Chapter Nineteen
‘There’s something that worries me slightly in the stone erected over Thomas Parris, sheepherder of the district of Fryupdale. It isn’t the lettering, which is a pleasing italic style, giving his last resting place a sort of ‘handwritten’ look. It’s the fact that his stone says merely ‘near this place lieth the remains of Thomas Parris who departed this life on the twenty-eighth of February, 1818, in his seventieth year’. Near this place? Couldn’t they remember where they put him?’ — BOOK OF THE DEAD 2
* * *
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thanks
Thanks a lot for talking sense into me yet again. You’re a star.
Al x
Alex Hill @AlexHillStone
@WinterGAuthor Got a message for you from school. Why not pop round? Bobso has a surprise.
WinterGregory @WinterGAuthor
@AlexHillStone Sounds intriguing. #Amwriting but could come tonight?
Alex Hill @AlexHillStone
@WinterGAuthor That’s fine. Come after nine and have some food.
WinterGregory @WinterGAuthor
@AlexHillStone Lovely, see you then.
Matt Simons @MattyS
@AlexHillStone @WinterGAuthor Have a nice time, you two!
Alex Hill @AlexHillStone
@MattyS Shut up #sarcasmlowestformofwit
It wasn’t just wanting to show Dan I could do it without him. Neither was it the realisation that I’d come to that I really wanted to write this book, to let people know about all those who were lying almost forgotten in churchyards across this area. It was more like a re-emergence of a passion that I’d used to have, a bit like falling in love all over again with a man and remembering what it was I’d used to love about him. The words, once I sat down at the laptop, just kept flowing out of me, as though something had dammed them up and they’d been swirling around in a backwash of lost plots but were now rushing over the barrier and carrying all the detritus with them.
I didn’t even make a coffee. Dan’s crack about ‘self-medication’, whatever he’d meant by that, had stung and I wanted to demonstrate, even to myself, that I could work without it. So, fuelled by nothing but a packet of slightly soggy biscuits and half a bar of chocolate that I found doing duty as a bookmark, I positioned myself in the light which managed to ooze its way in through the window and wrote for the whole day.
When I looked up from the screen, eyes itching and my fingers tired, I was surprised to find that it was almost dark. I’d been assuming that the gradual closing in of the light had been my eyes focussing so hard on the laptop that my pupils had somehow frozen.
‘I’m off to see Alex,’ I announced to Daisy. ‘For a meal.’
‘Uh huh.’ She sounded distracted, as though she wasn’t really listening. ‘So, you’ve given our Daniel his marching orders, have you? Does he know he’s “outta here”?’
‘I think he can infer it from context.’ I felt different too. Lighter. As though the words had been weighing me down and getting them out of my head had been enough to allow my body to rise from whichever depths the arrival of Dan had forced them to.
‘Maybe. But you know what he’s like. Or do you, Win? Do you really know what he might be capable of?’
‘Once this book is done, it doesn’t matter. I never need to have any contact with him again, and he can say and do what he likes, it won’t matter.’
‘It might.’ Daisy’s voice was small now. ‘If he drags me into things. If he starts . . . well, he could spread all kinds of stories, couldn’t he?’
‘He won’t, Daze.’ I suddenly wanted to hug my sister. ‘Honestly. It’s hard to explain but he seems a bit different now. A bit . . . well, I was going to say “softer” but that’s not really a word you can use for Dan, is it?’
A bit of a laugh. ‘Nah. Even Dan’s soft bits are firm. So, what does he seem?’
I thought. ‘More understanding, I’d say. Somehow. A bit less condemnatory. Oh, this sounds stupid, it makes it sound like he was a cross between some hellfire preacher and Jack Dee, but it’s hard to explain. Like he’s realised something. So, no, I don’t think he’ll come after you, Daze, not any more.’
‘But he won’t let it go, will he? He might be all new “squidgy Dan” but he’s still never going to understand us , is he?’
