White Silence Page 21

  Jones occasionally responded to my emails, enquiring after my health. He never said anything about himself or where he was or what he was doing. I was uneasy about him, but the tone of his emails was cheerful. I gathered, more from what he didn’t say than from what he did, that he was working again. That he had at least partially regained his security clearance and been accepted back into the fold.

  And then one day I opened the front door to find him standing on the top step, his colour curling around him and looking better than I’d seen him for a long time.

  ‘Nice,’ he said, stepping back and looking up at the house. ‘Bet you’re glad you listened to me now.’

  I waved to the colonel and his wife sitting in their window and asked if he wanted to come in.

  ‘Will there be room?’ he said, doubtfully.

  ‘As long as you don’t wave your arms around or stand on tiptoe you should be fine.’

  Once inside he was into everything, of course, pulling open cupboards, peering out of the windows and trying out the sofa for comfort. He had to turn his shoulders slightly sideways to get up the stairs, but once on the landing he inspected the bathroom minutely and gave the bedroom his seal of approval from the doorway.

  ‘Not bad,’ he pronounced eventually. ‘Of course, older properties like this will always have death-watch beetle, wet rot, dry rot, woodworm and subsidence, but other than that it’s not a bad little house.’

  I told him his approval meant I could now sleep at night and enquired exactly why he was here.

  ‘Christmas,’ he said.

  I stared at him and he sighed. ‘What are you doing for Christmas, Cage?’

  ‘I hadn’t actually given the matter any thought.’

  He peered closely at me and I couldn’t meet his gaze. I hadn’t been looking forward to this, my first Christmas without Ted. This time last year he’d still been alive and I’d been trying to get out of going to that stupid Christmas party. I swallowed hard and blinked away my tears.

  ‘Only,’ he said, apparently not having noticed, ‘I wondered if you wanted to have it at my place.’

  ‘Have what?’

  ‘Christmas, Cage. Concentrate.’

  ‘At your place?’

  He sighed. ‘Obviously, I’m going to have to bring things down to a level easily understood by those with only a very basic comprehension of the world and how it works. I’m inviting you to spend Christmas with me, Cage. Please let me know if there were any words there you didn’t understand.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because that’s what people do, Cage. They spend Christmas together. Person A – that would be me – trots round to Person B – that would be you – and says, “Hey, Person A. Do you fancy spending Christmas at my place?” And Person B remembers her manners – really, Cage, were you raised by wolves? – and says, “Oh, how kind of you. I’d be delighted. Can I bring anything?” And Person A says “No, of course not, just bring yourself.” And then Person B says …’

  ‘Yes, all right,’ I said, because this showed signs of going on for quite some time.

  ‘Well, what do you think? Do you want to come?’

  I suddenly realised how much I hadn’t wanted to be alone this Christmas.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I would like to come. Thank you.’

  ‘Usually I’m working over Christmas. Gives the married people a chance to be with their families, but not this year, and I thought it would be great to have someone else to cook for. Can you come on Christmas Eve? We’ll get tipsy in front of the fire and then you can sleep it off the next morning while I do busy things with sprouts.’

  ‘Don’t do busy things with sprouts on my behalf. I can’t stand them.’

  ‘Well that’s a relief. Sprout-free zone it is then. So, you’re coming?

  ‘Yes, I’d like to. Thank you very much.’

  ‘My pleasure. Pick you up on Christmas Eve afternoon.

  His invitation changed everything. Suddenly, far from being something dark on the horizon that I didn’t want to think about, Christmas became an event to look forward to.

  I bought a big red poinsettia plant for my coffee table, put some fairy lights around the window without electrocuting myself much to Jones’s amazement, and even wrapped a little tinsel around Ted’s photo.

  ‘That red thing looks nice,’ said Jones. ‘Very Christmassy.’

  ‘It’s a poinsettia.’

  ‘You needed a spot of colour in this room and that does it nicely. How did you get the fairy lights to work? Are they on a two or three pin plug?’

  ‘Two,’ I said, winding him up. ‘I shoved a teaspoon in the third hole and everything worked perfectly. By the way, do you have an electric drill?’

  He stared at me. ‘No.’

  ‘Can I borrow it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I want to put up a shelf in the bathroom.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The shelf is already assembled. I just need to drill a couple of holes. It won’t take a minute.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do it.’

  ‘Just as well.’

  ‘Is this some man thing where women aren’t actually allowed to handle power tools because it dispels the masculine mystique?’

  ‘Look, it’s all we have left. Women are everywhere doing everything better than we can. For God’s sake, leave us our power tools.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll buy my own drill.’

  He sighed. ‘Show me.’

  I showed him the pre-assembled shelf and indicated its potential position in the bathroom.

  ‘I’ll bring my drill round tomorrow, but only so you don’t bring the wall down by trying to do it yourself.’

  I said demurely, ‘Thank you.’

  December flew by. Carol singers came and went. And came back again for the TV cameras who wanted to film them against the backdrop of the floodlit castle. I opened the front door to hear them, huddled in my coat and listening to all my childhood favourites.

