by Jodi Taylor
‘You’re such a shrew,’ Cage, he said, amiably. ‘The thought of spending the next two days in your company makes my heart sink.’
I handed over his present. ‘Perhaps this will cheer you up.’
‘A present? For me? Cage, you shouldn’t have.’
‘I know,’ I said, ‘but the thought of getting rid of you for a week was irresistible, so I consider it money well spent.’
He ripped it open. I’d bought him a fishing holiday in Scotland. His colour soared. He was genuinely delighted; I could see it.
‘This is wonderful, thank you.’ He looked at me, grinning all over his face, and said, ‘Would you like to come?’
There was a small but very important silence. Like the moment just before midnight strikes.
I said, ‘Fishing?’
‘If you like. Or you can walk. Or sit and read a book on the riverbank. No, you’re right. It does sound a bit dull.’
I looked down at my hands. ‘No, I’d like to come. I really would.’
‘Well … good. I’ll arrange it. I hope you won’t be bored. Although with our luck, we’ll probably stumble over the Loch Ness Monster or the ghosts of the massacre at Glencoe. Here, I’ve got something for you. Hope you like it. Careful now.’
I unwrapped it very carefully and held it up to the light. He’d bought me a beautiful red lacquered bowl. It glowed in my hands. I loved it.
He was fussing with the wrapping paper, not looking at me. ‘It was nearly an electric drill but I’m not sure the world is ready to allow you unfettered access to power tools.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you like it. I thought, when I saw that red plant you bought …’
‘The poinsettia.’
‘That’s the one. I thought how nice it looked, but this will be permanent.’
I smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘And thank you for my fishing trip.’
We sat for a while, drinking coffee with something alcoholic in it and nibbling mince pies. In vain did I protest I was saving myself for lunch. Apparently, you have to have mince pies to alert your digestive system that something really major is on the way. He was very determined so I gave in. It seemed the easiest thing to do.
We sipped and watched the world turn slowly white. Jones chatted easily. Accustomed as I was to Ted’s long silences, I wondered if he felt he had to entertain me. I told him it wasn’t necessary.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I like talking to you, but I can shut up if you prefer.’
‘No. I like listening to you.’
Having said that, of course, our conversation immediately fell under a blight. We sat in silence, looking out of the window. From the corner of my eye, I could see his colour swirling and clumping. He was … hesitating. Something important was coming. I waited.
At last he said, ‘Do you miss him?’
I said quietly, ‘Yes. Yes, I do. I think I always will. He was my friend as well as my husband.’
‘You seem – I’m not going to say better – you seem different these days.’
‘Well, I am. My life has moved on. I’m not the person I used to be. None of us are.’
‘Does it still hurt?’
‘Yes. And I think it always will, but time is blunting the pain. These days I can cope with it more easily.’
He stared out of the window again.
‘What about you?’ I said. ‘What about Clare? Did you love her?’
There was a long silence. I was beginning to think he wasn’t going to answer – which was in itself an answer – when he said, ‘I don’t think I loved her. I think I loved what we had together, which is not the same thing at all. Perhaps if we had had more time – I don’t know. But to me she was just a colleague of whom I was fond. We worked together for a long time. Something was bound to develop, but for me at least, it wasn’t love.’
Somewhere, something stirred. A cold draught touched my neck and the curtains moved. I shivered.
Jones got to his feet, muttered something about leaving the kitchen window open and disappeared. For something to do – and to dispel the moment – I took another mince pie. They really were delicious. When he reappeared, I asked if he had made them himself.
He played along. ‘Really, Cage, did your parents never teach you not to speak with your mouth full. Look at the mess. Crumbs everywhere.’
I said sorry and we began to talk of other things.
After an hour or so, he got up to go and poke something in the kitchen. ‘Can you lay the table, Cage? Everything’s all laid out ready.’
I looked around the table-less room. ‘Where?’
His head appeared back around the door. ‘Well, here on earth, we tend to keep our dining tables in our dining rooms.’
‘You have a dining room?’
‘You say that in much the same tones as discovering a banker has declined his annual bonus.’
‘Sorry – I’m just accustomed to having only one room downstairs. In fact, I’ve only got three rooms in my entire house.’
‘Well, I hope this brief but tantalising glimpse into the way normal people live their lives is inspiring you to become more aspirational in future.’
I shouted after him. ‘You do know that, come the revolution, people with dining rooms will be the first against the wall, don’t you?’
His head appeared back around the door yet again. ‘That sounds rather fun. Will we be against the wall together?’ And disappeared again before I could think of anything to say.
His dining room wasn’t large and contained only a table with four chairs and another bookcase. By one o’clock the sky was so low it was beginning to get dark again and I had to turn the lights on to read the titles. I drew the curtains, shutting out the snow and the dark, and concentrated on making the table look good.
I threw a red cloth over the white one, laid the cutlery and carefully placed the white side plates. I set out the crystal wine glasses. The centrepiece was a matching bowl of red and green apples all frosted with icing sugar and ringed with holly and a red ribbon. I placed tea lights around the bowl and lit them. Serving utensils went at the end of the table. I folded the napkins the way my mother had taught me and, if I say so myself, the table looked good. When I turned the lights down low the effect was warm and intimate. Candlelight winked off the crystal glasses. Christmassy without being over the top.