‘Like I said, it doesn’t matter. I’ll get this done and then we never need to have anything to do with him again, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she said, sounding small, fragile. Once again, and with full force, I wished my sister wasn’t so far away. She seemed to wish it too. ‘Maybe . . . after the book . . . you’ll come and see me?’
You smell of jasmine and joss sticks. Your hair is frizzy at the back but you wear hats on bad-hair-days and nobody notices. You have a scar on your wrist from when you broke it falling off Jack. Hugging you is like hugging a collection of well-wrapped pipe cleaners and it’s like coming home to myself. Like I’m not quite complete without you . . .
‘I thought about it earlier — I was so tempted to just shut up the laptop and leave it all, but . . .’
‘Yeah, I know.’ A laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon enough, Win.’
‘And we’ll have massive cocktails with umbrellas in!’ It was what Daisy and I always did when we got together, drank cocktails with stupid names and unlikely ingredients until we were giggly-drunk. ‘Better go and get changed for Alex.’
‘Something sexy? How about that little blue dress? Never failed you, that dress.’
‘Hmm. Maybe. Not sure I really want to go the “sexy” route. Something a bit more old-school, perhaps.’
‘The black one then. With heels.’
‘All right, oh fashion queen, I’ll wear that one.’ And, laughing, I went off to rummage through my suitcase to find the demure-yet-sensual black dress.
The effort of finding it, sponging off some miscellaneous stains and then ironing it was well worth it. Alex’s face positively flickered with all the different emotions that the dress seemed to produce.
‘Y-you l-look very, uh, well. Wh-whatever it is, y-you look v-very.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ I walked into the flat, my heels making hollow noises on the oak boards. ‘It smells lovely.’
‘S-supermarket’s f-finest again, I’m a-afraid.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Tried a r-recipe th-that Lucy gave me, b-but . . .’ A shrug. ‘Had to t-tip it outside. C-couldn’t p-put it in the b-bin, I w-went to s-school with two of th-the bin men.’
He was clearly straight from the shower. His hair was dark with water and his hug, when he greeted me, smelled of soap and shaving gel. The soft, woven shirt was in evidence again too, over black jeans that made him look taller and even more toned in the thigh department.
‘Wine?’
There were two glasses on the worktop. One already had half an inch of wine in it. ‘What, no Scarlet to keep you from alcohol poisoning?’
‘She’s at M-Mum’s.’ Alex gave me an unfathomable look as he handed me a glass. ‘Th-thought it was only f-fair.’ He tilted the bottle and poured me a generous measure. I hoped he wasn’t trying to get me drunk, although, with the way he looked tonight, drunk wouldn’t be necessary. He looked what he was, fit, tanned from the outdoors and cute. His hair was starting to dry in the warmth of the flat and little curls were forming around the back of his neck. I found my eyes fixing on them when he turned to pour his own wine. ‘Ch-ch-, oh bugger, bottom’s up!’
I drank some wine, feeling surprisingly shy. Here I was, dressed up nicely, here he was, dressed and behaving like a grown-up without responsibilities. A tingle of arousal got sucker-punched down by something I couldn’t analyse.
‘You said Bobso had a surprise?’ I said to distract both Alex and me from the way my mind was running.
‘Y-yes.’ Alex held out a hand. ‘C-come and see.’
It seemed natural to take the offered hand and be led down the stairs, wobbling slightly with wine and heels, and out into the yard. This time Light Bulb wasn’t hovering over the hutch, but a carrot jammed into the wire mesh fronting showed that Scarlet was still taking her responsibilities as a pet owner very seriously. Alex let go of my hand and flipped open the ‘bedding’ area of the hutch to reveal a slightly surprised-looking Bobso, surrounded by six miniature Bobsos in assorted colours, which ran, squeaking, into the other end of the hutch.
‘Is that a guinea pig or an amoeba?’
