Dead of Winter (37 page)

Issie was awake before Steve on Friday morning. Carefully, a fraction of an inch at a time, she lifted his arm off her waist sufficient to slide out from beneath. She had a pillow ready, knowing that he was acutely aware of her presence even when he slept. Gently, she lowered the arm on top of it and slipped out of bed without so much as disturbing the quilt.

It was still dark. Her body ached; the right leg had stiffened and it took some time before it would bear her full weight. Her arms felt better though, despite the beating. She had woken with an idea and knew she must act on it before her nerve failed her.

She had gone to sleep worried that they were about to run out of painkillers and trying to think where else she might be able to find some. That led her to remember the first-aid case and that inside it she would find more than pills.

She crept along the landing to the laundry room where she remembered that her grandmother kept the case. Without switching on the light she found it and pulled if off the shelf. Back on the landing, there was just enough illumination from a half-closed curtain for her to make out the door to the shower room that had become ‘hers’ during her captivity. She went inside, turned on the
light and tried not to look at herself but it was impossible not to notice the bruises. He had made a real mess of her. Issie swallowed a burst of anger; this wasn’t the time to indulge in emotion – she had things to do before he woke up.

She knelt down by the side of the toilet, keeping the sole of her foot against the door as Steve had the key with him at all times. There was an inspection panel beside the toilet underneath the sink that her grandmother never replaced securely because she couldn’t manage the screws once they were done up tight.

Issie found tweezers in the first-aid kit. She bent one arm to ninety degrees and gripped the lopsided T formed by the other at the join to improvise a screwdriver with which to remove the panel screws. It took several minutes for her to manage all four and by the time she had finished she was covered in sweat, not only from exertion but also fear.

Although the case was too big to fit inside the inspection void she was able to hide scissors, tweezers, some safety pins, bandages, dressings and plasters; the start of her escape kit.

At the bottom of the first-aid box she found a paper bag inside which were some pills that had been prescribed to her grandfather. She saw his name and the date and blinked back tears; he had been taking them just weeks before he died. So what were they? She muttered the unfamiliar name to herself in the silence of the dark:
procarbazine
. The other packet contained an old prescription for well-known sleeping tablets. She hid the packets as well before putting more painkillers in the bathroom cupboard and returning the first-aid box to its place.

First task complete, Issie looked in on Steve, avoiding the creaky floorboard immediately outside their bedroom door. He was snoring heavily. There was a decision to be made; should she risk going downstairs or not? She wasn’t sure she would be able to walk quietly enough after the beating. Her right hip flared with pain every time she put weight on it. The other cuts and bruises, though painful, weren’t hampering her movement too badly.

As she hovered outside the doorway, Steve coughed. He could
wake at any time. The most important thing now was to avoid being tied up. Any risks she took had to be weighed against that, including not being there when he woke. She bit her lip in anticipation of the pain and crouched down to creep back to bed.

Issie lay awake beside Steve for another forty minutes. By his watch it was seven twenty-three when he turned from her, taking his disgusting early morning breath with him. He smelt of alcohol and over-spiced ‘chilli con carne’. It was one of his ‘specials’: baked beans, chillies, fried onions and mince. Issie loathed it.

After he turned onto his back Steve started to snore heavily. He wasn’t about to wake up soon. Issie closed her eyes and struggled with what to do. She needed time to prepare but if he woke and found her gone he might overreact. But if she just lay here and then he tied her up anyway when he woke up she would have missed her opportunity. There wasn’t a choice, really. Issie placed her trusty pillow next to him and slipped out of bed.

This time she put on a dressing gown. The house was cold and she needed to go into her grandfather’s study. As Steve had cut the phone lines and disabled the computer she would have to revert to old-fashioned methods to find out the effect of the drugs he had been taking. She was convinced that her grandfather would have researched the disease that killed him, and its treatments.

