Once Upon A Winter (3 page)

‘The Annexe,’ interjected Ivy. ‘Nana Gwen hasn’t used it in ages. So Grandpa rents it out to Mr Guthrie.’

Daniel smiled down at the girl, and nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

‘Why do people say that?’ piped up the only boy in the group. A slight lad, with shiny black hair and dark green eyes. ‘“The size of it.” The size of
what
?’

Nell seemed to hesitate. ‘This is my son. Joshua.’

‘And this must be Freya, your daughter,’ said Daniel, nodding at the girl, who was the image of her mother. ‘I’ve seen their files. Well, glanced at them really. I haven’t had much chance -’

‘You’ve . . . what?’ Nell frowned again.

‘Mr Guthrie’s Deputy Head,’ said Ivy. ‘At Harreloe Primary.’

Nell opened and closed her mouth. ‘Oh . . . Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise . . . My sister never said . . .’

‘That’s all right.’ Daniel tugged a hand through his knotted hair, which he now wished he’d bothered to comb that morning, or at least tame a little into submission. ‘I’m pleased to meet them. Your father raves about them, of course. I’ve never known such a proud grandfather. He really thinks the world of you four.’ Daniel smiled round at all the kids. A pleasant looking bunch. If the new arrivals were as exemplary as Ivy and Rose, they’d be an asset to the school.

‘So I
am
going to Harreloe Primary then?’ said Joshua. ‘Mum, you said you didn’t know. You said you needed to talk to the teachers. See if they’d be able to cope with me.’

Nell flushed an appealing shade of pink. ‘Joshua,’ she muttered, ‘not now.’

Daniel regarded the boy. How old was Joshua again? Actually, weren’t the Jones children twins? They didn’t even resemble brother and sister. The boy must take after his dad, who apparently hadn’t been on the scene in years.

‘Listen,’ said Nell, ‘I was going to make an appointment with the Head. Mr
Frennison. There
are
things I’d like to discuss. I mean, I know Joshua and Freya technically already have places at the school, but -’

‘You’ve still got some concerns.’ Daniel nodded, slipping into a more professional mode. ‘Mr
Frennison’s on extended leave at the moment, though. His wife’s been ill, quite seriously. She’s recovering in hospital in Liverpool. Anyway, the short of it is, you’ll have to deal with me. But I’m sure I’ll be able to help, answer any questions you have concerning the school. Come in for a tour. We always encourage new parents to get involved any way they can. It’s a small school, so we’ve got an all-hands-on-deck attitude.’

‘Yes,’ said Nell. ‘I know. My sister’s a governor. I’m not worried that Harreloe Primary isn’t good enough. It’s just . . . Joshua is . . .’ She glanced sideways at her son, who was now making patterns in the gravel with a long stick. ‘I’m just not sure you’ve ever had a pupil quite like him.’

Daniel smiled inwardly. Nell Jones was a typical mother, convinced her child was unique in some way. And although Daniel wasn’t a parent himself, he had spent enough time around children to know that it was true. Each child was as exceptional and exclusive as the adult they had the potential to grow into. As far as Daniel was concerned, though, this didn’t make his job as a teacher any harder; it only made it more interesting.

‘Should I ring up and speak to the school secretary then?’ Nell asked. ‘Make an appointment? The children aren’t due to start for another week. I need to sort out uniforms and other stuff, and we’ve still got to get settled into the house.’

‘No. No need for an appointment.’ Daniel shook his head. ‘It might help to keep it informal. I’ve got no plans for the rest of the weekend, so you can drop by for a coffee and a chat, if you like. And if you need any help with unpacking, shifting furniture or anything, just let me know. Your dad’s already had me moving beds and wardrobes around upstairs, getting it all ready for you.’

‘He has?’ Nell seemed disconcerted. ‘I . . . I appreciate your help. And thanks for the offer, but I’ll be OK from here. There shouldn’t be that much more heavy lifting left.’

‘Well, just shout if you need anything. And we’ll talk when you’ve got more time. I’m sure we’ll be able to settle Joshua and Freya into the school with the minimum of fuss. They’ll be happy there. Everyone will see to it.’

A sceptical frown lingered on Nell’s brow. She looked at her son, still doodling in the gravel. ‘I’ll speak to you soon then,’ she muttered to Daniel as she turned away.

‘It was good to see you again after all this time,’ Daniel blurted out, strangely disheartened by the abrupt droop of her shoulders. ‘Funny how life brings us around full circle - isn’t it?’

