The Cold Winter 20. The End

Morning light seeped round the curtains, and the air felt cold outside the blankets. Helena had slept in the unaccustomed intimacy of Matthew�s arms, her head tucked into his chest, and her limbs were crying out to be stretched. He stirred as she rolled away from his body, pulling her back into his warmth.

Stay with me, he said quietly.

I don�t think I�ve ever been this comfortable in my entire life, she mumbled, kissing his neck and pulling the sheet up over their shoulders. The bed was as luxurious as a steaming bath, and there was no danger of being disturbed.

I mean it. Stay with me. I won�t let you go. He was reiterating promises he had whispered in the night, that she could have discounted or forgotten, but he had obliterated her cynicism. She wanted to feel like this forever, and it felt as though there was no reason why that could not happen.

This was not a heady, silly feeling that could be described as cloud nine. This was something that she could relate to real things, like the pure cocoa smell when you break a new bar of chocolate; like the softness of heavy, thick silk; like an icy glass of water on a hot day. This was waking up with her colour palette refreshed, and comfort in the knowledge that she was not experiencing it alone.

There�s a fly in our ointment, she remarked. No milk, no bread, no breakfast.

What time is it?

It was after ten. Matthew tore himself out of the bed with great difficulty, committed to providing for her even if it meant going out into the cold, to buy supplies in the village. Helena ran herself a bath when he had gone, and soaked away the delicious bruises that ached beneath her skin. In repose, her face slid automatically into a smile, because she felt good. If Matthew came back quickly, she thought, he could use her hot water to warm up after walking through the snow.

As soon as she emerged from the water, the icy air wrapped itself around her, making her shiver violently and leap for one of the threadbare towels that dangled limply from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Wrapping one around her damp hair, she made a mental note to replace them with something suitably large and fluffy, and then wandered down the stairs in dressing gown and slippers, seeing everything in the dazzling light of the beautiful and fresh winter morning.

She heaved open the sitting room shutters, revealing the empty grey fireplace, which needed to be cleaned out and restocked, unless of course they were going to go back to bed after breakfast, which was a profoundly appealing concept, and much more appealing than digging ash out of the fireplace in her dressing gown.

There was a rattle at the door, which made Helena think that she should see if she could find a spare key. She paused by the inner door, self-consciously pulling the towel off her head, and then lifted the latch. It was not Matthew on the doorstep, but the girl Kate, looking pale and cold, with her hands in her pockets. Hello, she said, from beneath the brim of her fake-fur hat.

Hello. Are you looking for Matthew? Helena stepped back, allowing her to come into the house.

Kate stood in the hallway, staring round at the stark white walls and the high windows, set up in the stairwell where the light could find a way into the house past the treetops. Yes� no�. Brr, it�s not very warm in here. She pulled at the sides of her coat, wrapping it round herself, and looked quizzically at Helena�s dressing gown and bare legs.

I was just going to light the fire, Helena said, because it seemed unlikely now that they would be able to spend the day in bed. Matthew�s gone down to the village, but he shouldn�t be long. She tried to match Kate�s grey eyes and high, round cheekbones with someone she was sure she had met before. Something in the placing of her features was ringing a bell, deep in Helena�s subconscious.

Kate had every intention of staying; she had already removed her wet boots, and padded along the hall behind Helena, in her woolly socks. Helena apologised that she could not offer anything to eat or drink, and Kate smiled, shaking her head dismissively. She tucked herself into the corner of the sofa as though she had been visiting the house for years, and Helena knelt at the hearth with the shovel and the brush, hoping that Matthew would remember that she needed more coal. Kate avoided her eye.

You�re not at school today? Helena asked, as she pulled back her sleeves, trying not to get herself covered with the soot that she was brushing off the back of the chimney.

It�s Saturday, said Kate. Gran�s on the warpath because Dad wasn�t there this morning, so I was coming to warn him� sort of� I suppose� and I was� I wanted to ask you about something, so I�m kind of glad he isn�t here. The girl blushed heavily, and Helena recognised the minute tremble of nerves in the tone of her voice.

She put down the fire irons and sat back on her heels, looking up at Kate, who was fiddling anxiously with the ends of her pale brown hair. What can I possibly help you with? Helena wondered.

Kate phrased and re-phrased her question in the silence, and coughed once before speaking. I wanted to ask you about my dad.

Matthew? Helena smiled; no other subject could appeal to her more. What do you want to know?

