The Shadow Year (14 page)

Kat’s plan is to skirt the lake and investigate the woodland surrounding the water. Until now she’s been content to stay in the vicinity of the cottage, but the morning feels full of possibility. If Mac can roam the countryside and return with bloodied rabbits or armfuls of elderberries, then why can’t she forage a little? How hard can it be?

Stepping away from the water’s edge, Kat ducks her head and enters the wooded glade where leaves crackle beneath her boots and here and there brown alder cones litter the floor. Unlike the dry, grassy banks up near the cottage, the ground in the glade is boggy. She squelches through muddy ditches and jumps puddles, listening to the flitter of birds and the soft rustling of the undergrowth as she goes, careful to keep an eye out for anything that might prove edible or useful in some way.

She tells herself she just wants a little time on her own, away from the others, but the truth is she really wants time alone to think about Simon, to think about what’s happening between them. She wants a chance to examine her thoughts, to pull them out like precious stones from deep within her pockets, so that she can hold them up to the light and polish them until they shine. As she walks, she thinks about his hands on her body, his lips on her skin, the way his eyes shine as black as coal as he moves over her in the darkness. She has loved him for so long, it seems, and yet she has never dreamed it could be like this. She’s always felt too detached – too shut-off – to be wanted or loved. Her heart has been a locked prism, closed to emotion and pain, hidden from everyone except her sister, Freya. But now the seemingly impossible has happened. Simon has come to her. He wants her and she finally feels herself opening and transforming like the derelict cottage they inhabit. She has never felt so alive. She has never felt so vulnerable. It is both exhilarating and terrifying.

Kat still isn’t quite sure what this
thing
is between them. It’s more than sex, she’s sure of it, for they’ve known each other so long; there is so much more beneath the physical intimacy they now share – an undercurrent of emotion that’s impossible to ignore. But the ground they tread is new and unfamiliar, like the steep terrain rising up all around the lake. It’s as though she’s tiptoeing over it carefully, moving forwards but testing each footstep before she trusts enough to put her full weight down. And she is learning where the barriers are, where the rocks and crevices lie that she must negotiate. She’s already learned not to be too affectionate during the day. The few times she has touched him, or put an arm around him, he has worn it with a wary smile, but she notices how he shrugs her off, or moves away. She understands; it’s awkward for the others. They are a small, close-knit group; it wouldn’t be good to parade their shifting relationship in front of them all. Ben and Carla have been a couple right from the start – something they’ve all readily accepted – but another couple in their midst, flaunting their closeness . . . well, it could destabilise things and it wouldn’t be fair on Mac. She understands that.

Neither has she dared show her hand and tell Simon that she loves him. She knows it’s only a matter of time, but she won’t do it – not yet – not until she can be sure of his response. So while she waits, she clings to other certainties: the heat of his gaze following her around, the insistence of his touch in the pitch black of the bedroom and, perhaps most of all, the absolute conviction she feels now that they were
meant
to come here. This cottage – the lake – some strange serendipity brought them here that summer’s day. In this place of simplicity and freedom they can make the love between them grow deeper and stronger. She is sure of it.

She stops at the base of a tree to examine several balls of puffy white fungus growing from the ground. She wonders whether she should pick them but decides against it. They could be poisonous and look suspiciously as if they might disintegrate at her touch. Instead she makes a mental note so that she can describe them to the others; she’s learning quickly that sometimes the most surprising things around them are edible.

On through the woods and she comes across an old hazel tree, its bows laden with nuts encased in soft, downy leaves. She reaches up and shakes a low-hanging branch, sending a few scattering like raindrops at her feet, then stoops to gather them, shoving them deep into her pockets. She’ll have to bring Ben here – he’s the best climber among them – they could gather quite a stash if they claim them quickly, before the squirrels move in.

Further away she hears the sound of splashing out on the lake. Curious, she moves down closer to the water’s edge and sees two mallards dabbling among the reeds. She watches them for a moment, imagines the look on Simon’s face if she were to return to the cottage with two plump ducks and wishes she had a way to hunt them. As the ducks drift further away, Kat’s attention is drawn by a tall, woody plant growing at the water’s edge. Its stalks are thick and grooved like celery with tiny clusters of white flowers growing on top of spindly umbrella stems. She moves closer and pulls a stalk from the earth, wondering what it might be. Roots, thick and white, point like muddy fingers down towards the ground. To Kat they resemble pale carrots, or perhaps turnips; they definitely look edible. Encouraged by her discovery, she begins to pull handfuls of the plant from the ground, wholly absorbed in her task until from somewhere behind comes the snapping sound of twigs and a loud
chuk-chuk-chuk
as a pheasant flaps from the undergrowth.