Nell
’s head swivelled back, with a swish of her long, chestnut pony tail. Her chin poked up as she stared at him. ‘I suppose.’ She turned to the children. ‘Come on, kids, let’s go see your granddad. Truffle,
heel,
boy, stop chewing that scarf. Ivy, your scarf’s trailing, it’ll get filthy . . .’

Daniel frowned as Nell strode away. He felt as if he’d made some sort of faux pas, but had no idea what it was.

‘Bye, Mr Guthrie.’ Ivy Hayes giggled, and scampered off after her aunt, the terrier still snapping at her scarf. Rose Hayes grinned, and followed them.

Only Freya Jones remained now, apart from the boy, Joshua, who was a few yards away, still busy with the long stick. The girl fixed Daniel with the same brown eyes as her mum.

‘So . . .
Freya
,’ said Daniel, smiling at her, ‘that’s a pretty name.’

‘It was my grandmother’s name,’ she said in a low voice, as if deciding to take him into her confidence. ‘My mum’s mum. She died a long time ago, and mum called me after her. I don’t know what my dad’s mum was called. My middle name’s Gwendolyn, after my great-nana.’

‘They’re
both
pretty names,’ said Daniel. ‘Freya and Gwendolyn.’

If a bit of a mouthful together.

Freya suddenly lavished him with a glowing smile. If her mother’s smile could be half as radiant, it might have an unsettling effect on a man.

‘Come on, Josh,’ said the girl, beckoning to her brother. ‘Let’s go find Grandpa.’

‘Pancakes!’ cried Joshua, as if waking from a trance. He dropped the stick and trotted off after his sister.

Daniel grunted, amused, and made to turn away, ready to continue with his morning run. Something ca
ught his eye, though: a pattern in the gravel driveway. He turned back and peered closer.

There, among the random design his eyes must have been expecting - twirls and swirls or whatever - there was an algebraic equation.

‘a
2
+ b
2
= c
2’

Pythagoras’
s Theorem.

In a right angled triangle: the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides.

Daniel lifted his head, but the boy and his sister had already vanished around the side of the house.

The flat was an empty shell. Save for a few items of furniture, it had been stripped of life.

Silas Jones hesitated by the door, watching the old man by the window.

Abe Golding was staring down into a street lined with people, yet he had only felt this alone twice before in his life.

Silas knew this; loneliness was a beacon that had always called out to him. He took a step into the room, troubled again by the lifelessness of the place. It had been empty for just a day or so, and yet the heart of it had gone.

Abe seemed to sense his presence, and looked round. There was no trace of surprise, simply resignation. ‘I should be used to empty flats and houses,’ said the old man broodingly. ‘It’s my occupation. My vocation, my wife used to call it. I find an empty space, and I fill it. I give people a home. But’ - he shrugged - ‘this time . . . This time I feel selfish. I feel as if this place should never be anyone’s home again.’

‘Understandable,’ said Silas quietly. ‘You need to give it time.’

With a ragged sigh, Abe pulled out a fiddle-backed pine chair. ‘Sit with me, Silas. Bring me some hope again . . .’

Silas walked over and eased the old man into the first chair before pulling out another for himself. ‘I want you to know you looked after them, Abe. You did everything that I asked.’

‘I owe you a great debt. I always will. But I feel as if I’ve failed you now.’

‘No.’ Emphatically, Silas cupped his palm across the old man’s fingers, resting on the table. ‘You haven’t failed me. You couldn’t have kept them here, and I never asked you to. I always knew she would take them back one day. I’m surprised it wasn’t sooner.
Ellena’s ties to that place are too strong.’

‘In the end,’ said Abe, his voice rasping in his throat, ‘in the end they were like family to me. The daughter my wife and I never had . . . The grandchildren . . . I only wish Rebecca had been alive to have known them herself. She would have cared for them as much as I did.’

‘I’m sure she would. But, Abe - listen - you need to consider yourself now. You need to slow down. Let go of the business -’

‘
Ellena said much the same.’ Abe nodded, staring into the distance. ‘She told me she would write. She already phoned, to say they had arrived safely.’ He sighed again. ‘People say they will write. But they don’t. Perhaps once or twice . . . but then . . . life gets in the way. And what was I to her really? Just her employer. Her landlord.’