No, my real dad. Your dad. No-one ever lets me talk about him. Gran won�t have his name mentioned in her presence, and Dad � Matthew, I mean � says he never really knew him, except through you�

As Kate rambled on, Helena could hear every word with absolute clarity, but found herself unable to respond; unable, in fact, to close her own mouth. She stared at Kate, and the nagging familiarity of the girl�s features resolved itself into recognition, evidence that she was telling the truth.

Kate stopped speaking and looked at Helena, horrified. You didn�t know, she whispered. I thought everyone knew. It�s all over the village�

You�re not helping. Helena�s voice sounded cracked and dry. She wanted Kate to shut up, to take back what she had just said, to make it not true. Through a haze, she saw the frightened girl in a ball on the sofa, but could not find words that would help her; it was as much as she could do to push back a scream of anger and pain. Her face was frozen with the effort.

Matthew walked into this impasse, having picked up Helena�s key on his way out, half an hour ago. He read the two faces and guessed immediately that a possibility he had been trying to ignore had taken place: Helena on her knees wiping coal dust absently on to her horrified white face, and Kate wringing her own fingers hard enough to pull them off. Both frowned in furious attempts not to cry, and both looked to Matthew for a solution. He was pulled in two directions at once.

Helena tried to speak above a whisper, but her voice was shaking. How could you not tell me?

Nell, I�m sorry. I thought it would hurt you to know, I was waiting for the right time�

Which of course would be after you had slept with me? How can you be so proud of being honest with her, and then hide it from me? Helena shot Kate a filthy glance, blaming her even while she knew that it was not the child�s fault.

We are not going to have this discussion in front of Kate. It sounded like a well-practiced line, momentarily silencing Helena with its calm authority. She remained on her knees, watching Matthew hold out his hand to Kate and lead her back down the corridor, talking to her with quiet words; and she heard the door close, and his footsteps returning. She wanted to throw herself on the floor and howl.

Matthew was lifting her gently to her feet, one hand supporting her, the other stroking her hair, and he was murmuring to her, telling her it was going to be alright. It really was not going to be alright, but his presence, the passive strength of his hug, was overwhelmingly comforting. Helena had to pull herself away from him to breathe freely and gather her thoughts.

Let me make you some tea. And I picked up your post in the village. Matthew wanted to make things seem normal, push the shock away so that they did not have to deal with it. He clattered around in the kitchen until Helena came to join him.

Silently, she pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. He gave her a mug of tea, and she clutched it, letting the heat of the china burn her fingers. She focused on the pain, putting all her energy into not feeling it, and failing. She gave a little gasp, and let go of the mug. I�ll leave as soon as the roads are clear.

Matthew sat opposite her, his eyes fixed on the puddle of tea beneath Helena�s mug. He shook his head, but could find no words that did not sound hopelessly melodramatic. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg her not to leave him again, not when they had been given a second chance. You don�t have to leave, he said. We can face this together, I can look after you. He tried hard to keep the hopelessness out of his voice.

Your knight in shining armour act didn�t work for Emma, did it?

So you�re going to run away, in the Sumner tradition?

Their glares clashed across the table. Give me my letters, Helena demanded.

Matthew leaned back in his chair, to grab an envelope from the counter behind him, and passed it across to her. As she put down her dripping mug and tore carefully into the letter, shooting him a fierce scowl, she reminded him painfully of Kate. He looked forward grimly to yet more years of the crushing, stabbing ache that his adopted daughter so often caused him.

Helena laid the letter flat on the table, smoothing her hand across it, and raised her eyes. You could come to Geneva with me, she suggested.

Matthew sighed, and on the intake of breath, he saw them holding hands in some foreign city, drinking coffee in the sunshine beside another, bigger lake. He would like to have held that breath, if that would have made it possible. He exhaled. I can�t leave Kate, he said. And I can�t leave Leasdale. I�m not qualified for anything, I couldn�t live any life other than this one. I just want you to live it with me, Nell.

The village suddenly felt terribly small, with the gossiping voices almost audible, all the way from the bakery a couple of miles away; and the Sharkeys glowering from their farm, on the other side of Sumner Hall. Helena did not want to be caught in the middle of all this for the rest of her life, tangled up with Matthew�s cupboard full of skeletons. His promises of comfort and security were empty, so much wishful thinking; she had not even begun to process the idea of Kate, beyond the stark knowledge that it was Kate�s existence that would continue to make it impossible for her to stay. Meant to be or never meant to be, all the closeness of the last few days was just a tortuous taste of something they could never have.

They said goodbye at the Gatehouse door, with one indulgent kiss before they turned away from each other, and their own lives closed around them again. As Helena walked back through the house, she tapped the barometer, and the needle flickered upwards into Change.