A Spell of Snow Read online

  A Spell of Snow

  A novella

  by

  JILL ROWAN

  Copyright © 2013 Jill Rowan

  All rights reserved

  No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Sparkling White Publishing except for brief quotations used for promotion or in reviews. Names, characters, and incidents in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Find the author’s blog at jillrowan.wordpress.com

  Or find her on Twitter @JillRowan1

  Other works by Jill Rowan:

  The Legacy in paperback: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Legacy-Jill-Rowan/dp/1907777555

  The Legacy on Kindle: http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Legacy-ebook/dp/B0067PP2BY

  The Dream: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dream-Jill-Rowan/dp/1907777822

  A Christmas Gift: http://www.amazon.co.uk/A-Christmas-Gift-ebook/dp/B00AHH6FGO

  I kicked a stone and watched it skitter over a pavement slick with wetness, and then turned with a shiver to head towards my auntie’s house through a damp wind and stuttering drizzle.

  So this was the British winter. It certainly didn’t live up to its reputation. Was it always like this in January? Where were the several feet of snow, the hot toddies, the snowmen, and above all, the magic? The air should have been icy, dry, and crisp like chilled wine; not this clammy, dispiriting cold that seemed to pervade everything with its gloom.

  The cheerless terraced house in which I now lived loomed ahead, and I opened the front door with a scowl. The carpet runner was threadbare, the green paint on the skirting board chipped, and the peeling wallpaper appeared to be two hundred years old. Everything about England seemed so grubby somehow.

  I thrust intrusive thoughts of my old life to the back of my mind as I headed to the kitchen to grab a snack. Auntie Cheryl wouldn’t be home for another two hours, but I was used to fending for myself. I checked my mobile phone as I made cheese on toast: no missed calls, no texts. My friends back in Australia were already dropping away, one by one.

  I sniffed a little as I took my snack into the living room and turned on the TV. By the time the closing credits of Home and Away had gone up I was in fully-fledged sobs, and when my auntie banged in through the front door I had to grab a tissue and wipe my eyes quickly.

  ‘Tilly, are you in there?’ she called out.

  ‘Where else would I be?’ I shouted back, irritated.

  ‘Well, can you come into the kitchen?’ she said, her tone impatient. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  I got up reluctantly from the sofa. Any kind of talk with Auntie Cheryl was likely to be bad news.

  She was clattering saucepans, her face pink and her blonde hair wet from the rain. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to cook something, you know,’ she said. ‘You used to cook for your mum, didn’t you?’

  I shrugged. ‘That was different. Anyway, I’ve had some cheese on toast.’ I couldn’t help adding, ‘I didn’t realize you just wanted me to come and live here to be your skivvy. What d’you expect, dinner on the table when you get home?’

  She reddened. ‘It would be nice, just once in a while. It’s not as if you’ve been doing your homework, is it?’

  I lounged awkwardly against the kitchen worktops. I didn’t want to talk about boring homework.

  She threw beans into a saucepan with some force. ‘I had a letter from the school this morning. Apparently you show no interest in class and you haven’t handed in a single piece of homework since you started there.’

  I raised my hands in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘What’s the point? I’m not interested in all that rubbish, and besides, I don’t know where I am with these GCSEs – they’re not what I’m used to.’

  ‘I know it’s hard,’ she said, stirring the beans, ‘but you’ll adjust if you work at it. Maybe it’s partly because you missed a lot of schooling back in Australia.’

  ‘I don’t want to adjust to it,’ I said with feeling. ‘I just want to go home. I hate the school and I hate it here. Why’d you even agree to take me? They’d have let me stay at the homestead if you hadn’t put your oar in. I’d have been looking forward to a barbecue in the sunshine right now, and I wouldn’t have lost the horses, and...’ I choked back a fresh sob.

  She flushed even more brightly. ‘Look, Tilly, it’s hard enough without you constantly harking back to what you’ve lost. I’m trying my best, but you’re just determined to stay miserable, as far as I can tell.’