It took her a while to find the folder in his desk but as soon as she opened it she saw a print out on procarbazine. It was used to treat brain tumours and lymphoma. She shuddered and forced herself to read about its side effects. They were many and thoughts of Pappy’s discomfort were quickly replaced by images of Steve Mariner suffering. She was particularly taken with the rare side effects: itchy rash, flushed face, difficulty breathing. Even some of the common side effects would be disabling: fatigue, effects on nerves, fever, and flu-like symptoms. Steve was a hypochondriac. If he succumbed to a fraction of these he would retreat to the couch, and if she gave him an overdose … Issie smiled.

She read the rest of the page noting that alcohol was to be avoided. Excellent! The sleeping tablets shouldn’t be mixed with
the chemo according to Pappy’s notes. That was good; she could prepare a nice little cocktail for him if only he would trust her in the kitchen.

Issie crept out of the study and looked in on Steve. He was muttering to himself and moving beneath the bedclothes. Soon he would be awake. It was time for step two of her cunning plan: she needed him to trust her around food. She eased herself downstairs and switched on the radio in the kitchen to show she wasn’t being secretive. They were down to the last frozen pack of bacon and there were just five eggs left. Issie realised time was running out. She needed to strengthen her right leg, exercise, bulk up and complete her escape kit, after which she would be ready to leave whenever the weather allowed.

As she cooked she thought about what she would need. The nearest village was less than two miles away. If it had been summer she would have risked going with nothing but good shoes and clothes despite her weakened condition. Unfortunately it was the depth of winter, with snowdrifts around the farm over three feet deep. Even a short walk in such conditions if unprepared would be dangerous. Issie thought back to the survival manuals she had devoured as a child.

As a minimum she would need food, liquids, something to provide heat in an emergency, the right clothes and a torch. Ideally she should have a safety blanket as well, that’s what the manuals advised, lightweight, metallic, they could be a lifesaver but she didn’t have one. As the bacon started to sizzle Issie opened kitchen cupboards, listening all the time for his footsteps. There was a roll of black plastic sacks that would provide waterproof storage as well as the means to improvise a sleeping bag or foul-weather protection. She pulled off ten quickly and stuffed them behind the rubbish bin where they wouldn’t look out of place. In the drawer under the oven she found extra-wide aluminium foil for roasting. That could serve as an emergency blanket at a pinch. She would need to pull off a large length and fold it when she could be sure Steve wasn’t about to walk in.

Later she would have to raid her grandmother’s chest of drawers in the hope that she had silk and wool or cashmere that could be layered beneath a heavyweight woollen jumper of her grandfather’s that she was already wearing during the day. Her cotton T-shirt would be completely unsuitable for a winter hike; the last thing she needed was material that would evaporate her body warmth efficiently.

But what was she do to about weatherproof trousers? The snow would be a problem. She could see it lying in great drifts across the yard. If she couldn’t keep her legs dry she would succumb quickly to hypothermia. Had her grandmother kept any of her husband’s endurance gear? Possibly, but where and how would she ever find it?

While the snow didn’t create perfect escape conditions it would probably stop or slow Steve from following her. He was a real townie and hated the cold. She tuned the radio to BBC 4 to catch the
Today
programme in case there was any news about her. When the headlines came on at eight she stopped what she was doing and listened but there was nothing. Today’s weather forecast was interesting; it predicted a clear day with only light snows –a perfect day for an escape but she couldn’t risk it in her present condition. Tomorrow there would be heavy snow in the South East, but then they expected an improvement in conditions for Christmas Eve before the arrival of what could be the worst blizzard in a decade on Christmas Day.

Listeners were warned not to plan to travel on Christmas Day and to take advantage of the relatively calm conditions the day before. Well, that was exactly what she now intended to do. Depending on how quickly she could recover, particularly the muscles in her hip and legs, she would escape on the 24th. It would be a wonderful Christmas present for her mum!

Issie pulled back the curtains and stared into the yard. It was still dark but she could see the snow deep against the barn and outbuildings. As she made toast for Steve’s bacon sandwich she ran through the route she planned to take. She would find the track at
the bottom of the drive and turn east along it. Within two miles she would find the village of Alfriston. There was a particular pub there that she remembered and a church. Even if the wind was blowing she would be sheltered for part of the journey.

