John Harvey - Cold Light

Behind the sleeve of his brown sweater, Lynn glimpsed the pale blue of open sky, smudge of darker green. Reaching behind him, Michael swung the door to.

The interior of the caravan was unremarkable: a small formica table and skimpy chairs, a narrow bunk along one wall, a Calor gas cooker, some cupboards, a sink. Near the center a gas heater burned low. Opposite her, fly-specked, a calendar showing the month of January below a color photograph of tulip fields, two years out of date.

“Here, I thought you’d be ready for this.” On the tray he set near her on the floor were a mug of what appeared to be tea, the steam still rising softly from it, a slice of bread dabbed here and there with butter, some kind of cereal mushed up with milk. “You must be hungry. You slept a long time.”

His eyes were never still. Lynn listened for the sound of traffic, other people; only the slow thrum from some kind of motor could be heard-besides their breathing, his and hers.

“You will eat?”

She didn’t answer, looked at him, wanting his attention. Needing it.

“Wouldn’t it be awful, when they found you, if you had just faded away?” He scraped the underside of the spoon against the edge of the dish before bringing it towards her mouth. “One thing I wouldn’t want them to say, you were neglected. Not looked after. I wouldn’t want them to be thinking that.”

The tip of the spoon passed between her lips and tapped against her teeth and Lynn was reminded of his kiss. She opened wide enough to let it in. The cereal was lukewarm and tasted both of sugar and of bran.

“Good?” Michael inquired pleasantly. “Is that good? Should you like some more or is it a drink of tea?”

The tea was more difficult, she had to tilt back her head and still some of it escaped and ran down on to her neck.

“Here,” he said, opening a tissue from his trouser pocket, then folding it again into a pad, “let me do something about that.”

Unwillingly, Lynn flinched from his hand.

Michael just smiled and tried a second time. He noticed then the damp residue drying on her thigh. “A little accident,” he said. “Is that what this is?” Carefully, he refolded the tissue before gently releasing spittle on to it, a gesture Lynn had seen her mother make a hundred times. “There now,” Michael said, dabbing at her leg, “that’s better now.”

Damn you, Lynn thought, I am not going to cry again.

Smiling, Michael lifted another spoonful of cereal to her mouth and gratefully she swallowed it down.

Robin and Mark had made an early start; there was still some mist hanging quite low and when that finally cleared they knew there would be snow on the tops. But the local forecast was good and besides they were well equipped, compasses and extra clothes and food, regulation survival kit in their rucksacks. Robin had scarcely spoken of Nancy since he had arrived and Mark had been content to leave it that way, thought it best. What Robin needed most of all, Mark reckoned, was something to take him out of it, not long, cloistered conversations centered on nostalgia and regret. Not that, if it came to it, he would be anything less than sympathetic.

They had been walking now, steadily gaining altitude, for a little over an hour. Mark had set off in the lead and after a while they had changed places, Robin pushing on ahead, lifting the pace. Even though they were still at the lower levels, the effort was enough to test their breath and, of necessity, conversation was kept to a minimum.

“Look. There.”

Mark stopped and followed the direction of Robin’s arm, eastwards to where the sun had finally broken clear above the peaks.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Mark said. “Didn’t I tell you this was going to be a great day?”

Robin smiled before turning back and continuing to climb.

Lynn had asked for the rest of her clothes back, complaining of the cold. For reply, he had turned the heater up a notch and laughed. An eerily musical sound. She thought now she had heard him earlier, moving around outside, singing. No way of knowing if that were true. Somebody else? A dream? “I thought you were meant to be looking after me,” she’d said.

He had left the caravan instantly, returned with an old piece of sacking, and thrown it down across her legs. “There.”

When the door had opened for him to leave, she had heard it more clearly, the same insistent sound. Possibly a generator, the report on the tape’s background noise had said. If she twisted her head a little she could make out the lettering, faded into the weave of the material: Bone Fertilizer - Saddleworth amp; Sons .

Michael came back half an hour later, whistling quietly. Lynn watched as he drew round one of the folding chairs and sat there, one leg crossed over the other, relaxed. “I’m sorry,” he said, “that I lost my temper.” He smiled. “That’s unusual for me. I don’t like it, never have. The way it affects you when that happens. Out of control. That’s not what I want for us. I’d rather we continued to be friends.”

“We could have been, Michael. You know that. That’s why this is such a shame.”

“And we’re not now? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Not exactly, Michael. Not any more.”

Disappointment passed across his eyes. “But why ever not?”

“After this? After what you’ve done?”

“To you? What have I …?”

“Not only to me.”

“I’ve been good to you. I like you.”

“Really?”

He moved off the chair and sat close beside her on the floor.

“You’ve got a strange way of showing it, that’s all I can say.”

“But I do, you know I do.” She could feel his breath against her thigh.

“How much, Michael?”

He looked at her, questioning.

“Enough to let me go?”

“Maybe.” His hand was resting on her thigh, a little above the knee, the thumb tracing small circles on her skin. “I’ll have to think about it. I don’t know.”

“What will it take, Michael? What will I have to do?”

“What?”

“For you to do that? Let me go?”

He looked at his hand as if it belonged to someone else, before pulling it away. “It isn’t like that.”

“It isn’t?”

“Threats. Promises. We don’t have to do that.”

“We don’t?”

“I could have you …”

“Could you?”

“I could have had you …”

“Michael, it’s true.”

“What …?”

“That night at my flat. You could have had me. Whatever you wanted.”

He was looking away, shoulders hunched, head down. “You think I didn’t know. The way you were lying there …”

“Then why didn’t you? What stopped you?”

“Nothing stopped me. I stopped myself. I …”

“No good like that, is it? Straightforward. Normal, Normal sex. Two people. Me and you, Michael. Me and you.”

“Stop it.”

“Is that what it is, Michael? Is that the problem?”

“Stop.”

“Part of the problem?”

“Stop it!” He kicked the chair away and it smashed against the wall. His hands were clamped over his ears. He was shaking.

“Michael,” Lynn said, “I could help you. Really. But you have to trust me. You have to.”

She had no idea if he had heard her or not. Without another glance, he walked from the caravan and locked the door behind him. Oh, Christ, Lynn thought, all of the energy suddenly sapped out of her, I hope to God I haven’t just pushed him too far.

He didn’t come back for well over an hour and when he did he came in humming softly to himself, a small tape recorder in his hand. “I thought you’d be wanting to send a message to your friends. That inspector now-Resnick, wasn’t that his name?”

Robin and Mark had continued their climb, the conditions causing them to detour once or twice from the marked path, but now they were back on track and moving towards Striding Edge. Both left and right, whichever way they looked, lower peaks were topped with snow. Gray and white, the mountain rose up before them.