look after the others. I’ll go.’ He looked mutely at Kate.
‘I’ll come too.’ She found she had spoken automatically. ‘Of course I will.’ She glanced regretfully at the kettle.
‘No, Kate. Drink something first.’ Roger’s voice was suddenly very weak. ‘Both of you. And have something to eat. For all we know she has been out there for hours. Five minutes isn’t going to make any difference.’
‘I’ll go with you, too.’ Anne stepped forward. ‘Safety in numbers, and all that.’ She gave a weak grin.
It was nearly ten minutes later by the time they had all drunk mugs of steaming tea, eaten a wedge of bread and marmalade each and dragged on boots and coats and scarves. As they headed for the door, Paddy glanced at the gun.
‘Take it.’ Greg had hopped after them. His foot was stiff and throbbed agonizingly this morning. ‘We’ll be all right here.’
Paddy looked at his brother. Greg gave a watery grin, then he punched him gently on the shoulder. ‘Take care of yourself, Paddy; and take care of the girls.’ He turned to Kate and touched her hand. She smiled at him, but it was a thin, tired smile. She had no strength left for more. The air was bitingly cold. She wondered how she would summon the strength to go even ten feet, never mind the best part of a mile.
Greg watched them go. All three were exhausted, he knew that. His brother could hardly lift the heavy gun he had so bravely hefted onto his shoulder. He glanced beyond them towards the woods. Was there anyone there, watching them, or were they as deserted as they seemed? He shuddered. The wind was increasing, coming from behind the house, tearing in across the marsh from the sea.
He watched until they were out of sight, then turning, he closed the door. Shooting the bolts across seemed a terrible act of treachery with them outside, but there was nothing for it. He hobbled back into the living room and stared at his father, shocked. Roger was lying back against the cushions, struggling to catch his breath. His face was blue and he was sweating profusely. Diana was bending over him.
‘Ma – ’
‘It’s all right, Greg.’ Her face was as white as a sheet. ‘Your father has had a bit of a turn, but he’s OK now.’ She stroked his face gently. ‘Rest. love. She’ll be all right. They’ll find her.’
‘They will, Dad.’ Greg knelt by his father’s knees. The syringe, empty now of painkiller, was lying on the arm of the chair. ‘They’ll all be fine. It’s broad daylight now, and the weather is a bit better.’ It was a lie but he doubted if his father would know it.
Roger managed a slight grin. He patted Diana’s arm as she pulled a rug over him. ‘Better now, love,’ she whispered. She kissed the top of his head. He had relaxed visibly, lying back against the cushions and his colour was better. Taking Greg’s arm she pulled him towards the kitchen end of the room.
‘I’m fairly sure he’s had a slight heart attack,’ she whispered.
Greg started back towards his father but she caught his sleeve. ‘No. I’m sure he knows, but don’t say anything. Can you go upstairs and wake Joe? He’s got to try and go for a doctor.’
Greg nodded. With a glance at his father’s white face he dragged himself across to the door and pulled it open. The staircase was dark. Putting his hand on the rail he set his teeth grimly and somehow he hauled himself to the top, sweat pouring off his face as he dragged his injured foot up, step by step, after him. Joe was snoring loudly when Greg limped into the darkened bedroom and shook him awake but it took him only a few minutes to shake off the deep sleep and climb to his feet. ‘Right. Don’t worry. I’ll get there.’
He too was fortified with a marmalade sandwich and a mug of scalding tea before letting himself out into the cold.
‘I hate to see you going out on your own, Joe,’ Greg murmured as he stood with him on the doorstep. He was leaning heavily on his stick.
Joe smiled grimly. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’ He carried his gun, broken, beneath his left arm. ‘You take care of the others. Your Dad and Cissy and Sue. I don’t like leaving you on your own here – ’
‘We’re safe here, Joe.’ Greg did his best to sound confident. ‘Don’t worry about us. Just get us some help for Dad.’
Joe nodded. Pulling the collar of his coat up around his ears he stepped out into the dark.
LXIV
The footprints were filling up as they watched, disappearing beneath a new layer of snow. Pete was slightly ahead, walking fast, his head down against the wind. Around them the landscape was uniformly white: shore, sea, sky, a formless, cold frame without definition.
‘She went this way,’ Pete had slowed almost to a standstill. He was casting around him, like a dog searching for a new scent. ‘Then the footsteps seem to stop.’ They stared around desperately, both men doubled over, studying the snow. ‘I can’t see…’
‘Here.’ Jon had walked closer to the sea and suddenly he spotted the tracks again. Lighter this time, and scuffed, as though she had been running.
Kate.
He shaded his eyes against the imagined glare and stared past the dunes towards the sea. The beach stretched in both directions, the shape of the dunes flattened by the snow, and in the cold emptiness nothing moved.
‘Kate!’ His shout was swallowed by the wind, muffled by the snow. It had no resonance, as though he had shouted through several layers of cotton wool. The sound would not have carried more than a few yards. ‘Kate!’
Pete made no comment. He had moved on, head down against the wind, his face immobile now with cold, trying to see new footprints through the whirling snow.
‘She was heading towards the sea,’ Jon shouted at him at last. ‘Why?’
‘Lost her sense of direction? Panic?’ Pete had stopped, his hands rammed down inside his pockets. ‘Poor woman must be in terror of her life.’ He shook his head. ‘Shall we go on?’
‘Of course we go on.’ Jon was shaking. ‘We go on until we find her.’
He plunged on, across the snow, sinking now and then through the white blanket into softer sand. ‘Kate!’ His voice rose and dissipated into nothing, whirled to shreds on the wind. ‘Kate!’
The voices were still warring inside her head. Standing staring down into the snow-filled grave, Alison saw nothing of the snow, nor of the two figures floundering against the wind.
‘Kate!’
The word whirled past her and was lost. It meant nothing.
They were inside her head, both of them, sucking her energy. Soon she would be drained and they would go.
‘It’s not Kate!’
She did not hear the words; did not see the two men who stood now, one each side of her.
‘Who then?’
Jon shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Tentatively he reached over to touch her arm. ‘Are you all right?’
Alison ignored him. She did not see or hear him. Her gaze never left the drifting snow at her feet.
‘Hey, kid, are you OK?’ Pete’s touch was stronger. He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently.
Alison did not react. Claudia’s face was white against the snow, her gown, still stained with blood, as blue as the sky. She could feel the woman’s need, the longing, the fear and hate:
She was winning now: Claudia.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Pete glanced at his companion. ‘God knows, but the kid’s freezing.’ Jon wriggled out of his jacket and wrapped it around Alison’s shoulders. ‘Let’s get her back to that cottage.’
‘I don’t know that that’s such a good idea.’
‘Maybe not, but where else can we take her?’