  ‘I’m not determined to stay miserable,’ I protested. ‘It’s only six months since Mum died. Do you really think I should have got over it that quickly?’

  She pushed back her hair and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘No, of course not, but I can’t fix that. I can’t make it all go away – I can’t make it all right again.’

  ‘I don’t want you to!’ I found myself shouting. ‘I hardly know you, and I never wanted to come to this horrible country in the first place! It’s all your fault.’

  Her face sort of crumpled, and it was obvious I’d hurt her, but I couldn’t stand to be in that house a minute longer; I had to get away. I ran out of the room, ignoring her shouts to me to come back, grabbed my coat, and slammed out of the front door.

  My throat was tight with emotion as I ran down the road. My coat flapped around me and the drizzle misted my face and hair, adding to the wetness of tears on my cheeks. I ran until I had no breath left, and then, just as I slowed, panting, to a reluctant halt, a bus pulled up on the opposite side of the road. I didn’t care where it was going, I just needed to escape. I didn’t even look at the destination as I scrubbed quickly at my face to wipe away the tear stains, and hopped on.

  ‘As far as you’re going,’ I told the driver, still breathless.

  He gave me an odd look and looked me over for a second, but then shrugged. ‘That’ll be two-fifty.’

  I handed over the money and took my ticket quickly as it ejected from the machine. The driver was still regarding me with slight concern, so I adopted an air of confidence as I took my seat, holding my head high.

  The bus was only half full, and as it lumbered through the suburban streets I realized with a touch of alarm that it wasn’t heading into town, but out of it. People drifted off at every stop, and I passed the time trying to imagine the types of home they were heading for. The stooped old man wrapped in a thick scarf was going to visit his daughter, I decided, and I saw the scene in my mind as she opened the door and gave him a welcoming hug. The young woman with a toddler in a pushchair was returning to her small house – her husband was already home, cooking dinner for the three of them. The happy couple who seemed interested only in each other were on their way to meet her parents. A bitter weight formed in my stomach as I imagined all these happy family scenes. I scrunched my eyes tight to keep any more tears from forming. What use were all the tears anyway? Nothing was going to bring my mum back; Auntie Cheryl was right about that.

  Eventually there were only two women on the bus besides me, and I peered through the window in surprise as snow began to fall outside. By the time the bus pulled up in the middle of nowhere it was falling in great clumps and the ground was white.

  The women both stood up to get off, and I gazed out at the expanse of fields with a sprinkling of houses with a slight sense of unease. The driver looked back at me and said, ‘This is it, love. Rillsend. You sure you really want to get off here? I’m heading back into town now and the next bus isn’t for two hours. Don’t miss it; it’s the last one.’

  There was no way I could back down now and head home with my tail between my legs. No, I’d just hang around here for a while, long enough to give Auntie Cheryl a bit o
f a scare but not long enough for her to do anything too drastic. ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I replied as nonchalantly as I could manage, and skipped down the step before he had a chance to say anything more.

  I started walking briskly in the same direction as the two women, and after a moment the bus growled off down the lane behind me. Before long, the women were swallowed into the darkness and driving snow. I shivered when I realized I was alone, and pulled my coat tighter as the snow fell more thickly and the wind bit through my thin school uniform blouse. There were no street lights out here either, which was slightly scary. I took a quick look at my mobile phone; it was six o’clock. No messages of concern from Cheryl, though, which proved my point – she didn’t care about me; she’d taken me in out of duty. Then I noticed the ‘no signal’ indicator. I wasn’t more than five miles out of town, surely? Maybe Rillsend was in some sort of black spot. Well, it was a tiny place. I couldn’t understand why the bus stopped there at all.