Alex laughed. ‘B-bobso is now Bobsina.’ He bent down and looked at the host of piglets. ‘Th-they c-can run as soon as th-they’re b-born.’ The hutch was fastened up and double-checked. ‘W-wish humans c-could do th-that.’
‘I bet Scarlet is delighted. It’s like “buy one, get six free”. Still, Dan did warn you.’ Mentioning Dan’s name felt odd, as though he was some kind of spectre at the feast, lurking around in the shadows. As though his name could invoke him.
‘Y-yes. H-he did.’ Alex’s voice had a strange tone, almost as though he was also feeling Dan’s presence. Then he grasped my hand again. ‘C-come on. I d-don’t want to w-waste another d-dinner. Local w-wildlife can only t-take so m-much.’
Back in the flat, even with the lighting turned down low and the wine bottle sitting between us, I still kept expecting Scarlet to burst through the door at any moment. It made me hesitant whenever Alex and I made contact, either both reaching for the wine or fingers touching when we pulled at the garlic bread in the middle of the table. He hadn’t heated it for quite long enough and the garlic butter was still solid, but such was the mood that I didn’t want to point this out.
‘Mr M-Moore told m-me to ask y-you to g-go in next week,’ Alex said, looking down at his plate. It was apparently boeuf bourguignon, as interpreted by the local supermarket, and not bad as long as you didn’t mind shallots like eyeballs bobbing to the surface when you poked it. ‘F-Friday? To talk about wr-writing.’
‘Friday’s fine.’ I poked a suspiciously hard lump and had another mouthful of wine. It was going to my head a bit and I realised that I hadn’t eaten much all day. All week, if it came to that. In fact, when had I last eaten an actual meal? ‘And I’m sorry I was a bit rude to you yesterday, by the way. I’m just . . . Dan has a bit of history interfering in my life, like I’ve said, and when you said he’d been helping Scarlet, well . . .’ I forked some more food. ‘I could just see it happening all over again.’
‘Okay.’ Alex cleared his plate. ‘N-no talking about D-Dan. Agreed.’
So we talked about life in a small town in rural North Yorkshire, about Scarlet, about places we’d travelled to and things we’d seen. Alex had, apparently, always been a hard worker, dedicated to his stone masonry and then, on the death of his father, he’d inherited enough to buy the Old Mill and attempt to rebuild it.
‘It is beautiful.’ I raised my glass to the softly-burnished wood, glowing in the dim lighting. ‘It’s like something out of Country Living magazine.’
‘W-when I started rebuilding it I w-was engaged,’ Alex said, and I almost dropped my wineglass. Then I tried to compose my face, even though I could feel the blood flushing my cheeks. He noticed. ‘I d-didn’t always sh-shut myself away, W-Winter,’ he said, with a half-smile. ‘Used to b-be quite a p-player in the old d-days.’ He took another drink. ‘B-but shit happened and now . . .’ A shrug. ‘N-now I’m a s-surrogate dad with a st-stammer.’
‘Well, I did wonder how someone as . . . well, how you’d managed to remain single for so long.’ The wine was definitely going to my head now. ‘Who were you engaged to? Anyone local? Oh, stupid question really, there doesn’t seem to be any escape from Great Leys, unless there’s a tunnel committee I don’t know about.’
‘L-Lucy.’ Alex dropped his head. ‘I w-was engaged t-to L-Lucy. B-but I was a sh-shit to her w-when Ell d-died. C-couldn’t cope, y’see?’ And now he met my eye with a look like a challenge. ‘S-Scarl doesn’t know. P-please d-don’t tell her. Sh-she knows we d-dated, she r-remembers that b-but we never t-told her it went f-further.’
‘She said that Mr Moore didn’t like you! I did wonder.’
