Read Online A Cold Season by Alison Littlewood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alison Littlewood
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of a toilet to explain why he hadn’t let her in.
‘Oh God,’ she whispered, ‘Ben, please .’ She banged again, then pushed at the door with her whole body, and she felt it give a fraction before it met the jamb.
‘Ben—’ She wailed, not a mother’s voice, a capable in-control voice, but a little-girl-lost voice, the same voice that had been threatening and pushing at her insides ever since Pete had left and they said he wasn’t coming back, not this time, not ever again. Her voice.
She knocked. This time, when she took her hand away, there was blood on the knuckles. She sank back onto the floor and closed her eyes. There was no sound from inside, and none from the rest of the mill. Cass thought again of that apartment downstairs, the one with the empty windows. They would be like black eyes now, the snow swirling in and covering the floor, the dust, those dolls.
If anyone got inside she would be trapped in the hallways with them. Cass’ throat went dry.
Ben might be ill – he could have collapsed in there, might need help.
Cass looked down the hall to Number 10. The newspapers were still there. She pushed herself up and went to the door. She hesitated before she tried it, but even so she knew there would be no answer. She had been banging so loudly, there was no way anyone inside wouldn’t have heard her.
The door of Number 12 opened and Ben stuck his head out. His hair was tousled, in need of a cut, and he had brushed it down over his eyes like Damon’s. He looked up and down and saw her. ‘Are you coming?’ he asked and closed the door.
Cass walked down the hall as though sleepwalking, her legs unsteady. She pushed on the door with its brass 12, half expecting it to have locked again behind her son, but he had put it on the latch. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
She went in, slowly, and locked the door behind her.
Ben was in the lounge, starting up his game. His back was turned to Cass. He sat quite still, only his hands moving on the controls, small and capable.
‘Where were you?’
There was no answer. Nor did he stop.
‘Ben, why didn’t you let me in? You must have heard me knocking.’ There was a plaintive note to Cass’ voice she couldn’t banish. Little girl lost . She looked down at her hand, spreading the bloody knuckles.
There was a pause before Ben answered, as though he wasn’t really listening: ‘I did,’ he said.
Cass stormed over and pulled him to his feet, turned him to face her. ‘You didn’t,’ she said, ‘not for ages . Look.’ She held her hand out to him, showing him the blood.
His face was blank and he looked at her with half-closed eyes. ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ he said. ‘Only the rats.’
Then his eyes came into focus and he looked at her hand. It was shaking. Ben took hold of it in both of his and leaned forward. Cass expected him to kiss it better, but he did not; he stuck out his smooth pink tongue and licked her bloody knuckle.
Cass snatched it away. ‘What are you doing?’
When he met her gaze there was a light in his eyes she didn’t like: an appraising look, a knowing look. ‘Ben?’
The expression in his eyes vanished as though it had never been there. He grinned, showing his white teeth. ‘Are you going to play with me, Mum?’
Cass straightened.
‘We can have a competition. We did that at Damon’s. He’s my best friend.’ His expression was genuine, the transparent smile of a child, but Cass still heard the words with dismay. He’s my best friend. She remembered Damon’s surly glare, the way Ben had looked at her just a moment ago. Is that where he’d learned it?
‘He’s got Street Skirmish . Did I say? It was a present – for Christmas. No, not Christmas. Something else.’
‘Something else?’
‘Yeah. And it was really, really good. Can I get it, Mum?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see.’ The words came automatically, but while she was speaking Cass noticed something. She bent and took hold of Ben’s
‘Oh God,’ she whispered, ‘Ben, please .’ She banged again, then pushed at the door with her whole body, and she felt it give a fraction before it met the jamb.
‘Ben—’ She wailed, not a mother’s voice, a capable in-control voice, but a little-girl-lost voice, the same voice that had been threatening and pushing at her insides ever since Pete had left and they said he wasn’t coming back, not this time, not ever again. Her voice.
She knocked. This time, when she took her hand away, there was blood on the knuckles. She sank back onto the floor and closed her eyes. There was no sound from inside, and none from the rest of the mill. Cass thought again of that apartment downstairs, the one with the empty windows. They would be like black eyes now, the snow swirling in and covering the floor, the dust, those dolls.
If anyone got inside she would be trapped in the hallways with them. Cass’ throat went dry.
Ben might be ill – he could have collapsed in there, might need help.
Cass looked down the hall to Number 10. The newspapers were still there. She pushed herself up and went to the door. She hesitated before she tried it, but even so she knew there would be no answer. She had been banging so loudly, there was no way anyone inside wouldn’t have heard her.
The door of Number 12 opened and Ben stuck his head out. His hair was tousled, in need of a cut, and he had brushed it down over his eyes like Damon’s. He looked up and down and saw her. ‘Are you coming?’ he asked and closed the door.
Cass walked down the hall as though sleepwalking, her legs unsteady. She pushed on the door with its brass 12, half expecting it to have locked again behind her son, but he had put it on the latch. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
She went in, slowly, and locked the door behind her.
Ben was in the lounge, starting up his game. His back was turned to Cass. He sat quite still, only his hands moving on the controls, small and capable.
‘Where were you?’
There was no answer. Nor did he stop.
‘Ben, why didn’t you let me in? You must have heard me knocking.’ There was a plaintive note to Cass’ voice she couldn’t banish. Little girl lost . She looked down at her hand, spreading the bloody knuckles.
There was a pause before Ben answered, as though he wasn’t really listening: ‘I did,’ he said.
Cass stormed over and pulled him to his feet, turned him to face her. ‘You didn’t,’ she said, ‘not for ages . Look.’ She held her hand out to him, showing him the blood.
His face was blank and he looked at her with half-closed eyes. ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ he said. ‘Only the rats.’
Then his eyes came into focus and he looked at her hand. It was shaking. Ben took hold of it in both of his and leaned forward. Cass expected him to kiss it better, but he did not; he stuck out his smooth pink tongue and licked her bloody knuckle.
Cass snatched it away. ‘What are you doing?’
When he met her gaze there was a light in his eyes she didn’t like: an appraising look, a knowing look. ‘Ben?’
The expression in his eyes vanished as though it had never been there. He grinned, showing his white teeth. ‘Are you going to play with me, Mum?’
Cass straightened.
‘We can have a competition. We did that at Damon’s. He’s my best friend.’ His expression was genuine, the transparent smile of a child, but Cass still heard the words with dismay. He’s my best friend. She remembered Damon’s surly glare, the way Ben had looked at her just a moment ago. Is that where he’d learned it?
‘He’s got Street Skirmish . Did I say? It was a present – for Christmas. No, not Christmas. Something else.’
‘Something else?’
‘Yeah. And it was really, really good. Can I get it, Mum?’
‘We’ll have to wait and see.’ The words came automatically, but while she was speaking Cass noticed something. She bent and took hold of Ben’s
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