I wandered into the kitchen, enquiring if I could help.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You can take this, this and … this.’
I staggered slightly. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m bringing this,’ he said, flourishing a peppermill.
Mince pies or not, I was famished. The crostinis came and went.
‘Mmmm,’ I said, watching my plate go with reluctance. What’s next?
‘Prawns,’ he said, disappearing out of the door.
The prawns were a huge success. I ran my finger around my plate so as not to miss anything. My mum would have frowned at me.
Followed by the acceptable face of broccoli – in a soup – and accompanied by almonds. It was all fabulous. He really was a very good cook. None of it was massive, just a few mouthfuls of each course. And we were in no rush. There were long gaps between the courses during which he would pour the wine and we sat back in our chairs and talked. And then he would disappear only to reappear with something even more delicious and off we would go again.
A very great deal of time passed. The room was warm and soft music played in the background. I got up once to pull back the curtain and have a look out of the window. The snow still fell.
He did talk about what he’d been up to in the summer and autumn, and where he’d been, but only in the most general terms. Eventually, he said, ‘Why am I doing all the talking?’
‘So I can do all the eating.’
‘I like a woman with an appetite but this is like dining with a hoover.’
I grinned at him and held out my glass for a refill. I probably shouldn�
�t have. I remembered I’d forgotten my reservations about getting tipsy. The room was beginning to feel extremely warm and the candlelight was swaying around in a way I hadn’t noticed half an hour ago.
‘Would you have gone to all this trouble if you were on your own?’
He shook his head. ‘Good heavens, no. Egg and chips in front of the TV probably.’
‘Nothing wrong with egg and chips,’ I said, stoutly. ‘Food of the gods.’
He frowned severely. ‘Do you eat properly?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘I mean, do you bother to cook for yourself?’
‘Well yes, sometimes. Sometimes it’s not worth the effort.’
‘Interesting point of view. It’s only worth feeding yourself properly if you have a man. Are you saying women without a man don’t need to eat?’
‘Of course not,’ I said indignantly, swaying in my seat to make my point.
‘Then why do women feel it’s not worth the effort if it’s only them?’
‘We don’t. I don’t. I mean … I do, but I don’t.’
‘I see malnutrition is already affecting your thought processes. I’d better go and get more food. If it’s not too late.’
He reappeared with a huge plate of chocolate brownies and a jug of coffee cream. I could feel my arteries giving way just by looking at it. He slipped two onto my plate and covered them with cream.
‘There you go, Cage. Get yourself on the outside of that lot.’
I didn’t need any urging. The first mouthful was just heaven.
‘Mmmmm,’ I said again, closing my eyes so it would taste even better.
Even with my eyes closed I could see his colour streaming towards me. He might, to all intents and purposes, be concentrating on his own brownie, but I knew differently. If we turned out the lights I could probably have read by the light coming off him. He had the strongest colour I’d ever seen.
I put down my fork and thought. Was his colour stronger when he was with me? Because I was stronger when I was with him. Not only could I imagine doing things I’d never dreamed of but I actually had the courage to do them. To help Evelyn Cross. To face The Widow. We were stronger together. We sparked off each other.
I finished my brownies, scraped my plate, wiped my mouth, and cast about hopefully in case I’d missed a mouthful. ‘Do you want the rest of your brownie?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘What happened to family hold back?’
‘What?’
‘Family hold back. It’s an old saying. If there isn’t enough at a dinner party, then family holds back.’
He sighed and stared at me, screwing up his face in mock exasperation.
I smiled in what I thought was a beguiling manner.
‘How much have you had to drink, Cage?’
‘Well, not as much as you. I’ve never seen anyone throw it back like you do.’
‘That’s because you don’t labour under the same trials as me.’ He wouldn’t look at me.
I said softly, ‘Yes, I do.’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand me. ‘Yes, but you have advantages I don’t.’ His smile twisted. ‘You know what I’m thinking before I’ve even thought it myself.’
I pointed out he didn’t do too badly.
‘Really? How do you figure that?’
‘You are in possession of the last brownie. An intelligent man would use it to bargain with.’
‘Seriously, you’d sell yourself for a brownie?’
‘Well, we’ll never know will we, because you’re being so selfish.’
He cut off a small corner and held out the spoon to me. His colour flared suddenly and the room was filled with golden light.
‘Come and get it then. If you think you’re brave enough.’
I leaned forwards but couldn’t quite reach. I would have to get up. Whether this was what he intended, I don’t know. I do know I didn’t quite have the same control over my legs that I’d had an hour or so ago, and had to sit, rather suddenly, on his lap.
He closed his eyes. ‘You don’t make things easy for me, do you?’
His colour enfolded the both of us.