  Colonel and Mrs Barton were in their window as usual. She looked unusually animated, smiling and waving. I did hope she would be having a few ‘good days’ around Christmas. I was invited in and the colonel got out his special sloe gin. I’m not entirely clear as to the rest of the evening’s events. The colonel later said we’d had a bit of a sing-song, but that didn’t sound like me at all. Still, as I said to Jones later after listening to some unkind remarks at my lack of stamina, at least I woke up in my own home.

  He came to collect me on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. I was all packed and ready to go. I’d dithered for ages over what to wear. Black didn’t seem appropriate, so I pulled out a long thick red tunic to wear over jeggings. If I was going to Christmas lunch, then I was going to need an elasticated waist.

  I stacked my suitcase by the door, together with the carrier bag of gifts and my contributions to the festivities, and went to sit in the window seat to wait for him. I didn’t normally do that and was quite surprised to find I was more excited than I’d thought I would be.

  The last light was going. It would be dark soon. There weren’t many people about. By now, most people were either at home or racing, panic-stricken around the shops for all the last-minute things they’d forgotten.

  Here he came. I watched him stride through the arch and along the cobbled path. He was muffled up against the cold, his breath clouding around his head and with his colour streaming behind him like a comet’s tail. I suddenly thought how much happier he looked these days, compared with when I had first met him. I thought of the black areas and how thin his colour had been. A lot of that had been anxiety over Clare. True, the news had not been good but now at least he knew. Now he could deal with things in whichever way he thought best and move on.

  I had the door open as he ran up the steps.

  ‘Did you see the weather forecast this morning?’ he said, picking up my suitcase even though I was perfectly capable of carrying it myself. ‘It’s going to snow. We’re going
to have a white Christmas. I can’t remember the last time that happened in Rushford. Have you got everything?’

  I said ‘Yes’ and pulled the front door to behind me.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Off we go.’

  It was bitterly cold with a heavy sky overhead. I could hear carol music in the background. I think they were having a concert in the castle. All around the square the lighted windows were bright with tiny Christmas trees, even in my neighbours on the other side. They were very jolly for solicitors. There were lights and colour everywhere.

  We walked down the hill and across the bridge. I looked at the lights reflected in the water. This side of town was much busier and much more crowded. Very cheerful office workers were spilling in and out of the pubs. Crowds thronged the pavements and the bright lights in the shop windows made the sky seem even darker.

  He carried my suitcase for me, although not without complaint, and a few demands to know what I’d got in there. We dodged our way through the crowds until finally we were able to turn into the quieter streets, and eventually to his apartment block.

  It seemed very warm after the cold chill outside. We used the lift this time, purring our way up to the fourth floor.

  ‘Enter,’ he said, flinging his front door open with a flourish and I stepped past him.

  ‘Seriously, Cage, have I taught you nothing? You jump into stolen cars at the drop of a hat and now here you are strolling into a strange man’s house.’

  ‘None stranger,’ I agreed, while he stopped to work out what had gone wrong with his last sentence.

  I had more time to look around me this time. His flat was small, but well lit. An L-shaped corridor lay before me.

  ‘You’re down here,’ he said, nodding to the left. At the end was a surprisingly large bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the lights down low, making it look warm and welcoming.

  ‘This is actually the master,’ he said, ‘with the en suite through there, but I prefer the second bedroom. It’s smaller, but accesses the family bathroom which is bigger. I could barely get into that little thing.’

  It was indeed a small bathroom, but perfectly adequate for the needs of a normal person. As I informed him.

  ‘I’m ignoring the fact you’ve been here only two minutes yet you’ve already managed to insult both your host and his bathroom. I’ll leave you to unpack. Yell if you need anything. I’ll be in the kitchen.’

  I unpacked slowly. Everything he had was of very good quality. I was especially impressed by the chest of drawers. In my house, because of the wonky floors, I have to open the drawers in a particular order. The top drawer won’t open unless you open the second one first. The third drawer won’t open at all unless the second one is open which means you can’t access the third one and you can only close the second one if the top one is open. After a while I’d got used to it, whipping drawers in and out without a second thought. Here, drawers one, two, three and four opened perfectly. And in any order. Obviously, there was a certain novelty value in this, but I could see it would soon become quite dull. On the other hand, I wouldn’t be cursing because I couldn’t access my underwear.

  I laid my stuff out in the bathroom. ‘Second bathroom’ he might call it, but it was still more sophisticated than mine. The shower was one of those multi things with more knobs and dials than a 747 jet. I decided I’d stick to the bath.

  The bed was comfortable and the view from the window showed the river, the medieval bridge and the romantically floodlit castle. It was dark now, but I must remember in the morning to check whether he really could see my house from here.

  I splashed my face and hands with water, brushed my hair and wandered back into the living room.

  ‘There you are at last,’ he said, emerging from the kitchen and turning the light out after himself. ‘You were taking so long I wondered if you’d discovered a secret passage or were doing battle with a werewolf.’

  ‘Strangely, none of those things ever happened to me before I met you.’

  ‘I try to bring a little something special to other people’s lives. Now – what would you like to drink?’ He reeled off a bewildering list. I wondered again about his drinking, but his colour was bright and clear and swirling happily around his head.

