Breakdown (17 page)

“Finally, someone other than Paulie to play with,” he said as he set out the pieces on the board.

“Finally someone you can beat, you mean,” Pauline said from her seat on the couch.

Chris remembered the basics from his teen years, when his grandfather had tried to teach him. After his first few games with George, Pauline pulled up a chair, sat beside Chris, and explained strategies. Chris enjoyed it more than he had thought he would.

The framework of the new shed rose up. A couple of older men from town lent their experience to the project. It was usually dark by the time Wes got out of school, but he came on Saturdays and Sundays to help however he could.

The nightmares came less often.

Sometimes Chris missed the calm rhythm of milking, now that the cows were nearly dry. He took up brushing the horses instead, in long, steady strokes, while they shifted in contentment and snuffled at his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s snowing!” George said one evening as they prepared to head back into the house. “Paulie will be pleased.”

“Do you get much snow here?” Chris asked.

“No, usually we just get cold rain. A few little snows a year, at most, and never this early, before Christmas.”

Chris followed him across the yard to the house, his head down, eyes half-closed against the wind. The snow was coming down thicker by the time they reached the back door.

“We should bring in wood, eh?” Chris suggested.

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” George agreed, and Chris veered off to the left toward the woodpile. “I’ll get a light,” George called after him.

Chris fumbled in the dark at the woodpile and managed to get an armful. George passed him with the lantern as Chris headed back to the house. He was about to thump at the door with his foot when it opened and Pauline stood there, putting on her coat, a big grin on her face.

“We can manage the wood,” Chris said, but she only grinned wider.

“Oh, I want to be out in the snow!”

Chris turned to watch her in the light from the back door, skipping out into the yard, throwing her arms wide, putting her head back so her face was open to the snow.

“Isn’t it lovely!” she exclaimed, laughing. Chris shook his head, went in with the wood. He carried it down the stairs into the cellar, dumped it in the box there, and went back up, passing George again as he came in with a load.

The lantern sat on a stump next to the woodpile. Pauline was there, getting a load.

“We can manage,” Chris said to her again, but she tossed her hair back from her face.

“I don’t mind. I told you, I want to be out in it.”

By the time they had filled the cellar woodbox, each of them having made several trips, there was a liberal coating on the ground.

“I’ll get the lantern,” Pauline said to George, and then, to Chris, “Walk with me.”

He had already begun to stamp the snow off his boots, but he followed her back out without a word, pulling the door shut behind him. He put his hands in his pockets and hunched up his shoulders as the snow settled on his neck. She turned to look at him, but he didn’t think she could see much in the dark.

“You’re not scowling, are you?” she asked.

“No.”

“You don’t like snow?”

“I’ve had enough of it.”

“Where?”

“Upstate New York. Months of it, snow on top of snow.”

“Oh, it sounds wonderful,” she said.

He snorted. “Maybe for the first week. You’d get tired of it, trust me.”

They reached the woodpile, but instead of picking up the lantern, Pauline brushed the snow off a stump and sat down. The lantern lit her face; the snowflakes drifted down and whirled around.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s snowing,” he pointed out. He pulled his hands out of his pockets long enough to turn up the collar of his jacket around his neck and button it tight.

“It’s the first snow. Don’t you just want to enjoy it for a little bit?”

“It will be here tomorrow, I expect.”

“Oh, it could warm up and be raining by then,” she said. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

He made an exaggerated sigh and stood where he was.

“So, where were you?”

“I told you, upstate New York.”

“What does that mean, upstate?”

“Not in the city. North of that, in the mountains.”

“Oh. When?”

His heart was suddenly beating. “Um, after it all started.”

“Go on.”

He stared at her in the dim light, trying to decide what to say. She sat with her hands in her lap, her face neutral. Snow gathered on her hair.

“I was at a friend’s cabin, in the woods, on a mountain. It was a weekend getaway type of place. Posh, all the comforts, few of which worked because the electricity had gone. But we had a woodstove and a septic system and a well, so we were okay.”

“Who was ‘we’?”