  I kept on walking doggedly, ignoring the continuing snowfall as I dwelled on my unhappiness. I thought about my old life with my mum, and the homestead, and the horses. More tears rolled down my cheeks as I recalled how hard my mum had worked to build up the riding centre, and how I’d loved to help, so much so that I’d bunked off school far too often. But Mum had understood – there were better things to do in life than study.

  It was the cold that roused me. The wind was stronger, the snow had become a blizzard, and I was struggling through a couple of inches of snow in a pair of inadequate trainers. I pivoted around, looking for any sign of the two women I’d been following, or at least the couple of houses I’d seen from the bus, but by now I was in a country lane surrounded by fields on all sides.

  I took out my mobile again, and noted with a shudder that there was still no signal. Still, all I had to do was retrace my steps and I’d be back at the bus stop soon enough. Then I’d just wait and catch the last bus back – no harm done except to the non-existent relationship I had with my aunt.

  I started back down the lane, but the snow was falling more thickly than ever, and if it hadn’t been for the hedges I wouldn’t even have been able to follow the direction of the road. After what seemed like an hour I was sure I must have walked far enough to get back to the bus stop and far beyond, but there were still fields in every direction. Where had the houses gone?

  In panic I began to run, my trainers slipping in the fresh snow, my feet numb with cold. There had to be a house somewhere nearby. I pulled out my mobile again and stared uselessly at the ‘no signal’ symbol. I supposed I ought to send a text to Auntie Cheryl anyway, just in case I passed through a pocket of signal at some point. I swallowed my pride and keyed, I’m sorry. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere at Rillsend. Could you come and get me? I pressed send and hoped she’d actually be able to find me if she did drive out here. With the snow this thick, driving would be difficult. Then it struck me – not one car had passed me. The last vehicle I’d seen was the bus. Surely that couldn’t be right, even in the middle of nowhere?

  I started running again, but I was getting tired, and I stumbled, falling into the snow with a shriek and grazing my knees on sharp stones protruding from the dirt track beneath. I sat and looked at the dark blood mixing with snow and just gave myself up totally to sobs. I’d wanted to get away from my aunt, from everything I hated about my new life, but now that my anger had dissipated I just felt like a fool.

  A slight sound in the distance brought me out of the downward spiral. I looked up keenly, listening. That had surely been one of the most familiar sounds of my life back in Australia: a horse blowing through its nose. I couldn’t mistake it.

  I struggled to my feet and peered over the nearby hedge, scanning the white fields for a moving shape, and talking to encourage the horse to know a human was near. It whickered slightly, and then I saw it, halfway across the adjacent field. It was bobbing its head; a sign of agitation.

  I looked for a break in the hedgerow, still talking to the horse. The wind whipped my words away, and I wasn’t sure it heard me, but eventually I found a gate and clambered over it. The horse turned its head fully towards me as I stumbled across the snowy tussocks of grass in the field, and it took a few steps in my direction, but it still seemed distressed, and when I reached it I patted its neck, talking to it quietly in the way I’d always done with the most difficult horses at the riding centre.

  ‘Come on now. It’s all right. It’s all right,’ I said gently, and as the horse quieted I looked it over as best I could in the reflected snow light. It was fully tacked up with saddle and bridle, but it didn’t seem to be injured. I took hold of its reins and persuaded it to walk a short distance. No limp. So where was its rider? With the temperature plummeting I didn’t fancy their chances unless I could find them.

  We were in a slight dip through which a tiny stream glimmered darkly amid the snow. I led the horse along beside the stream, looking about me for any other darker shapes. Having the horse for company made me feel strong and independent; more like my old self. When we reached a point where the stream disappeared under the turf I decided the horse was calm enough to be ridden, and mounted up easily. Even from the horse’s back I could see nothing unusual, so I urged it further up the hill. It ignored me and headed across the field. I squinted against the falling snow, watching for anything resembling a human shape. When the horse stopped and ducked its head I dismounted and stared at the mound in front of me. Then I was scrabbling to clear the snow from a human form curled up in the foetal position. It was a man – a boy, even, although it was hard to tell in the black and white world of the field. I touched his face; it was warm. I put an ear to his mouth; he was breathing. I sighed with relief, but then I bit my lip. I had to get him – get us both – to somewhere warm, and soon. There was no way of knowing how badly hurt he was, and it wasn’t as if I could just go and summon help, as I had no idea where to look for it. I chafed his icy hands and shook him slightly by the shoulders. ‘Can you hear me?’ I said loudly. ‘I need to get you on to the horse. Can you move? Can you help me to help you?’