Startled, Kat spins. Higher up on the wooded slope she sees the silhouette of a man, about ten yards away. She gasps and puts her hand to her chest. ‘Mac, you made me jump. What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?’

He lifts his arm and shows her the three limp rabbits slung across his shoulder. ‘Just checking the snares. They came good last night.’ He nods towards the plant in her hand. ‘What have you got there?’

‘I’m not sure. It might just be cow parsley, but look at the roots.’ She holds the plant up to him for inspection. ‘They look like carrots, don’t they? Turnips, perhaps? We could try them and see.’ She beams proudly at him as he moves down the wooded slope towards her, the lifeless rabbits banging against his chest in time with his loping steps.

He peers more closely at the plant in her hand then rears away. ‘Throw it back,’ he says. ‘It’s water hemlock. Nasty stuff. Feed us that and you’ll kill us all.’

She gives a half-laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I’m serious.’ Mac shakes his head. ‘Eat that and there’s a good chance you won’t wake up tomorrow. The leaves are poisonous but the roots are the worst. We had a cow eat some once. She was dead within the hour.’

Kat gapes at him, trying to read his eyes, obscured as they are beneath his straggly hair. ‘Are you serious?’ She stares down at the innocuous-looking plant in her hand. A thin, milky substance oozes from the wound of one woody stem where she has snapped it off. She gazes at it, both amazed and horrified that such a seemingly innocent landscape could harvest something so dangerous, then blushes at her stupidity. ‘I’m not very good at this, am I? Perhaps I’d better stick to the laundry and the cleaning after all.’

Mac adjusts the rabbits over his shoulder and Kat sees a dark red stain on the denim of his jacket where the animals have bled. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘if you really want to forage I’ve got something to show you. Follow me.’

He leads her through the trees and down a steep wooded gully, jumping over rocks and bushy ferns until they arrive at a cluster of stumpy trees. ‘Look.’ He points towards their deep green foliage and as Kat draws closer, she sees clusters of blue-black berries nestled amongst the branches.

‘What are they?’ she asks, reaching out to touch their dusky skin with her fingertip.

‘Sloes. We should pick them after the first frost.’

She looks at him, a little unsure. ‘Do you eat them?’

He shakes his head. ‘Ever tried sloe gin?’

‘No.’

He gives her a crooked smile. ‘You wait. It’ll blow your socks off.’

They can hear talking and laughter in the kitchen as they draw closer to the cottage. Kat stamps her feet, loosening clumps of mud from her boots, then slides sock-footed through the back door, leaving Mac to deal with the rabbits outside. She’s expecting a barrage of questions about where she’s been, a little gentle ribbing about how everyone else has had to cover her jobs for her, but when she sees the scene in the kitchen anything she’d planned to say in her defence vanishes into thin air.

‘You have a visitor,’ says Simon. He is smiling broadly but she hears the edge in his voice.

‘Surprise!’

Kat gapes at Freya. Her sister sits at the head of the table, flanked on one side by Simon and on the other by Carla. She beams up at her then turns to address the others. ‘See,’ she laughs, ‘I told you her face would be a picture.’

Carla grins. ‘You weren’t wrong.’

Freya stands and moves towards Kat, pulling her into a hug. Kat breathes in the fresh, floral scent of her, feels the sweep of her long, blond hair brush against her face, but all the while they embrace her eyes never leave Simon’s face. ‘What are you
doing
here?’ she asks finally, stepping back to hold her sister at arm’s length. ‘And how on earth did you find us?’ The moment the question has left her mouth she regrets it.

‘Your letter, of course.’

From the corner of her eye Kat sees Simon’s eyebrows shoot skyward.