“Um, Archie, who owned the place, and his girlfriend...and me.”

“So it was after your wife died?”

“Yes.” Chris didn’t like the way she tossed out things like that into the conversation, like tossing rocks at him, making him flinch.

“Go on,” she said again.

“About what?”

“About the cabin. What was it like?”

He couldn’t think of anything to say. “Boring, mainly.” The snow came down and stuck to his jacket sleeves.

“Why did you go there?”

“I had to leave my house,” he said and instantly regretted it, because he knew what the next question would be.

“Why did you have to leave?”

Chris hunched up against the snow coming down, took a few steps in a small area.

“There was a fire. The house was going to burn. I had to leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. I wanted to stay there; I was hoping I’d get sick and die, in my own bed, in my own house. But I didn’t get sick. And I didn’t want to burn.” He watched her face. She was good at keeping a calm face. Lots of practice, he supposed. He’d only rattled her once, with the rats, and he hadn’t meant to do that.

How could she be so naive? Because the plague hadn’t settled in here. Because she hadn’t left this safe haven, hadn’t seen what really went on in the world. Her patients in the past had probably wrestled with things like self-esteem and depression, because they didn’t like their jobs or had suffered one too many failures in life. What did she really know about the horrendous things that could happen to people? Things
people
could do to each other. Things like torture and starvation and murder and rape.

An image of Jenny in London came into his mind.
Shit, no, not now.
How could he tell her about London, ever, when the idea of having to eat rats had brought her so close to tears? She’d need her own psychologist if she ever got the details about London out of him.

He glanced over at her, sitting there waiting, being the doctor, in the dark, in the snow.

“So you went to the cabin, and your friends were there. What did you do?”

“We sat around wondering what the hell was going on in the rest of the world.”

“And it snowed a lot?”

“Yes, every few days, and I had to spend hours out in it, collecting wood so I wouldn’t freeze.”

“Archie didn’t help?”

“No, he left to try to find out what the hell was going on and never came back.”

“So then it was just you and the girlfriend?”

Ouch.
“For about a week, yes. Then she killed herself. With the bag of pills I had saved for myself,” he said, tossing his own rock. It must have hit, because she was quiet, and looked down at her shoes.
Yes, add that to my list of guilt, Doctor. I supplied the pills that killed her. It all piles up, like snow, and suffocates you.
“Can we go in now?”

“Sure.” She stood, picked up the lantern, and headed toward the house. “It’ll be rain by morning,” she said over her shoulder. “It never really snows this early.”

Did she change the subject like that for her benefit or for his?

“That’s what George said. Never before Christmas.”

She stopped outside the door, blew out the lantern. “Listen.”

Chris stood still, straining his ears. He heard only the wind.

“It’s always quiet, now there’re no cars, but it’s even quieter in the snow. Quiet, calm.”

She looked at him, but he had nothing to say. She reached for the doorknob, and he followed her in.

During the night the snow turned to rain. It woke him; he could hear it drumming on the roof. He felt a little disappointed, but didn’t know why. He went back to sleep and dreamed about the cabin in the woods, the snow drifting down in huge feathery blobs, covering the woodpile, burying everything, turning his world white and silent. The ax made no sound as he chopped the wood. When he dumped the pieces into the box next to the stove, they made no noise. And when he opened her door and found her dying on the bed, the silence buffeted him, and he couldn’t hear himself screaming at her...

* * *

The market in Petersfield was more crowded than Chris was used to. As he threaded his way through the people, he couldn’t help wondering who—if any—among them might be carrying a deadly germ. This was how outbreaks started. All it took was one person. Every year, Pauline had told him, as the outbreaks decreased, the market got a little bigger, a little more crowded, especially before Christmas.

Half the booths had some sort of faded plastic decorations or shabby tinsel garland strung around. Quite a few had vintage ornaments or tired-looking fake trees for sale out front. Finding wrapping paper was harder. After hearing Pauline complain to Grace about the state of their wrapping-paper supply, Chris had decided to surprise her with whatever he could find. He asked at numerous booths with no success.

