weather?”

  Granddad hesitated as he listened. “Might be their car’s broken down.”

  “That lane through the trees will be lethal,” said dad. “Bloody fools to attempt it.”

  Mum took charge and stood up with a determined look. “Well, we can’t leave them to freeze on the doorstep.” She strode down the passage and granddad hurried after.

  Bang, Bang, Bang!

  Grandma followed. “Take one of those golf clubs from the umbrella stand. Just in case...”

  Dad jumped up and Peter leapt after him, no way did he want to be left on his own.

  The family gathered at the front door. Grandma brandished a wooden golf club and granddad drew the bolts and turned the iron key in its lock. “Who is it?” he called. No reply and an icy draught streamed under the door. Granddad twisted the iron ring and as the door opened, the wind forced it against him and he staggered. A flurry of snow blew into Peter’s face.

  Granddad shouted. “Who is it?”

  He opened the door wider and Peter squinted against the wind and the snow and peered into the dark.

  A voice shouted from out of the night. “About time too.”

  Grandma gasped. “Almina?” She braced herself against the wind and pushed the door wider. “Almina! What on earth are you doing out there? Come in, come in.”

  Through the door, blown in by the stormy weather, strode a figure swathed in an enormous red cape which billowed like the sails of a ship. Two long scarves sparkled with sequins and a large dark blue hat with a wide brim concealed her face. Light brown leather gloves protected her hands and she pulled behind her a black and yellow tartan suitcase on wheels.

  “I thought I’d freeze to death.” The deep voice bounced off the walls. “I’ve walked all the way from the lane.”

  Granddad shut the door and bolted it. “Thank goodness you made it.”

  “The lane?” Grandma took the suitcase. “Oh, Almina! Why on earth didn’t you ring? I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
>
  Almina unclasped her cape and with a flourish as extravagant as any magician’s, swept it from her shoulders. “The forecast looks bad. The trains are just about running, but by tomorrow, judging from past experience, they’ll be quite hopeless.” She took hold of the brim and peeled the hat from her head. “Bad weather and public transport do not good bedfellows make.”

  Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen so much make-up on a woman’s face. Or so many colours. Orange lipstick, dark green between the eyelids and eyebrows, thick black rings around the eyes and a rosy red that bloomed on her cheeks.

  She shook her head to release the copper-coloured hair flattened by the hat. “The wretched taxi wouldn’t drive up the track. I offered him way over the odds.” She pointed at her feet. “These are ruined.” Purple boots, leather and shaped to fit, now patch-worked by blotches of damp, didn’t look at all practical for tramping through snow. “From Rome you know, cost a fortune.”

  “You should’ve rung,” repeated grandma.

  “I did.” Almina sounded cross at such an obvious suggestion. “On my mobile. Your line’s dead. Didn’t you know?”

  “Is it?” Granddad strode into the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall.

  Dad crossed his arms. “Typical. Guess the snow’s brought the lines down.”

  Almina held out her hand. “Richard, how nice to see you again.” Her wide smile displayed bright white teeth.

  “Anne and Richard arrived this afternoon,” said grandma. “Just in time, too.”

  “How lucky.” Almina kissed mum first on one cheek and then on the other.

  “And you remember Peter?” Grandma placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him forward. “He was just a baby the last time you saw him.”

  Almina’s gaze fixed on Peter and her eyes didn’t blink. “How could I forget? Haven’t you grown.” She held out her gloved hand. “Charmed young man, I’m sure.” She squeezed his fingers. “Charmed.”

  ***

  The lights flickered one last time and went out.

  “Oh great,” said dad.

  Granddad called from the kitchen. “Hold on, the torch is just here.”

  “Would you believe it?” said grandma. “I’ve never known anything like it.”

  Almina’s voice boomed out of the dark. “Oh, the joys of rural life. It’s back to the old times this Christmas. Old times and old habits.”

  Peter shifted closer to mum. He didn’t like Almina, that painted face hid secrets. A look in her eyes hinted at unspoken thoughts and the extravagant clothes directed the gaze to their finery and not to the person who wore them. It’s like hiding, but why does she do that?

  The wound-up feeling in his stomach subsided to a dull ache. The fear he experienced in The Hall, the knowledge that someone or something approached the house, made him wonder. Aunty Almina?

  A beam of bright white light dazzled his eyes.

  “Here we are,” said granddad. He flashed the torch at their feet. “Follow me into the kitchen. Almina’s right, the phone’s dead.”

  “I’ll heat up some soup,” said grandma. “Would you like that?”

  “Anything,” said Almina.

  They all followed the light as grandma hurried ahead. “Thank goodness for the AGA.”

  “I’ll fetch some wood from the barn to keep us stocked up,” said granddad.

  Grandma took the torch and guided herself around the kitchen as she reached for a saucepan. “It’s leek and potato, is that all right?”

  “Anything,” said Almina.

  Mum put her arm around Peter’s shoulders. “We’ll go back by the fire.”

  Granddad mumbled. “There are some candles somewhere.”

  Grandma banged the saucepan onto the AGA. “I’ll find them. You go and fetch the wood.”

  “We’re fine,” said mum. “We’ll find our own way. It’ll be an adventure.”

  Grandma propped the torch beside the AGA, so that’s its beam shone on the saucepan. “I’ll fill us all hot water bottles after I’ve made this soup. You’d like some bread?”

