Death be Not Proud (24 page)

“It's only twenty-four hours.”

How could I tell him that his mere day was more than interminable for me, and that between us always hovered an uncertainty that a day might turn into forever. He read the anxiety in my face, soothing my frown with his lips.

“I know, my love, but it's not long. Now…” he took a step back, looking purposeful, “… make sure you have plenty of warm clothes; we have hot water up there but no electricity other than a small generator to pump water.”

I made an effort to sound upbeat. “No electricity and no bears – what more could a girl want?”

He grinned. “I won't answer that. I'll see you tomorrow.”

And with the suggestion hanging in tantalizing suspension, he left me wondering.

 

I sat disconsolately on the edge of my bed, swinging my feet, and considered unpacking, but I had more pressing things to do, so I set about getting them done. First, I contacted my students and arranged to meet those still on campus in my tutor room first thing in the morning.

Second, I phoned my father, as promised.

“Emma,” he sounded relieved. “Did you have a good flight? What's the weather like over there?”

“I didn't manage to crash the plane, and winter looks like it should – lots of snow and very pretty. Look, Dad, I'm going to be away for a few days. If you can't get hold of me – if you need to, that is – leave a message on my mobile; it'll record automatically and I'll contact you when I get back.”

“You're going away so soon? Anywhere nice?”

“Into the mountains somewhere.”

I heard the sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line as he recalled the catastrophic aftermath of my last visit to the mountains.

“I hope Matthew knows what he's doing.”

“He generally does, Dad.”

“Well, I don't think that your mother need know. I'll tell her you called anyway.”

“Dad, just one other thing… thanks for the marmalade – it looks like a vintage batch.”

He gave his deep, throaty chuckle. “You found it in your bag, then. I double-bagged it so it wouldn't leak on your clothes. Hope you like it – I cut the Sevilles extra thick for you and there's a dash of whisky in it as well. Have a good time, Em, won't you.” In those few words, he left nothing unsaid. I smiled at this new side to my father, and let the warmth of it carry in my voice.

“Thanks, Dad.”

It wasn't a long conversation but, as conversations went with my father, it represented the most relaxed we had exchanged in a long while, and only time would tell if it heralded the beginning of a renaissance between us.

The third thing I felt compelled to do was source some food, since my fridge had been cleared – probably by Elena – of what would undoubtedly have been green and black and growing furry bits by now. Here, I had a choice: either I could go on an expedition across campus to the store – a decidedly unwelcome option, given the depth of the snow – or I could seek out Elena and scrounge something off her. I had missed her over the last month, but more than that, I owed her.

 

“Emma!”

Elena flung her arms around my shoulders, knocking the breath out of me in the process.

“I love your hair,” I said, hugging her back.

She looked pleased but dismissive. “I do not care about
my hair. When did you get back?
How
did you get back? Wait until I tell Matias – he will be most surprised.” Her accent sounded stronger because I hadn't heard it for a while. “Come in and have some tea and tell me what has happened. Come on.” She almost dragged me across the threshold.

“I only came to scrounge – borrow – some food off you because my cupboards are bare. Don't think I'm going to tell you anything interesting!” I teased her.

She waggled a finger. “No, no – you will get
no
-thing from me until you tell me
every
thing.”

She hauled me over to a chair and pushed me into it, sitting opposite, her long legs crossed under her as she leaned forward.

“Agh, it has been so boring without you; I have no one to…
gossip
, you say? Da, gossip with, and no excitement. Look, your arms are better, no?” I waved them in the air as evidence. “But Matias worried after we phoned you. Have you heard from Matthew? Is that why you have come back – to find him?”

My voice lit with suppressed excitement. “Nope,
I
didn't find him, Matthew found
me
! He flew all the way to England and brought me back – he flew me back, actually.”

She regarded my animated face thoughtfully, suddenly serious.

“Does this mean you and he are together again?”

Her grave demeanour sobered me. “Yes, it does – very much so.”

“Do you see your future with him now? You used to say you did not think about it, but I think this must have changed, no?”

“I think it must have, Elena, yes.”

I looked at her from under my eyelashes, not sure what the
response would be, given her sombre expression of a moment ago, only to find her face spread in the widest beam. She clapped her hands in rapid succession, hardly containing herself.

“This is the best news; I cannot wait to tell Matias, he will be so pleased. Now you are with Matthew for the holiday, yes? You know what that means, don't you?”

I could think of a few possibilities.

“No, what?”

“It means it is
very
serious. Will you meet his family?”

“His chil… his nephews and niece, of course, and possibly… er, I'm not entirely sure; Matthew's been a bit vague about who's going to be there.”

I made a mental note that I needed to be very careful in those unguarded moments where I might let something slip and, to be quite honest, I wasn't sure who would be there at Christmas; something else I would ask him, since I hadn't appreciated surprises ever since Guy's untimely disclosure at my expense – and his wife's.

Elena jumped to her feet, skipping about the floor in little steps akin to a complicated dance.

“I think we will have to go out and celebrate – a
big
celebration with much food and wine. Where shall we go? There is somewhere good in town and the men can pay. We go tomorrow or the next day, da? Before the holiday – I think it must be soon.”

Already planning, she clasped her hands in front of her, occasionally gesticulating as she framed another idea. Food and alcohol were wasted on me and worse than pointless for Matthew.

“Hold your horses, Elena – we can't. Matthew and I are going away for a few days; let's wait until after Christmas and then at least I'll know how it's gone.” She spun about on
one foot, about to argue. I went on hastily, “Not to beat about the bush or anything, but I don't want to count my chickens before they've hatched, just in case it's all a storm in a teacup, so let's not make a mountain out of a molehill and jump the gun, shall we?” I grinned at her look of horror.