  Eventually there was a groan from the recumbent body and then, ‘I don’t know if I can move. I think I’ve broken something, and I’m so tired – I just want to sleep.’

  There was something about his voice that sent a frisson of familiarity through me, even as I told him sternly, ‘You can’t go to sleep!’ I knew that much about hypothermia. ‘Where do you live?’ I persisted. ‘I have your horse with me but I can’t lift you.’

  The boy tried to move, but groaned loudly.

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ I asked.

  ‘My ribs – and my arm. And my head – I think I was knocked out for a while.’

  ‘But your legs are all right? Come on then, you’ll have to grit your teeth through the pain and I’ll help you up.’

  It took us a while, but at last he was standing, swaying with pain. With the help of a nearby tree stump I struggled to help him onto the horse’s back. He slumped forward as I squeezed myself on behind him and put my arms around him to keep him safe. Something in me desperately wanted to keep him safe. Physical contact only emphasised the odd sense that I knew him, somehow.

  ‘I need to know where you live. Is it far?’

  ‘A couple of miles up the hill,’ he mumbled in reply. ‘Sheep farm.’

  ‘Okay. Hold on tight and I’ll try to keep it steady.’

  This time when I indicated to the horse that it should go uphill it didn’t hesitate and set off at a fast walk that had the boy groaning again. Obviously it knew where to go better than I did, and I just let it take us there.

  There was no sign of the snow easing off as we breasted the hill and headed across more fields – now I saw sheep moving, slightly darker shapes among the surrounding white.

  I strained my eyes ahead for any sign of a light, and eventually I spotted a dim speck in the distance. As we trudged on it grew steadily larger until it became recognisable as a window and I cou
ld pick out the shape of a house around it. It was a small, white-painted cottage with a slate roof surrounded by a few odd outbuildings and enclosures. It must be the boy’s sheep-farm home.

  The horse came to a stop in a small yard in front of the house, and immediately the door burst open and a solidly built woman ran out to meet us.

  ‘Edward? What’s happened?’ she cried out, taking the horse by the halter and giving me a look of confusion.

  ‘I’m all right, Mam,’ the boy mumbled.

  I dismounted quickly. ‘I found the horse wandering on its own,’ I explained, ‘and then it led me to him.’

  The woman called to the house and a girl of around my own age appeared, followed by two younger children. The woman and the girl helped Edward down from the horse’s back, and the younger boy, who I guessed was about ten, said, ‘I’ll take care of her, Mam,’ and began leading the horse towards one of the outbuildings.

  The woman nodded. ‘Well done, Tom. Now then, our Edward, let’s get you into the warm – and you, too, dearie,’ she said, glancing at me. ‘You look chilled to the bone.’

  Edward was borne into the house, and I followed, feeling awkward and out of place. Still, it was a relief to be in a warm room. There was a blazing open fire and two glowing oil lamps giving it a comforting, cosy feel.

  The woman and the girl settled Edward onto a threadbare sofa near the fire and began to remove his wet clothes. I stood in front of the fire shuddering until the older woman said, ‘You sit yourself down, dearie, and get yourself warmed up. Vera, go and get a towel and a blanket for –?’

  ‘Tilly.’

  ‘Well Tilly, I’m Edie and this is Ruby,’ the woman said, before turning back to the youngest girl, Vera. ‘Fetch a towel and blanket, and then bring in a bowl of that broth – poor girl looks like she could do with it.’