Fear in the Cotswolds (4 page)

Thursday 11
^th
January arrived, and Thea woke early with a sense of something having changed. Curtains were closed across the small window, and everything was silent. It was half past seven – a time when it was still almost dark in January. Instead, there was a flat eerie light coming through the curtains, which Thea took some minutes to understand.

‘Snow!’ she exclaimed, when she finally went to look out. ‘Masses of it.’ Her initial reaction was a childish excitement, combined with awe at the absolute beauty of the scene. The yard between the house and outbuildings was a pristine expanse of glittering white, the sheds
rising starkly to present vertical planes of muted colour, before more white obliterated their roofs. There was no flicker of life – no bird or fox or stoat seemed to have left any footprints in the snow.

‘Gosh!’ Thea muttered to Hepzie, a few minutes later. ‘This could give us some trouble.’ Quickly, she did a mental scan of food stocks, and the basic needs of the animals in her care. Water – the outside pipe would be frozen, so the donkey would have to be supplied from the house. Would the rabbits be warm enough? How would she get Jimmy out for his lavatory trips?

‘Oh well,’ she went on. ‘Snow never lasts for long in this country. It’ll all be gone by tomorrow.’

The donkey was not impressed by the change that had come over his world. He laid his ears back and shook his head firmly, standing in the open doorway of his shed. So much for Lucy’s assertion that he patrolled his patch whatever the weather. Thea fetched hay and water and left him to it. Walking across the virgin snow in her wellingtons, she was alarmed to discover that it was a good nine inches deep. Progress was exhausting, even over the fifty yards to the donkey shed and back.

The rabbits showed no sign of having noticed
anything different in the weather and the nest of new babies seemed undisturbed. Jemima’s companions lolloped appealingly around their large two-storey cage, snatching eagerly at the cabbage leaves and carrots proffered by Thea. ‘Make the most of it,’ she told them. ‘It might be short rations from here on.’ There seemed little reason to start moving them, the new mother appearing relaxed to the point of complacency.

Jimmy was even less disconcerted by the snow. He picked his way to his usual toilet corner, and performed exactly as if nothing at all had happened. His pee left a yellow streak in the snow. Hepzie, in contrast, thought the whole thing was laid on especially for her. She reverted to puppyhood and cavorted ecstatically, forging a gully for herself through the cold white stuff, getting more and more clogged with chunks of it sticking to her long hair. Thea wished there was a child with her, to justify building a snowman and throwing handfuls of snow around. As it was, she had to make do with the dog, who was already showing signs of having had enough of the novelty. ‘You can’t come in the house like that,’ Thea told her. ‘You’ll make a flood when all that ice on you melts.’

She compromised by putting the two dogs together in the conservatory, where the stone floor wouldn’t mind some wet. Then she
tuned the radio to a local station, feeling a sudden need for human voices and relevant information.

The snow, it seemed, had brought civilisation to a standstill. Schools were closed, trains and buses cancelled, roads barely passable. ‘And there’s a lot more to come,’ added the newsreader, barely concealing his glee. ‘Another six or seven inches of snow is forecast for this afternoon and evening. Brace yourselves, folks – this lot could last a week or more.’ Thea felt the thrill of a crisis, a surge of adrenalin at being forced to cope alone in an isolated snowbound house. ‘We can always eat the rabbits,’ she told Hepzie and Jimmy. The glass roof of the conservatory was grey with the weight of snow, and made occasional creaks that Thea tried to ignore. She had a feeling you were supposed to clear it off this sort of roof, which was not designed to take anything heavy.

At least the power was still on, so the freezer and lights would work. Presumably the underfloor heating needed some kind of electrical input, as well. If that died on her, she’d have to assemble the livestock and huddle under blankets until the thaw came. She focused fiercely on the practicalities, the essentials for survival, trying to ignore the clenching spasms in her lower belly which gripped her every time she
recalled the pessimistic forecast. She was, after all, trapped. The snow had obliterated the track, in both directions, and walking even a quarter of a mile in deep snow would take more fortitude than she believed she possessed. So she had to stop thinking about it, and keep to the feeding routines.