Alex gave a slightly shamefaced grin. ‘S-Scarl thinks she kn-knows everything. B-but f-for goodness s-sake, she’s only eight! Lucy g-got a b-bit . . . I’d d-disappointed her. Sh-she married the l-l-local “tough g-guy” and w-went off to l-live on T-Teeside b-but . . .’ A shrug. ‘Wh-when she c-couldn’t s-stand any m-more she r-ran. C-came back h-home. B-but I’d n-never w-want S-Scarl to know th-that Ell d-d—’ He stopped and obviously mentally rephrased. ‘That t-taking on Scarl put a s-stop to my life as it w-was. Sh-she doesn’t n-need that guilt, she’s g-got enough on her p-plate.’
‘But Lucy still likes you,’ I said, softly. ‘Well, she still fancies you, anyway.’
Alex grinned more widely and shrugged. ‘It’s a sm-small p-place,’ he said. ‘Not m-much competition.’
I laughed and drained my wine. As I put the glass back on the table, Alex’s fingers touched mine and this time I didn’t pull back. Before I knew it we were both standing, and he was sliding his hands into my hair, pulling my mouth in for a kiss that went deep, as though sharing his secret past life had released him from some kind of obligation.
My hands gripped his shoulders. He was solid, all the muscle from building, from lifting stone and working it were tense under my fingers. His mouth moved against mine, words spoken that I couldn’t hear, then his lips were sliding along my jaw, up to my ear. ‘C-come with m-me.’
Into the passageway, the opposite direction from Scarlet’s room, and in through a door that he shut with his foot, our mouths joined again, and then our fingers came to the party too, and we were groping like a couple of teenagers who’d seen the films and wanted to find out what it was all about. His hands slid around the front of the black dress then down to ruck the hem and stroke my thighs, while I unbuttoned his shirt and let the fabulous firmness of those muscles come out to play.
‘Are you s-sure?’ Alex whispered as he encountered the edge of my rather nice knickers. Not that I’d dressed for this, but under the black dress anything else seemed like taking chips to the palace. ‘It’s o-okay if y-you want to st-stop.’
I just gave a small moan and let myself fall backwards onto the big bed.
Alex grinned a devilish grin and came with me, propping himself above my body. ‘G-good,’ he said, carefully lifting the dress up over my head, so I lay in my nice underwear and nothing else, feeling the cool of the air against my over-heated skin. A quick moment and he was naked there beside me, all tan lines and bunched muscle, hair tightly-packed from the centre of his chest down over his stomach.
Dan’s skin was smooth. He didn’t touch me for a long time, just lay looking down at me, with starlight visible through the dormer window behind his head and somehow in his eyes at the same time. No words, just the weight of his gaze brushing my skin and the long stretch of his body beside mine. Then a whisper, something in a language I didn’t know and a cool tongue drawing designs around my navel. A soft sense of understanding, as though we didn’t need any words now.
Alex was suddenly heavy. His skin smelled strange, still of the soap and shaving foam, now with added wine, but there was something about it that was off. Wrong. Something about the way his muscles flexed under the sun-tinted skin of his chest. My body screamed and shut down and I found I was curling my nakedness away from him, hunching myself into a ball to remove myself from his touch.
‘W-Winter?’ Alex moved across the bed, touched my shoulder. ‘Are y-you—?’
‘No.’ I stood up, keeping my back to him. ‘I’m sorry, Alex.’ Tears were bunching in my throat, biding their time. ‘I thought . . . I’m sorry, I can’t do this.’ I pulled my dress from where it hung on the carved oak headboard and dragged it on, not even caring whether it was the right way round. ‘Sorry.’
Alex stood up. He was still naked, but the desire was obviously ebbing from him. ‘Hey,’ he sounded worried. ‘I th-thought . . .’