I felt warm and comfortable and safe. I rested my head on his shoulder. ‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’
He sighed. ‘You have many qualities, Cage. You’re bright and pretty and I like being with you and you pierce my soul every time you look at me and you’re here, now, with me, warm and trusting and very, very drunk.’
‘You’ve had far more to drink than I have. And you’re obviously not as clever as you think you are because you haven’t noticed that actually, I’m taking advantage of you.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘From this position, I have easy access to both the brownie and you. Tictacal … tactical superiority.’
‘You can barely say it.’
‘Don’t have to.’ I lifted my head and kissed him, very gently. He tasted of wine and chocolate and coffee. The kiss lasted a long time. The room was very quiet. His colour was a fireworks display.
Eventually, he lifted his head. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not a complete bastard, you know.’
‘You’re not a bastard at all,’ I said, quite indignantly.
He sighed again. ‘Yes, unfortunately I am.’
‘Not to me.’
‘You don’t know as much as you think you do.’
‘I know as much as I want to.’
He stroked my hair. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘Yes, it is. For both of us. But one day it won’t be.’
He kissed my hair. I shall look forward to that day.’
‘I shall, too.’
One final kiss and then he sat up. ‘In the meantime, madam, I must insist you return to your own side of the table and desist from this unseemly behaviour.’
‘OK,’ I said, standing up and slipping back into my own seat. Making sure I took his brownie with me, of course.
Chapter Twenty-three
I began Boxing Day in a warm cocoon from which I had no desire to emerge. Being a butterfly is overrated. I would remain a warm, snug, duvet-wrapped caterpillar for the rest of my life. Unfortunately for this ambitious programme, a maniac was banging on the bedroom door. There was no ignoring him. I stifled a groan and shouted, ‘What do you want? Leave me alone.’
He barged in, armed with tea and croissants and enthusiasm. ‘Morning, Cage. Hung over?’
‘No.’ I said, surprised. ‘I’m not.’
‘Why not?’
‘I think more to the point, why aren’t you?’
‘There’s paracetamol here if you need them.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m about to open the curtains. Ready?’
He flung back the curtains onto a glittering white world. I gave a cry and fell back on the pillows.
‘It must have snowed all night. It’s about a foot deep out there. Thank God it’s Boxing Day.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve had snow, Cage. And in winter too. The country will be at a standstill. Such rail services as still remain to us will be cancelled. Airports will close. Local councils will order in grit which won’t arrive until May. Power lines will fall. The army will be mobilised. Pregnant women will be dangling from helicopters like wind chimes. Trust me, the entire population of Canada will be laughing their socks off at us by lunchtime.’
‘Good for them,’ I said, slightly muffled by a croissant.
‘Tell you what,’ he said, turning back from the window. ‘When you’ve finished your breakfast – in about fifteen seconds at the rate you’re feeding your face – do you fancy going toboganning? In the snow.’
It might have been my imagination, but did the day darken slightly?
‘You have a toboggan?’
‘Course not,’ he said, grinning. ‘We’re going to make one,’ and disappeared out of the door.
I thought h
e was winding me up, but when I took my tray back into the kitchen, he was wrestling a very large cardboard box and half a dozen bin liners. The cardboard box was winning.
‘Here,’ he said, impatiently. ‘Can you hold this?’
‘That’s a big box.’
‘My screen came in this. I’ve been saving it.’
‘What for.’
‘I told you. We’re going tobogganing.’
‘Oh no, we’re not.’
‘It’ll be fun.’
‘You can tell me all about it on your return.’
He paused, bin liner in one hand, duct tape in the other. ‘Don’t you want to come?’
‘I have a headache.’
‘No, you don’t. You were very definite you didn’t.’
I groaned. ‘Trapped in my own web of deceit.’
‘Come on. It’ll be fun,’ he said, ripping off great lumps of duct tape and doing something technical.
‘Where will we go?’
‘To the park. There’s that hill that runs down to the river. Hold this.’
I held that.
‘And this.’
I held that, too.
‘And then we’ll come back and have hot chocolate and watch James Bond save the world again.’
He grinned at me. I couldn’t resist. ‘Oh, all right then.’
The glittering snow made my eyes run. The bitter cold made my nose run.
Jones paused outside on the steps and donned a pair of aviator sunglasses, posing in the sunshine. ‘Now I look really cool.’
The tragedy was that he really did. We set off. My nose was still running. I sniffed again.
‘Could you walk on the other side of the road, Cage. You’re not doing my image any good at all.’
I glared at him and he passed me a tissue and an old pair of sunglasses.
I put them on. ‘Now I look cool too.’
He patted my shoulder. ‘Keep telling yourself that.’
We’d had a frost as well and the snow had a crust on top of it. ‘Deep and crisp and even,’ said Jones, but it was a beautiful day. The sky was a rich, cloudless blue. Anything that wasn’t a rich, cloudless blue was a brilliant white. Even ugly buildings looked beautiful. We paused at the park gates where the big Christmas tree glittered and twinkled in the sunlight. Half of Rushford had obviously had the same idea. There were lots of people with real sledges. I pointed this out to Jones who shrugged dismissively. ‘Not one of them will be as good as ours.’