The worst part was seeing to the donkey. She went out again at three, following in the same footsteps she’d made that morning, hoping some sort of track might form, which would make the walking easier. The hay was fortunately in an enclosed corner of the same shed, but water had to be carried in a black rubber bucket that was awkwardly large. Despite the expanses of white in all directions, the overall impression was of a pale grey, as the short day began to close and the sky sagged heavily just above her head. The silence too had a greyness to it, with no traffic or birds or animals audible. All sensory experience was muted, she realised. There were no smells, either, and nothing to taste or touch but endless cold white nothingness.

For supper she took out a prepared frozen curry and microwaved it, boiling rice to go with it, and tracking down an almost-full jar of mango chutney at the back of Lucy’s store cupboard. The hot spicy food brought a welcome explosion in her mouth, warming her both physically and
emotionally. If only a real log fire could have been blazing in the non-existent hearth, she could have felt quite cosy.

She found herself constantly wrestling with anxiety. Of course she was in no danger whatsoever. She could surely walk out to the main road if really necessary, where there was sure to be traffic passing. She had her phone, and Lucy’s radio and her computer. Treat it as an adventure, she adjured herself. Enjoy it. Think what a good story it’ll make later on. But what if it lasted a week or more, nagged the worried little voice. How will you get food? What if the pipes burst, or the donkey falls ill, or…or…?

But so far, nothing troubling had happened. There was food and water enough – the pipes must be made of some kind of frostproof material, in such a new building. And it wouldn’t last a week,
of course
it wouldn’t. Outside there was already a flurry of fresh snowflakes falling, just as the man on the radio had said.

She went to bed early, Hepzie following her and curling up at her feet, as usual. For a while she read an absorbing novel about Australia, where it was always too hot. Then she slept soundly, dreaming about driving along a straight white road, where a windmill waited for her, some miles away in the distance.

The next morning was a rerun of the first. She went to the window, and tried to assess whether or not more snow had fallen. At first it wasn’t easy to be sure, until she focused on a low stone wall between the house and the yard, where she remembered sweeping all the snow off, just to gauge the depth of it. Now the area she’d swept was covered again, and the rest of its length had a higher step. Another three or four inches must have silently fallen during the night.

Doggedly, she stamped her feet into the boots, the double pair of socks making it a tight fit. A woolly hat, which she had found in the drawer of Lucy’s Victorian coat stand, was pulled down over her ears. But when she went outside, her first sensation was not of cold, but of a renewed wonder at the transformation of the mundane world of fields and trees into a hummocky featureless expanse where even the hedges had been swallowed up. It took her a while to realise that this meant it would be difficult to locate the track up to the road into the village. She could easily find herself floundering in a ditch, or setting off across a field because she had forgotten the precise bends and turns of the lane.

But she could still see the donkey’s shed, and the trail of footsteps leading to it. She had even taken the first few steps before it hit her. There ought not to be any footsteps still visible.
Everywhere else, all signs of yesterday’s activity had been erased.

Somebody else had walked across the paddock
that morning
. The ice that swept through her had nothing to do with the weather. She was abruptly frozen with fear – her arms and legs crackled with it, her stomach clenched. Without conscious thought, she turned and struggled back to the house, the puzzled spaniel slowly following her, when she called. Not until she had slammed and locked the door did she stop to ask herself why she was so frightened.

She ought to phone somebody, she told herself, to ensure that she was linked to the outside world. Somebody who could assure her she was all right, and talk her through her panic. In fact – why hadn’t Jessica or her mother called already, as soon as the first snow had arrived? Didn’t anyone
care
?

They wouldn’t have understood how isolated Lucy’s Barn was, of course. They’d think she had neighbours and a shop close by, and all the usual services of civilisation.

So she phoned her daughter, praying that there would be a response.

‘Hi, Mum,’ came the breathless voice of the young police constable. ‘I bet you’ve got some amazing snow there, haven’t you?’

‘You could say that.’

‘What’s the matter? Can’t you get the car out?’

‘I haven’t tried – but no, there’s no way in the world that I could move it. I can’t even see where the track goes.’

Jessica paused, as if absorbing the fact that her mother was not excited at the adventure, as she ought to be. ‘But you’re all right, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. But there are footprints outside, Jess. Somebody’s been here in the night.’