I gave a half-laugh. ‘Oh, no, it’s not you. No, you didn’t misunderstand, I did want to. At least, I thought I did, but when it comes down to it . . . I can’t.’ The tears were making good their threat, overspilling my lids and tipping over my skin, hot and humiliating. ‘I don’t know what happened.’ A bitter edge made my voice catch. I couldn’t work out where the tears were coming from; my body felt desiccated, devoid of any moisture at all, as though the cold wind from the moors had freeze-dried me where I stood. ‘Sorry,’ I sobbed and, holding the dress closed across the front because I’d put it on backwards and the trendy slit back was revealing my treacherous body to the world, I ran out of the room.
Alex caught up with me as I kicked my shoes back on in the living room. ‘It’s o-okay.’ He had the sense to stop in the doorway, not try to approach me. ‘R-really, W-Winter. It’s okay.’ He had a bit of the ‘talking to Scarlet’ tone in his voice, carefully soothing, trying not to provoke. ‘It’s m-me who’s s-sorry. I sh-should have r-realised.’
‘Nothing to “realise”.’ I tried to calm my voice, to keep the tears from retching through the words but humiliation and fear and confusion were spinning my head too fast for me to have any control over anything much. ‘I just made a mistake. You’re lovely, really you are, but—’
‘B-but I’m not Daniel,’ Alex said, with complete certainty.
‘NO!’ I shouted the word and it seemed to be absorbed by the wood, as though nature wanted me to retract. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s not him. It’s me, Alex. I’m . . . things are . . .’
Alex sat down at the table, still naked. He rested his elbows on it and put his head in his hands. ‘I sh-shouldn’t h-have got involved,’ he said, quietly. ‘M-my fault. D-Dan said you w-were fragile . I g-got carried away.’ Then, with a touch more humour warming his tone, he added, ‘Y-you’re fucking g-gorgeous.’
Despite myself, I almost smiled. ‘Thank you. And thank you for,’ I motioned with one hand, the other still clutching at my dress, ‘for not pushing it. You’re a gentleman.’
‘L-Lucy might d-disagree,’ he said, still keeping his face covered with his hands. ‘Dan—’
‘Look, he’s not . . . what else did he say about me?’
Alex looked up now. ‘He said there were th-things about you that I d-didn’t know. Th-that you weren’t qu-quite what you s-seemed to be. That you are c-clinically d-depressed and not really c-capable of making d-decisions.’
‘And I am going to kill him,’ I muttered through tight lips. ‘He’s wrong. He’s got himself messed up and he’s trying to transfer a lot of stuff he thinks onto me. It’s Dan that has the problems . . . did he tell you about his sister? That she got injured crashing his car?’
Alex nodded. ‘Y-yes.’
‘Well, then.’ I relaxed my hand a fraction and Alex’s eyes swung back to my body as the dress revealed a little more than I wanted revealed. But, to his credit, he soon pulled his eyes back up to mine and he made no move to come out from behind the table. ‘Dan’s got problems and it kind of manifests in a personality disorder where he transfers his feelings onto someone else. It helps him to cope with life.’
‘But y-you have to admit h-he was r-right about y-you. H-having problems? Otherwise . . .’ He made a movement with his hands to indicate both of us and our various states of undress. ‘. . . w-what just h-happened?’
‘I changed my mind. That’s all. I thought I wanted . . . wanted sex. Then I realised I didn’t. It’s not you, Alex, you’re lovely, but . . .’ I stopped and shook my head. ‘It wasn’t right.’
To my relief Alex smiled. ‘O-okay.’ Then he looked down and the rueful expression was back. ‘Y-you’d b-better get back. I h-have to get in the sh-shower with some s-soap and a good imagination.’
‘Thanks.’ I thought about giving him a cheek-kiss goodbye, but he was still stark naked, aroused and not a saint, so I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and smiled. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around?’
‘Y-you’d b-better.’ Alex stayed sitting, very firmly. ‘S-Scarl will w-want to sh-show you the new f-family.’
With my coat covering the dress and my mouth still full of the taste of Alex, I walked home through the chilly, empty streets of Great Leys.