“What are you talking about you crazy, mad girl!”

It achieved precisely the diversion I needed.

“I'm just saying that I would rather wait until after Christmas to celebrate because I don't want to presume that everything will go well. Although I'm sure it will. I think. Maybe.” I chewed my lip and then decided to put aside my natural caution and the niggling doubt that had accompanied me all the way back from the UK.

“Anyway, can I help you with that tea? I'm gasping.”

“No, I do it. Stay there.”

Elena made for the kitchen and I heard water flowing, then the kettle switch on.

“Where is Matias, by the way?” I called after her.

Elena reappeared, looking wistful and drying a mug on a linen tea-towel depicting garish Russian dolls.

“At the lab – he's been working on something. It keeps him awake at night too. Sometimes I think he doesn't sleep at all. But he is very excited, so I do not mind so much.” I rather thought that she did because her mouth had turned down. She finished polishing the last drops from the mug with a final flick of the cloth. “What is all this ‘chickens' and ‘storms'? I do not understand you sometimes.”

She went back in the kitchen and I raised my voice so that she could hear me over the rising note of the kettle as it came to the boil.

“It doesn't matter; it's just my ridiculous language. What are you and Matias doing for Christmas?”

The mugs chinked noisily. “We are going to fly to Finland first and then to St Petersburg.” There was a muffled gasp from the kitchen. “Emma, did you say that Matthew
flew
you back?”

“Uh huh.”

Her head popped around the edge of the doorframe, her dark, uptilted eyes betraying a smattering of Mongolian DNA tattooed into her family's Belarus origins.

“He has his own airplane?”

“Yup.”

She leaned against the architrave, chewing a nail, looking at me.

“He must be very rich.”

I hadn't thought about it; he certainly didn't flaunt it.

“I suppose so. It's not the sort of thing we've discussed. So when are you going to Finland?”

Elena roused herself from her trance and disappeared into the kitchen. A second later, I heard water being poured from the kettle and I went in to help her carry the mugs.

“We fly on Tuesday. So what do you talk about, Em? Or are you too busy making love to talk about anything?”

Narrowly missing the swipe I aimed at her, she held out a mug to me, her arched eyebrows framing playful eyes.

“I swear you are obsessed, Elena Smalova.”

She swung her hips suggestively as she walked back into the sitting room, taking a bite out of a biscuit.

“Da, I have a
very
good imagination.”

I took a biscuit from the packet and followed her. “Well, keep your imagination for Matias – he'll appreciate it more than I will.”

I sat back down and dunked my biscuit into the hot tea just long enough for it to have enough crunch without it collapsing in a soggy mass at the bottom of my mug.
I couldn't fault my imagination on that score, either, but it was proving a tad frustrating keeping it reined in at the moment, more so than at any other time in the last ten years.

“Have you and Matthew, you know…?” She looked expectantly at me.

“And since when have we had the chance? I only saw him yesterday for the first time in ages – or was it the day before?” I shook my head, trying to get around the perplexing subject of time zones, and realized I must be much more tired than I first thought. “Anyway, we've had a lot to discuss.”

She nodded sagely in an unspoken acknowledgment of the state of affairs, then brightened as her mind made the next logical step.

“Ah! Is that why you're going away – a romantic time
alone
. How delicious!” She pronounced the word “de-li-ci-ous”, making it sound edible, wriggling on the chair.

“You have the underwear?”

“Er, yes. Elena – don't go there; I'm not an entire novice, you know.”

“After ten years – you did say it was ten years since that man in England – what was his name…?”

I cringed. “Guy.”

“Yes –
Guy
– that's it. Ten years is a
very
long time.”

“But Elena, it's a bit like riding a bike – once learned, never forgotten.”

She giggled. “But, Emma, it depends on the bicycle, doesn't it?”

I had to concede that one. “I'm sure it does. Anyway, as much as I would like to, we won't be sleeping together as in… well, you know what I mean. That's not why we're going.”

We hadn't discussed it, but somehow we didn't need to, as there seemed to be a tacit understanding between us, although
I felt that it wasn't from a lack of desire on either side. On the contrary. Elena flicked her tongue over the chocolate-coated biscuit, all the while watching me.

“You love him, he loves you…” she waved the biscuit in the air, letting me fill in the rest of the sentence.

“Yes, but we're not married. We're not even engaged.”

Her teeth dissected the biscuit and she chewed thoughtfully.

“Matias and I – we are not married.”

“That's your business, Elena; I won't judge you if you promise not to judge me.” I thought of the journal tucked away in my bag, waiting accusingly to be returned. “You remember what I said about Sam and commitment?” She nodded. “Nothing's happened to change my view.”

“So you won't have sex unless Matthew marries you?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“And will he ask you, do you think?”

“I hope that's what I'm going to find out in the next few days,” I said quietly.

 

Elena proved far more domesticated than I would ever be. She sent me back to my room laden, and I slowly reheated the soup – as thick as a stew – standing over the saucepan, yawning intermittently and rubbing a hand over gritty eyes. I lingered under the shower, taking time to let the water run over my tired body, wondering, as I leaned against the warm wall, what this time tomorrow might bring.

 

Despite the lack of Matthew – or perhaps because he wasn't there to tempt me to fight sleep – I slept well.

 

There were some things about which I could be pedantic and one of them had been nagging away at me for weeks.
Usually by this time in December, I had bought and wrapped all my presents and written and sent all the cards that needed sending. This way, I avoided frantic last-minute shopping which would inevitably end in buying a present for somebody's birthday in July. This year, however, the routines and habits with which I protected my world had been turned inside out. Not all was lost. I had bought some fabulous knitting wool for my mother while at a conference in Edinburgh last April.