A lady wearing a limp Santa hat smiled at him from her chair as he stopped for a quick look in her booth.

“How can I help you?”

“I’m on the hunt for Christmas wrapping paper and having no luck.”

She jumped up. “Your luck just changed.” She pulled a flat packet from where it was half-hidden under some ornaments. “Some people don’t like the creases, but I have this.”

The outer plastic was dingy and ripped. The paper inside was folded in fours but unused. Three sheets, the label stated, in assorted designs.

“Perfect!” Chris handed her the money without trying to bargain.

He had barely got the paper into his rucksack when he heard his name, turned, and found Pauline nearly at his elbow, smiling.

“I’ve found you. How are you doing?”

“Mission accomplished,” he told her, zipping his pack, hoping she hadn’t seen the paper.

“Lovely.” She turned to the woman in the booth. “Hello.”

The woman looked from her to Chris and back again. “How can I help you, dear?”

“Um, Jerry, a few booths down, said you might have some Christmas wrapping paper?” Pauline asked.

Chris, standing just behind Pauline, shook his head slightly at the woman, hoping she’d catch it. She gave no indication that she noticed him, but smiled gently.

“Eh, sorry, love. Some bloke got it just awhile ago. Wanted to surprise his sweetheart, I think.” She winked at Pauline.

“Oh, bother,” Pauline said. “That’s the second time today.”

“It’s getting harder to come by. Hang on a minute, eh?” She turned and stuck her head through the curtain at the back of her booth for a muffled conversation with the proprietor of the booth backing hers. She reached an arm through and brought out a roll of paper about fifty centimeters long, crumpled on the ends. “Here we are, love. This is rather nice.” She untied a bit of string holding it and unrolled the paper. “Four different pieces. The edges are a bit wonky, but the centers are good.”

Pauline smiled, looking at the papers carefully. “They are pretty, aren’t they?” She ran her fingers over each piece. Chris watched her profile. “How much?” she asked, but frowned at the price the woman gave. “I’ve spent so much today.”

“Have you any jam?” the woman asked. “I recognize you. You’ve had lovely jams before, haven’t you?”

“I do.” Pauline brightened, and slipped off her pack to rummage. She brought out a jar, held it up. The woman named her price with the jam included. Pauline began to reach into her pocket. Chris already had a pound coin ready and put it on the table. “Oh, no, Chris—” Pauline started, but he didn’t let her go on.

“I’ve got it.”

The woman smiled knowingly. She scooped up the coin and took the jam that Pauline held out to her. She fished in her pocket for change.

“Have you any ribbons?” Chris asked. Pauline glanced at him.

“Hmm, I’ve a bit of red here somewhere, I think,” the woman said. She poked around under the table. She held up a small bundle of red ribbon.

“Throw that in?” Chris said in a bargaining tone.

She raised an eyebrow and sighed. “Yeah, all right, handsome.” She rolled the ribbon up in the papers, tied it all with the bit of string, and handed it to Pauline. “You two have a happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you,” Pauline said cheerfully. Chris gave a brief nod and a “Thanks.”

They pushed off through the crowd.

“Thank you, Chris.” Pauline flashed a smile at him. “These are lovely. All our papers have got so tired, used so many times. It will be nice to have a few new ones this year.”

“I want a bit of the ribbon.”

“Oh, of course. You take the ribbon. You paid for it.”

“I just need a bit.”

“Ah,” Pauline said. Her tone made Chris look at her, and he saw a little smirk on her face.

“What’s that for?”

“You.” She slid her eyes toward him. “You’ve got some sort of secret, don’t you?”

Chris shrugged. “I bought that ornament that your mum was so taken with earlier.”

Pauline stopped and turned to him with her mouth open. “It was you! I went back there to get it and it was gone!” She laughed.

“Oh, sorry. Do you want it?”

“No, no, of course not! You bought it, you give it to her. I have something else, anyway. That was sweet of you.”

Chris took a breath. “I haven’t done Christmas since—well—you know.”

Pauline put a hand on his arm. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”