he could see a tall fig plant. He looked around the hall for Poggs' daughter, but there was no sign of her. The two children, both around the same age and strikingly similar, were astride an old, paint-chipped rocking horse just by the inside front door. They had the blackest hair he had ever seen, almost gypsy-like with its twisted curls and depth; yet their skin was fair and their eyes a startling shade of blue. They rocked to and fro in perfect unison and with a quiet intensity, taking no notice whatsoever of the stranger in their midst.
'Let's have you out of those wet things, Mr. Rivers.' The plump woman with the braided hair had appeared from a doorway on his left and was advancing on him carrying a large white towel. To his relief she dropped it over the heads of the two children and began to rub vigorously, ignoring their squealed protests.
'I think it would be wise,' Poggs agreed. He pointed a pudgy finger upwards. 'Bathroom's third door along the landing. Shower's not the fiercest in the world, but it'll get rid of the muck. Leave your clothes outside the door and we'll supply you with some fresh ones.'
'No, look, I'll be okay…'
'Nonsense,' interjected the woman in a tone that brooked no dissension. 'Up you go and we'll see you in a little while. Plenty of time to talk later.' She continued to towel the squirming children.
'My car…'
'No one will run off with it,' assured Poggs. 'If you let me have the keys I'll have it brought up here. We'll soon get it out of the ditch once the rain stops.'
There was no point in arguing, not that Rivers felt inclined to: he felt dirty and uncomfortable, and he had to do something about the pain. 'It's kind of you,' he said.
Poggs shook his head and unexpectedly his demeanour seemed weary. 'It's entirely selfishness on our part.' He held up a hand to stay the question Rivers was about to ask. 'When you're in better shape, Mr. Rivers. If you don't mind my saying so, you look like something the cat dragged in and was in two minds whether to chuck out again.' He chortled at his own remark, while the woman gave him a scolding glare.
Rivers climbed the stairs and on the turn he looked down to find the family watching him. Even the two children, whose eyes were so vividly blue they seemed blurred from that distance, were gazing up at him from the rocking horse. The adults quickly looked away and became active, the woman lifting the boy and girl in turn from the horse, Poggs wandering off into one of the side rooms. Puzzled, not just by their attention, but as to why he had been invited here in the first place, the climatologist made his way to the landing, then counted the doors until he reached the bathroom. Even more puzzling was why he had accepted the invitation.
Rain squalls beat against the bathroom's tiny window as he closed the door behind him. There was no key in the lock and no catch, but Rivers was too tired and uncomfortable to care. He took out a small container of dihydrocodeine from his damp jacket pocket and went to the sink. He swallowed three with water from the tap, hoping the house had an effective purifier in its tank, then shed his clothes and ran the shower until it was lukewarm. He stepped in and closed his eyes, his face held up towards the jets.
As he soaped his body, the flowing warmth, together with the tablets, began to ease the pain, and it was with some reluctance that minutes later he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from a rail by the bath.
Perhaps it was because of the rain drumming on the window that he didn't hear her knock; he was only aware of her presence when she spoke.
'You didn't leave your clothes outside.'
He had been drying his face, the long towel covering most of his body, and he froze in surprise. She was leaning round the partially opened door, a bundle of fresh clothes held on one arm.
These
'Let's have you out of those wet things, Mr. Rivers.' The plump woman with the braided hair had appeared from a doorway on his left and was advancing on him carrying a large white towel. To his relief she dropped it over the heads of the two children and began to rub vigorously, ignoring their squealed protests.
'I think it would be wise,' Poggs agreed. He pointed a pudgy finger upwards. 'Bathroom's third door along the landing. Shower's not the fiercest in the world, but it'll get rid of the muck. Leave your clothes outside the door and we'll supply you with some fresh ones.'
'No, look, I'll be okay…'
'Nonsense,' interjected the woman in a tone that brooked no dissension. 'Up you go and we'll see you in a little while. Plenty of time to talk later.' She continued to towel the squirming children.
'My car…'
'No one will run off with it,' assured Poggs. 'If you let me have the keys I'll have it brought up here. We'll soon get it out of the ditch once the rain stops.'
There was no point in arguing, not that Rivers felt inclined to: he felt dirty and uncomfortable, and he had to do something about the pain. 'It's kind of you,' he said.
Poggs shook his head and unexpectedly his demeanour seemed weary. 'It's entirely selfishness on our part.' He held up a hand to stay the question Rivers was about to ask. 'When you're in better shape, Mr. Rivers. If you don't mind my saying so, you look like something the cat dragged in and was in two minds whether to chuck out again.' He chortled at his own remark, while the woman gave him a scolding glare.
Rivers climbed the stairs and on the turn he looked down to find the family watching him. Even the two children, whose eyes were so vividly blue they seemed blurred from that distance, were gazing up at him from the rocking horse. The adults quickly looked away and became active, the woman lifting the boy and girl in turn from the horse, Poggs wandering off into one of the side rooms. Puzzled, not just by their attention, but as to why he had been invited here in the first place, the climatologist made his way to the landing, then counted the doors until he reached the bathroom. Even more puzzling was why he had accepted the invitation.
Rain squalls beat against the bathroom's tiny window as he closed the door behind him. There was no key in the lock and no catch, but Rivers was too tired and uncomfortable to care. He took out a small container of dihydrocodeine from his damp jacket pocket and went to the sink. He swallowed three with water from the tap, hoping the house had an effective purifier in its tank, then shed his clothes and ran the shower until it was lukewarm. He stepped in and closed his eyes, his face held up towards the jets.
As he soaped his body, the flowing warmth, together with the tablets, began to ease the pain, and it was with some reluctance that minutes later he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel from a rail by the bath.
Perhaps it was because of the rain drumming on the window that he didn't hear her knock; he was only aware of her presence when she spoke.
'You didn't leave your clothes outside.'
He had been drying his face, the long towel covering most of his body, and he froze in surprise. She was leaning round the partially opened door, a bundle of fresh clothes held on one arm.
These
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