‘You were more than that, Abe, to her and the children. I’m certain of it. Sh
e had no family here in London.’

‘Except for you, Silas.’ The old man retracted his hand, his gaze
lifting. Ancient blue eyes full of wisdom, yet lacking in comprehension.

Silas said nothing. He passed a hand across his jaw, rough with a shadow of stubble.

‘I know I will never quite understand what you are,’ Abe Golding continued ruefully. ‘And you’ve tried to explain about Ellena and the children. Why you had to leave them when you did. Why you let Ellena think you were further away than you were . . . But I’ve told you, I never will understand. I only do as you ask. Your humble servant.’

Silas scraped back his chair and
drifted to the window. He frowned out through the slatted blinds. ‘You aren’t my servant, Abe. No one is. I’ve never held you to any debt. It’s always been your decision alone to help me. I have never coerced or -’

‘No, no.’ The old man flapped his hand. ‘But what choice did I really have? You saved my life when I was younger than your son is now. You plucked me from the brink of a nightmare and reunited me with my mother. And then you brought us both to safety. To a new life. In the middle of a war, you gave me hope. A small boy, who has always looked up to you. But the small boy is gone,’ Abe added sadly. ‘You only need look at me. And yet you . . .’

‘Inside, I’ve changed,’ argued Silas. ‘I feel pain more than I used to. Since the child was born -’

‘Children,’ corrected Abe. ‘You are blessed with two.’

‘The girl will be consolation for her mother.’

‘Your daughter has a name.’

‘Freya,’ said Silas, bending his head a fraction in acknowledgment. ‘I know you think I don’t care . . .’

‘You told me once you could never understand the trait of attachment.’ Abe stared at him steadily. ‘I still don’t think you understand it enough. To a degree, perhaps, but . . .’
He shrugged.

Silas sank back into the empty chair. ‘No, I don’t understand enough about it. Which makes me slightly less human than you.’

‘But always my friend, Silas. I want you to know this before it’s too late.’

Abe Golding reached up slowly, sombrely, and pulled out a fine gold chain that had been tucked out of sight behind his shirt collar. The chain was long, with a small pendant on the end. Abe drew it up over his head. ‘I should have given this to
Ellena while I had the chance.’ He leaned across the table and pressed it shakily into Silas’s hand. ‘You don’t have to tell me you’re following them north. I already know.’

‘It’s time my son found out who he really is.’

A troubled look creased Abe’s brow. ‘What about Ellena? And Freya?’

‘They have each other, and the rest of their family. And I’ll give them time . . . to adjust.’

‘That’s very gracious of you,’ said Abe dryly. ‘But first, I need you to give Ellena that necklace from me. Tell her I thought of her as my own child. I’m only sorry I didn’t tell her myself.’

Silas blinked down into his open palm. People set such store by flimsy wisps of gold and silver. Silas had never felt comfortable with it. But this time he said hesitantly, ‘This pendant was your wife’s, and your mother’s before her. I know you’ve worn it around your neck since your wife died. How can you just give it away?’

‘That’s not what I’m doing, Silas. I’m passing it on. I told you, Ellena is the daughter I never had. I have no one else to leave it to, and I don’t want it lost with me. Or sold to a stranger. I want it handed down. I want it worn by the right woman. Someone who deserves it.’

‘But
Ellena? She’s just -’ Silas stopped, confronted with a hardness he’d never seen in the old man’s eyes before.

‘You mess with our lives, Silas, and you say you care. But you’ll never care the way
we
do. And I pity you. I never have before, but I do right now.’

‘Abe -’

‘No. You’ll hear me out. I don’t give a damn who or what you are. You told me once that you made Ellena love you because she was weak. Because it was your duty to show her she was worthy of a man’s love. The little wallflower no one wanted to pick. The plain, dull girl that boys always passed by. And you changed her, Silas, there’s no denying that. She might still be dull, by today’s outlandish standards, but she’s not weak any more. You see, you may never have loved her, not truly, but you made her a mother. By that single act, you transformed her life. You didn’t just make her strong. You made her a lioness. And she’ll go to any lengths to protect her cubs. Both of them.’

Silas stared, a touch bewildered, at Abe’s flushed face and his angry, glittering eyes. He didn’t know what to say. People could speak with so much passion sometimes, yet make no sense to him.

‘You think you have fought such battles, Silas,’ the old man counselled, ‘but, however long you’ve lived, I warn you, you have never fought one like this.’