  “Anything,” said Almina.

  Granddad opened the kitchen door and a flurry of large snowflakes flew across the threshold. “I won’t be long.”

  Mum gripped Peter’s shoulders. “Hold your hands out in front of you and walk slowly.”

  The spill from the torchlight made it easy to find their way out of the kitchen, but beyond, the dark enveloped them and they shuffled along with tiny steps.

  Mum whimpered. “Oooh! It’s so creepy.”

  Peter liked the fun of feeling his way forward and when his hand brushed against something unexpected, he jumped with extra fear to make mum jump too. The dark didn’t last long, for ahead, the door to The Hall stood open and firelight guided their way.

  Mum flopped onto the sofa nearest the hearth. “We made it,” and she embraced Peter in a great big hug. “What a brave boy you are to look after me.”

  Peter hugged her back. “I wasn’t really frightened.”

  Mum kissed his head. “All the same, I wouldn’t want to do it on my own.”

  He snuggled closer. “Who is Aunty Almina?”

  “What do you mean, who is she? She’s your aunty.”

  That didn’t answer his question. “Yeees, but who is she?”

  “Do you mean, how is she related to you?”

  Peter didn’t think this answered his question either, but he nodded to hear mum’s reply.

  “She’s your grandma’s sister.”

  He shifted round to see mum’s face. “Her sister? But she’s not as old as grandma.”

  Mum stroked the hair from his forehead. “She was born twelve years after grandma.”

  “Really? That’s a long time.”

  “That happens in families sometimes.”

  Did it? “Why?”

  Mum gave her, ‘I don’t know’ face. “All sorts of reasons.”

  “So ...” and this made him wonder; “I’m eleven and when I’m twelve I might have a brother or sister?”

  Mum laughed. “No, darling,” and she hugged him hard. “You’re my special boy and I don’t want anymore.”

  Thank goodness. The thought of somebody younger that needed looking after didn’t please him at all. Mum and dad belonged to him, nobody else. Still, he wanted to make sure. “How special?”

  Mum tickled his chest. “As special as special can be.”

  He squirmed and wriggled. He liked tickles and he liked curling up to escape them. “How special?”

  “As special as special can be.” Her fingers found all the places that tickled him best.

  “How special?”

  Mum gave a little laugh. “That’s enough.”

  Peter rolled over and sat up. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes, I did.” She spoke slowly. “Aunty Almina is grandma’s sister.”

  Peter shook his head. “No, not that. I mean, what is she?”

  Mum frowned. “Do you mean, what does she do?”

  This still didn’t sound right, but he waited for the reply in case it helped.

  “Well,” mum said. “She’s an actress. She works in the theatre and in films.”

  No help at all. “An actress?”

  “Do you remember last Christmas when we went to see the pantomime?”

  He remembered the darkness as they sat in their seats, the brightness on the strange clothes, the loud music and the puffs of smoke that happened when he didn’t expect it. “Dick Whittington?”

  “That’s right. Well,” mum said, “the people up on the stage were actors and actresses and that’s what Aunty Almina does.”

  “Did we see her?”

  Mum laughed. “Good gracious, no. Aunty Almina is a very serious actress. I don’t think she’d ever do pantomime.”

  “Why not?”

  Before mum had a chance to answer, dad appeared holding three candles in brass holders. As he walked, he sang. “Here comes a candle to light you to bed and
here comes a chopper to chop off...”

  Mum interrupted with her loud, bright voice. “It’s lovely and warm in here and so light with the fire. Pop the candles onto the table, we shall need them when we go upstairs.”

  Dad placed them down with care.

  Mum arranged them into a straight line. “Is the phone really out?”

  Dad flopped onto the opposite sofa. “Yep.” He reached into a trouser pocket and pulled out his mobile. “Let’s hope I’ve still got a signal.”

  Peter dived across the space to watch. Dad swiped through one page after another as he thumbed across the screen. He muttered. “Don’t believe it, a single bar that fades in and out, hardly any reception at all.”

  “It’s just in the house, I’m sure,” mum said. “With these thick old walls. Try outside tomorrow.”

  “Suppose somebody needs me from work?”

  Mum curled up on the sofa. “Darling, it’s Christmas. Nobody will want you. Everyone’s on holiday.”

  “If there’s a crisis, they’ll expect me to be there.”

  Mum shook her head. “You’ve gone away, they know that. They won’t want you to drive all the way back, especially in this weather.”

  Dad’s worried expression didn’t change. “It won’t look good if I’m not around to handle an emergency.”

  Mum’s eyes raised skywards. “You’re imagining things, Richard. Honestly! Relax. There won’t be an emergency.”

  Dad thrust the phone back into his pocket. “If you say so, fingers crossed you’re right.”

  Mum stood and stretched. “Right Peter, time for bed. You take one candle and I’ll take another.”

  Peter kissed dad on the cheek. “’Night.”

  Back in the kitchen, grandma handed them two hot water bottles. “Tomorrow, we’ll light fires in the bedrooms. Sleep well my little petal,” and she kissed Peter’s head.

  Granddad came in at the back door with a basket full of logs. Snow covered his cap and shoulders.

  “At last,” said grandma. “Whatever took you so long?”

  Granddad huffed and puffed. “Snow’s coming down thicker than ever.” He lifted the logs one at a time from the basket and stacked them against the AGA.