In what had been the gunroom in her grandfather’s day and was now a store for anything her grandmother didn’t want to leave in the barn, there was an old Barbour, complete with lining, with mittens in the pocket and a scarf stuffed down one sleeve, plus several pairs of wellington boots, including her spare pair for when she came to stay. The socks and long johns she needed would be in the airing cupboard. She would take spare ones with her in a plastic rubbish bag to keep them dry.

Now, what about a candle in a tin, a compass and a whistle? She was trying to remember where she had kept them as a little girl when there was a step immediately behind her.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed.’ She decided she couldn’t afford to be scared of him any more.

‘Really? Oh, that’s nice! Is that for me, then?’ He pointed at the toast and gently browning bacon. He was wearing her grandfather’s dressing gown and that made Issie angrier than anything so far.

‘Well, it’s for both of us, actually. As you’re up would you mind laying the table? It will be ready in five minutes – unless you’d like an egg as well?’

‘No, a bacon sarnie will do me, thanks. Got to be a bit careful, haven’t we?’

As soon as the food was ready he grabbed the plate with the sandwich and took a bite as he walked over to the heavy pine table in front of the Aga.

‘Tha’s good,’ he said with his mouth full. He smiled through crumbs and a smear of tomato sauce but he couldn’t meet her eye and she realised that he was feeling guilty about the beating.

Issie forced a grin and started eating. She wasn’t hungry but that was irrelevant.

‘Weather’s not getting any better,’ she said. ‘Radio forecast says there won’t be a thaw this side of New Year.’

‘That doesn’t bother us, does it, little Is? In fact it’s all to the good. The road is already blocked so no one can come nosing around, and if it’s really bad there will be fewer travellers.’

‘As long as the electricity doesn’t fail,’ she said, smiling inside.

Steve shuddered. He didn’t like the dark or the cold. The other evening when there had been a brief power cut he had huddled on the sofa by the fire until the lights returned. The house could be spooky in the dark. As a little girl she had been scared of its shadows and creaks but by the age of eight she had mastered her fear and now thought Steve’s pathetic.

‘There’s a generator, you said, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, in the shed next to the barn. Shall we go and check on it after breakfast in case we need it?’ Steve glanced at her suspiciously then nodded.

As soon as breakfast was finished she dressed warmly and then found him boots and a thick jumper to put on under his jacket. Everything she needed was in the gunroom and she was delighted that she was able to try it on openly. When she opened the back door, she was confronted with snow piled to handle height.

‘Bloody hell, will you look at that!’

‘There’s a spade in the gunroom, Steve; hang on.’

She was back quickly and passed it to him.

‘You want me to do it?’

‘I don’t think I’m up to it, Steve.’ Issie was having to rest against the wall as her injured leg spasmed.

He looked at her battered face, the way she had one hand pressed to her side and his eyes filled with tears.

‘Does it … does it hurt a lot, Is?’

‘A bit, Steve, yes.’

‘I’m s … Look you shouldn’t have riled me, should you?’

‘No, Steve, and I’ve learnt my lesson but it does hurt and I don’t think I’ll be able to help shovel. It’s man’s work, anyway, but if you start I’ll come behind and widen the path.’

For thirty minutes Steve worked in silence with Issie doing her best to sweep snow as he shovelled. It was at least some exercise, though it made her back and arms ache. The heat of their labour kept the freezing cold at bay but their noses and ears were soon tingling. The path they cleared ran to the right from the back door to a shed by an old barn. The door was locked, so Issie had to go back for the key. As she did so, alone in the kitchen, she stuffed a bar of chocolate and a pack of biscuits into the inner pocket of the Barbour.

‘Here,’ she passed him the key but no matter how hard he tried the lock wouldn’t open.

‘It’s frozen solid,’ he complained. ‘Only one thing for it!’ Without further ado he unzipped his flies and peed on the lock.