“Come in.”
He closed the door behind her. She stood in the entry, balling up her scarf, rolling it round and round in her hands before shoving it into her pocket. She said, “I’ve got these muddy old boots on, don’t I?”
“It’s all right.”
“Sh’ll I leave them here?”
“Not if you’ve just put them on at the vicarage.”
He returned to the sitting room with the dog at his heels. The fire was still burning, and he added another log to it, watching fresh wood settle into flame. He felt the heat reaching out in waves towards his face. He remained where he was and let it bake his skin.
Behind him, he heard Polly’s hesitant footsteps. Her boots squeaked. Her clothing rustled.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” she said diffi dently.
She would find it considerably changed: Annie’s chintz-covered furniture gone, Annie’s prints off the wall, Annie’s carpet torn out, and everything replaced helter-skelter without taste, merely to meet need. It was functional, which was all he’d required of the house and its furnishings once Annie had died.
He expected her to remark upon it, but she said nothing. He finally turned from the fi re. She hadn’t removed her coat. She had only come three paces into the room. She smiled at him tremulously.
“Bit cold in here,” she said.
“Stand by the fi re.”
“Ta. Think I will.” She held her hands out towards the flames, then unbuttoned her coat but didn’t remove it. She was wearing an overlarge lavender pullover that clashed with both the rust of her hair and the magenta of her skirt. A faint odour of mothballs seemed to rise from its wool. “You all right, Colin?”
He knew her well enough to realise she’d go on asking the question until he answered it. She’d never been one to make the connection between refusal to respond and reluctance to
reveal. “Fine. Would you like a drink?”
Her face lit. “Oh, yes. Ta.”
“Sherry?”
She nodded. He went to the table and poured her some, taking nothing for himself. She knelt by the fire and petted the dog. When she took the glass from him, she stayed where she was, on her knees, resting on the heels of her boots. There was a substantial crust of dried mud upon them. Speckles of it had settled on the fl oor.
He didn’t want to join her, although it would have been the natural thing to do. They’d sat with Annie in a ring before this fi replace many times before she died, but their circumstances had been different then: No sin made a lie of their friendship. So he chose the armchair and sat on the edge of it, resting his arms against his knees, his hands clasped loosely like a barrier in front of him.
“Who phoned them?” she asked.
“Scotland Yard? The crippled man phoned for the other, I imagine. He’d come to see Mr. Sage.”
“What do they want?”
“To re-open the case.”
“They said?”
“They didn’t have to say it.”
“But do they know something…Has something new come up?”
“They don’t need anything new. They just need to have doubts. They share them with Clitheroe CID or Hutton-Preston Constabulary. They start nosing about.”
“Are you worried?”
“Should I be?”
She dropped her gaze from him to her glass. She had yet to take a drink of the sherry. He wondered when she would.
“Your dad’s a bit hard on you is all,” she said. “He’s always been that, hasn’t he? I thought he might use this to ride you rough. He looked real cheesed off when he left.”
“I’m not worried about Pa’s reaction, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s good then, isn’t it?” She pivoted the small sherry glass on her palm. Next to her, Leo yawned and settled his head on her thighs. “He’s always liked me,” she said, “ever since he’s a pup. He’s a nice dog, is Leo.”
Colin made no reply. He watched the fl ames dance the light against her hair and cast a golden hue on her skin. She was attractive in a quirky sort of way. The fact that she didn’t seem to realise this had at one time been part of her charm. Now it served as the key to a memory he’d long tried to forget.
She looked up. He moved his eyes away. She said in a low, uncertain voice, “I cast the circle for you last night, Colin. To Mars. For strength. Rita wanted me to petition for myself, but I didn’t. I did it for you. I want the best for you, Colin.”
“Polly…”
“I remember things. We used to be such friends, didn’t we? We’d hike out by the reservoir. We’d see films in Burnley. We went to Blackpool once.”
“With Annie.”
“But we were friends as well, me and you.”
He gazed at his hands so that he wouldn’t have to meet her eyes. “We were. But we made a mess of it all.”
“We didn’t. We only—”
“Annie knew. Directly I walked into the bedroom, she knew. She could read it all over me. And I could see that reading on her face. She said, How was your picnic, did you have a nice time, did you get some fresh air, Col? She knew.”
“We didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“She never asked me to be faithful. Did you know that? She didn’t expect it once she knew she was going to die. She reached for my hand one night in bed and she said, Take care of yourself, Col, I know how you’re feeling, I wish we could be that way again with each other but we can’t, dear lover, so you must take care of yourself, it’s all right.”
“Then why don’t you see—”
“Because that night I swore to myself that whatever it took, I wouldn’t betray her. And I did it anyway. With you. Her friend.”
“We didn’t intend it. It wasn’t like it was planned.”
He looked at her again, a sharp movement of lifting his head that she apparently didn’t expect him to make because she fl inched in response. A bit of the sherry she held slopped over the side of her glass and onto her skirt. Leo sniffed at it curiously.
“What does it matter?” he said. “Annie was dying. You and I were fucking in a barn on the moors. We can’t change either one of those facts. We can’t make them pretty and we can’t tart them up.”
“But if she told you—”
“No. Not…with…her…friend.”
Polly’s eyes grew bright, but she didn’t shed the tears. “You closed your eyes that day, Colin, you turned your head away, you never touched me and barely spoke to me ever again. How much more do you want me to suffer for what happened? And now you…” She gulped for breath.
“Now I?”
She dropped her eyes.
“Now I? What now?”
Her answer sounded like a chant. “I burnt cedar for you, Colin. I put the ashes on her grave. I put the ring stone with them. I gave Annie the ring stone. It’s sitting on her grave. You can see it if you want. I gave up the ring stone. I did it for Annie.”
“What now?” he asked again.
She bent to the dog, rubbed her cheek against his head.
“Answer me, Polly.”
She raised her head. “Now you’re punishing me more.”
“How?”