‘I knew as soon as I read about this place that I just had to come and see it for myself,’ she continues, then seeing Kat’s face asks, ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Course not,’ says Kat, finding her smile at last. She takes a step back and regards Freya carefully. She is taller than she remembers and thinner too, dressed in a colourful patterned silk dress that floats about her legs, knitted stockings and incongruous black boots. Her fair hair hangs down her back, a tangle of loose plaits threaded through here and there. Most striking of all though, is her skin; it’s as pale as marble and sets off the blue of her eyes so that they shine like sapphires. As Kat studies her, she is reminded of the porcelain china dolls their foster mother Margaret had kept lined up on her bed – the ones they were allowed to look at but
never
touch. She smiles, understanding for the first time that her sister is a woman now, a very beautiful woman.

‘Look at you,’ she says, pulling her back into a hug, embracing her properly for the first time, ‘you look great. But I still don’t understand,’ she adds warily, finally releasing her, ‘how
did
you find us? I never told you where this place was.’

Freya taps her forehead with a finger. ‘Not just a pretty face,’ she grins. ‘It really wasn’t that hard. There was the postmark on your letter for one. And you mentioned a small lake, surrounded by hills, nothing around for miles. It didn’t take long. The geography section in the college library is
very
well stocked with maps. Look,’ she says, holding out a packet of chocolate digestives, ‘I come bearing gifts. Your favourite, right?’

Kat nods, but she doesn’t take one; she can still feel Simon’s scrutinising gaze from across the room. She knows she’s screwed up and silently kicks herself for not telling him about the letter.

‘Freya was just telling us how she got here,’ says Ben. ‘Sounds a bit hairy.’

Kat turns back to her sister. ‘Oh yes?’

‘Yep,’ says Freya, a hint of pride in her voice. ‘I hitched a lift from London . . . at least as far as I could. Spent last night on a bench at a service station then ended up on the back of a tractor. I walked the last couple of miles. I’m bloody glad I guessed right. It would have been a long way to come for nothing.’

‘You didn’t tell anyone we were here, did you?’ asks Simon, looking appalled.

‘God no, just said I was out hiking. Probably seemed a bit odd, just me on my own with this bag,’ she kicks her large holdall still lying on the floor, ‘but no one asked too many questions.’

‘You were lucky,’ admonishes Kat. ‘You could have been picked up by anyone . . . a rapist . . . an axe murderer. They still haven’t caught the Yorkshire Ripper you know . . .’

Freya turns to the others with a grin. ‘See, I told you she was the protective big sister.’

Kat refuses to be put off. ‘But what are you
doing
here? What about college? Surely you start back any day now?’

‘Well, about that,’ says Freya, suddenly shifty. ‘There was a bit of a kerfuffle at the end of last term. The head of my department thought it might be best if I deferred for a year.’

‘A “kerfuffle”?’

‘One of my lecturers—’

‘You slept with him?’

‘No! Course not. He’s a randy old lech. I reported him for harassment. But somehow the story got out and the college seems to think it best I stay away for a few months while the whole thing blows over.’ Freya reaches into the biscuit packet, pulls out a digestive and takes a bite.

‘Best
you
stay away? They can’t do that, surely?’ Kat is indignant.

‘I know,’ says Freya airily, munching on the biscuit, ‘I was going to fight it but when I got your letter I suddenly realised I didn’t have to. It was the perfect opportunity to come and visit you up here instead.’ She smiles sweetly at Kat, her eyes catching the light from the window and shining as blue as the placid lake outside. There are biscuit crumbs on her top lip and looking at her, Kat is suddenly reminded of Freya’s uncanny ability of talking her way into or out of anything: a trip to the park, a packet of sweets, an extended curfew or a borrowed top. ‘Simon’s just been telling me all about this place. It sounds amazing,’ she beams. ‘I really love what you’re all trying to do.’ She hesitates then reaches down into her bag and pulls out a brightly-coloured object, which she throws at Kat. ‘Here, I brought this for you too.’

Kat stares at the strange cube in her hands.

‘It’s a puzzle,’ Freya explains. ‘I nicked it from that old goat’s office . . . figured he owed me.’ She grins. ‘It’s the latest thing, apparently.’

‘Cool,’ says Ben, plucking the object from Kat’s outstretched hands. ‘A Rubik’s cube. I’ve heard about these.’ He gives it a few perfunctory twists but any further conversation is interrupted by the sound of boots stamping outside followed by the slam of the back door. Mac sidles into the room but stops dead when he sees Freya standing there in the middle of the group.