  ‘Orange juice, please.’

  ‘Seriously? At Christmas?’

  I sighed. ‘Wine, please.’

  He reeled off another bewildering list. I waited until he’d finished and then said, ‘White.’

  He sighed. ‘I can see there are huge gaps in your education.’

  ‘I don’t drink a lot.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it’s not in my nature to shirk a challenge. Let’s start with … this one. Crisp, cool and fruity. What do you think?’ He handed me a glass.

  ‘Mmm. Very nice.’

  ‘You’re not exactly the wine whisperer are you?’

  I took another sip. ‘I’m getting it now. Hairspray, sardines and pomegranates with top notes of creosote.’

  ‘I’m spending Christmas with a savage,’ he said, looking remarkably relaxed about it, and seating himself next to me and picking up the TV remote. ‘I know it’s a bit like a busman’s holiday, but do you fancy a Christmas ghost story?’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  When I awoke the next morning there was a moment when I couldn’t think where I was. Everything was very silent and still. Like a Christmas carol. And then I remembered – it was Christmas and I was in a strange bed. There was the usual visitor uncertainty. Is it rude to get up before your host? Should I stay where I was until I heard movement? If I did get up I might wake him. I haven’t stayed in that many unfamiliar houses. Is there proper etiquette for this sort of thing?

  I rolled over and sat up at the same moment that Jones knocked at the door. ‘Are you awake, Cage?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea.’

  ‘In that case …’

  He opened the door and came in, bringing the smell of good things with him. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘And to you too.’

  ‘I’ve been toiling since dawn,’ he announced, putting a mug of tea on the bedside table and drawing back the curtains. ‘And guess what?’

  I reached for the tea. ‘You forgot to defrost the turkey. It’s fish fingers for lunch with sprouts, stuffing and cranberry jelly.’

  He ignored that, turning from the window, his face full of excitement. He looked like a gigantic ten-year-old boy. ‘It’s snowing.’

  I pushed back the bedclothes and joined him. ‘Really? On Christmas Day? That’s wonderful.’

  And it was. It was snowing. On Christmas Day. Not a lot, but a light sprinkling of white covered the roofs below me.

  ‘And there’s more to come,’ he said. ‘Now get back into bed.’

  I regarded him suspiciously. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you can’t have breakfast in bed if you’re standing in the middle of the room, can you?’

  I scrambled back into bed and he reappeared a few minutes later with a tray. Scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and Bucks Fizz.

  I couldn’t believe it. ‘I’m drinking champagne in bed at half past eight in the morning?’

  ‘Better than that,’ he said smugly. ‘You’re drinking champagne in bed at half past eight in the morning with me. Move your legs.’

  He made himself comfortable at the bottom of the bed and we tucked in together, stopping occasionally to draw each other’s attention to the falling snow. I thought about how comfortable we were with each other

  We took our time and had two glasses each. He collected the trays. ‘I must go. Six course meals don’t just cook themselves you know.’

  ‘Six courses?’

  ‘Don’t panic – it’s not a Henry VIII style banquet. Just a series of light courses. We’re starting with smoked salmon and cream cheese crostinis, followed by broccoli and almond soup, followed by prawns with mango, mint and tomato. Having warmed ourselves up nicely, we’ll move smoothly on to the
main event – crispy roast turkey, served with all the trimmings. I don’t like Christmas pudding and I know you don’t consider anything a proper meal if the word chocolate doesn’t figure in it somewhere, so we have chocolate brownies with coffee cream. Followed by cheese and biscuits with grapes and nuts. Followed by mints. Followed by coffee.’

  I stared, open-mouthed. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yes, take your time about getting up. I shall be in the kitchen with my arm up a turkey’s bottom.’

  ‘How enticing that sounds.’

  ‘Lunch is in five hours, Cage. If you start now you might just manage to look presentable in time to join me.’

  He disappeared. I finished my Buck’s Fizz and wandered over to the wardrobe.

  I showered, dressed, made an effort with my hair, put on a little make-up – not too much – and tidied my room. Finally, I picked up his present and made my way into the lounge. Where the smell of good things was even stronger.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, coming in from the kitchen. ‘Merry Christmas.’ He looked relaxed and happy. His colour swirled gently around him and then reached out for me.

  I smiled back because I felt relaxed and happy too. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘You look very pretty. I like that red thing. Very festive.’

  ‘Thank you. Something smells good.’

  ‘It all smells good,’ he said sternly. ‘And just a word of warning – you don’t go home until it’s all eaten up. No matter how long that takes.’

  I smiled up at him. ‘Thank you for asking me.’

  ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’

  ‘Well, I thought you could open your present. Because I’ve bought you one. I’ll bask in your gratitude and then we’ll have a drink, sit in the window and watch the snow and just chat.’ He looked suddenly uncertain. ‘Unless you think that sounds a bit dull.’

  I thought it sounded lovely. ‘Well, I’m a little disappointed at the lack of a fly-past, or performing elephants, or an appearance of the Dagenham Girl Pipers, but I’m a guest and must remember my manners, so I’m going to say it sounds very nice.’