Stupid, of course, to expect the girl to understand the geography, to grasp immediately that there should not be people walking across the donkey’s paddock in any weather, at any time of day – and certainly not during a snowy night. She did her best to explain.

‘Somebody got lost, perhaps?’ Jessica suggested. ‘Did you notice which way they were pointing?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘Well, if they were leading towards the house, you’ve got more to worry about than if they were the other way – haven’t you?’

Slowly the sense of what Jessica was saying sank in. ‘If they were coming this way, the person would be here,’ she said. ‘In one of the sheds, at least.’

‘So just go out and have a proper look. It’s
not like you to be so timid – what’s got you so jumpy?’ Jessica was genuinely curious to know, and yet there was no hint of concern in her voice. That alone made Thea feel better.

‘I think it’s the idea that someone was prowling round here while I was asleep. It was such a shock, seeing those footprints. At first I thought they were mine, but then I realised the new snow had covered mine up.’

‘Well, whoever it was obviously didn’t mind if you saw the tracks. Come on, Ma – listen to yourself. Get a grip.’

‘It’s fine for you to talk,’ Thea protested. ‘I’ve got rabbits, a donkey, a cat and a daft old dog to look after. It’s not easy in all this white-out, you know. I can’t find the paths, and keep thinking I’m going to fall into a ditch.’

Jessica laughed. ‘But it’s an
adventure
. Stop sounding so middle-aged about it. Throw a few snowballs, why don’t you? You’re lucky. We didn’t have anything here except a bit of sleet.’

‘Mmm. So I have to get out there and feed that donkey – is that what you’re saying?’

‘Precisely. Call me again any time and update me, OK?’

‘Aren’t you on duty?’

‘Technically, yes, but it’s Friday, and there’s not much doing, for a change.’

‘Well, you’ll probably get plenty of snow over
the next few days, and then there’ll be people skidding into each other, and pipes bursting.’

‘Not my department,’ said Jessica complacently.

So Thea took some deep breaths, reminding herself it was broad daylight, and that a few footprints really were nothing to fear, and ventured outside again.

Carrying the donkey’s water bucket, she followed the line of the prints, peering at them to see if she could distinguish toe from heel. It wasn’t easy, but she eventually concluded that they did indeed lead away from the house. When she reached the donkey’s shed, she saw that the person had veered to the left, rather than dive into the warmth of the shelter, where she might have found him sitting on the donkey’s hay. Puzzled, her gaze followed the wavering line of prints which went away to the left, and the neighbouring field.

The donkey seemed to have grown resigned to the weather, and had even made a little track of his own, where he had emerged for a short walk at some point. Not his usual circuit of the paddock, but at least a brief bit of exercise, down the slope towards the big new gate. The snow was scuffed, as if the animal had been frisking as he went – and he must have retraced his own tracks, creating quite a definite pathway. ‘You’ve
been walkabout, I see,’ Thea said. He nuzzled her amiably, and ate the hay she gave him with slow crunching movements. Quite how animals made soft hay crunch was a mystery she had stopped trying to solve some time ago.

Outside again, she took another look at the footprints that had so alarmed her. Where had the person gone? What kind of a struggle must it have been to walk across open fields, negotiating fences and hidden hummocks? And
why
? Was it a recognised short cut?

Belatedly, she recalled Lucy’s reference to ‘Old Kate’. Was there an even more isolated and struggling woman than Thea herself, further down the track? Had she made the footprints, walking home late at night, for some reason? In an instant, the walker was transformed from a sinister threatening stranger, male and aggressive, to a floundering elderly woman, stoically traversing the snowy expanses in an effort to get home.

Hepzie had obviously exhausted her playfulness, and had not followed Thea to the donkey shed. Instead she remained in the yard, idly sniffing at the rabbits in their own quarters. Were they all right, Thea wondered? Did rabbits freeze to death in weather like this? They had seemed fine the day before. The niggling worry was swamped by the much larger concern about
the maker of the footprints. Instead of rushing indoors in such a cowardly fashion, she should have thought about the poor person out in the cold, who obviously had no harmful intent.