'Surely there can't be anyone out on the moors in this.'
'Only the farmers, I hope. I was meaning the phones. The lines must be down somewhere with the snow. We can't even phone across town at the moment. Don't say you were expecting your publishers to call.'
That wasn't why Ellen had experienced a twinge of panic. She must be thinking of her parents: if communications weren't restored she and the family wouldn't be able to call them on Christmas Day as usual. 'Can anything be done?'
'We'll have to wait for Leeds to fix it, though heaven knows what they can do in this. When Eric from the dairy went to fetch his load this morning he couldn't get more than a few hundred yards past the bridge. The snow was over his wheels out there. We're going to be living off whatever's in our shops and houses until conditions improve.'
'I may have something surplus in the freezer if anyone gets desperate.'
'Let's hope things don't come to that, but bless you for offering.' She picked up Ellen's old boots and followed her to the counter with them. 'It'll take more than a bit of snow to spoil Christmas in Stargrave, and I can see it's making Christmas for the kids.'
As Ellen came out of the station she heard the children on the common, their cries so tiny they sounded in danger of being wiped out by the silence, but all she could see beyond the roofs was the forest poised above the town. Around her, as her ankles began to ache with the chill of the snow in which she was standing, everyone looked unconcerned: people were depleting the food shops and even the video library, but otherwise the snow seemed hardly to have affected the town. Not yet, she thought, and told herself to stop being so gloomy: was she going to be the only member of the family not to enjoy the season to the full?
She was picking her way across the icy ruts on the road when Kate West emerged from the computer shop. 'Cheer up, Ellen,' she called. 'It may never happen.'
Ellen gave her an embarrassed smile. 'I don't even know what it is.'
'If you're wondering how to keep these two occupied you know they're always welcome. I've just bought a new computer game for when boredom sets in. You and I are lucky to have children who are readers and can make their own entertainment, but I suppose even they'll feel robbed.'
'Of what?'
'I take it nobody watches daytime television in your house.'
'Not as a rule.'
'You'll see nothing but snow if you do – interference, I mean. And the radio seems to have lost its voice as well.'
Johnny was watching his toes burrowing in a pile of cleared snow. 'Kate, when can we come and play with the new game?'
'Now, if you like,' Kate said, winking at Ellen to forestall any rebuke. 'We ought to make sure it's popular before the shop shuts for Christmas. I'll have them until whenever you want to collect them after lunch, Ellen.'
'You're a life-saver, Kate. Stefan and Ramona must come for lunch soon. Both of you be good until your father or I come for you,' Ellen said.
No sooner had she tramped past the shops than she was met by a silence which seemed to extend to the edge of the world. The children on the common were building snow images now. The shadow of the forest crept towards them as the shrouded treetops reached for the low sun. She marched up the track, retracing the trail of her footprints, and let herself into the house.
After the glare of the snow, the hall was as dark as the forest must be. She heard the tree creak, and then light streamed down from the top of the house. Ben had opened the workroom door. 'Only me,' she announced.
Wood creaked above her, disorienting her until she realised he was leaning on the banister. 'Where are they?' he demanded.
'At Kate's. I thought we might like to be on our own for a while.'
'How long for?'
'They're having lunch there,' Ellen said, trying to blink her eyes clear. Of course it was the stairwell that made his voice sound as large as a wind. 'Come down. Whatever it is, you can tell me.'
'Whatever what is?'
'Whatever's been making you so secretive lately.'
She waited, but he didn't stir. She couldn't tell if he was arrested by her words or if his thoughts were somewhere else, but he seemed unlikely to come to her, and so she started up the stairs. 'I don't know why, Ben, but it's making me nervous.'
'I was too. It won't be for long now, I promise.'
She felt as though she was dreaming the conversation, it was so difficult to grasp and so isolated by the silence. She didn't speak again until she was on the stairs leading to the top floor. 'What won't?'
'Ellen…' It sounded like a plea. He clenched his fists, and she saw him shudder from head to foot. She was running to hold him when he swung towards her, his face blank. 'If you need me to talk, I will when the children are here. Better collect them before it's dark,' he said, and went into the workroom, closing the door behind him.
THIRTY-NINE
'Better collect them before it's dark…' He couldn't have meant anything by that, Ellen told herself, yet it had left her feeling more on edge than ever. She felt as if he'd trapped her in the dimness with her doubts, and she might have pursued him into the workroom if she hadn't been overcome by a fit of shivering as she noticed how cold the house was. Ben must have let the central heating lapse. Breathing hard into her clasped hands, she ran down to the kitchen.
The timer on the boiler had switched off the heating shortly after breakfast. Had he been too preoccupied to turn it on again, or could he have gone out of the house? She thought he might have been moulding a face on the snow giant beyond the window, except that the marks on the spherical head didn't add up to anything she would have called a face; she wasn't sure what the pattern, which appeared to have emerged from the way the ball of snow was formed, reminded her of. She spun the wheel to override the timer and listened to the twangs of metal as heat coursed through the house. She stood by the boiler until she felt unfrozen enough to move away, then she went into the living-room.
The tree was dark. She switched on the bulbs and tried the television. The transmitter must be snowbound; the screen showed an endless fall of white. She was hoping Kate had been mistaken about the radio, but all it emitted was a stream of static which sounded constantly about to shape itself into a voice. She gave up and sat listening to the silence and her thoughts.
At least now she felt certain that she knew why she was on edge, and perhaps she could persuade herself that she had no reason to be: whatever Ben's secret was, it surely couldn't be anything bad if he insisted on telling the children at the same time he told her – but why must he be secretive at all? She had only to ask him, except that might spoil the surprise; she was almost sure that underlying his mysteriousness was a boyish eagerness to astonish. In that case, why was she still nervous? Her thoughts and feelings chased one another until she had to close her eyes and rest her head on the upholstery of the chair. She didn't know what made her open her eyes and glance past the tree to the doorway.
Ben was watching her from the foot of the stairs. She couldn't see his face for the dazzle of the tree, only a pale blur. 'I didn't mean to wake you,' he said at once. 'I was just seeing where you were. You sleep while you have the chance. I can get the children.'
'I wasn't sleeping, just resting my eyes,' Ellen said, but he was already retreating upstairs. 'You needn't leave me alone unless you want to. We can always talk.'
He faltered and then came to her, so slowly that he reminded her of a child trying to frame an excuse. 'We don't have to,' she said, almost laughing at his reluctance but not quite able to do so. 'We can do whatever you want to do.'
