Simon Green - The Dark Side of the Road

‘Mummy’s never felt secure here. You see, she married into wealth and position. Never had any of her own. That’s why she was so keen for me to go away to boarding school, and then finishing school. So I could have all the advantages Mummy never had. No one ever asked me what I wanted. I think I would rather have had a mother. And a father.’ She paused there, as though waiting for a comment. But I didn’t have one.

‘What about the guests?’ I said, finally.

‘Roger is a bore,’ Penny said flatly. ‘Don’t know what I ever saw in him. I think perhaps … He was just my way out of the family. Cut my links, once and for all, by marrying someone I knew they couldn’t stand. If I had any conscience I’d do something absolutely beastly to the poor boy, so he’d go away and not want me any more. But it’s so hard to be rotten to him. Like kicking a puppy.

‘Alexander Khan … gets on my nerves, big time. Always has … on all the occasions he’s invited himself here to discuss business with Daddy. Which usually seems to consist of shouting sessions in private. Alex has always cared more about the business than Daddy has. He only ever turns up here when he wants more money for this great new scheme or that. I don’t like the way he looks at me or Mummy. I keep my distance. He’s been hovering around Roger all this weekend. Don’t ask me why.

‘And then, there’s dear little Sylvia. Seems a decent enough sort. Diana collects good-looking companions to remind herself of what she used to look like before her face wrinkled up into a road map. She says having bright young things around her helps her feel young again. I say she leeches off their youth and energy … Sylvia’s just the latest in a long line, and she won’t be the last, even if Sylvia hasn’t realized that yet. She’s more fun than some I’ve known, from previous Christmas gatherings. And fun’s always in short supply, this time of year.’

‘You don’t care for Christmas?’

‘Christmas is fine; it’s the family gatherings that get on my tits. Trapped here for days on end, with people I hardly know or care about. For me, Christmas is just something to get through. Though it’s not as if I’ve anywhere else to go. Or anyone else to be with …’

‘Why do you keep coming back?’ I said.

‘Because it’s family,’ Penny said tiredly. ‘Family obligations, and all that. The blood that calls, and the ties that bind. You know how it is …’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not really. I have no family. There’s only ever been me.’

Penny looked quickly at me. ‘Oh Ishmael; I’m so sorry. And I’ve just been prattling on … Are you an orphan?’

‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘The Colonel … James … is the closest I’ve ever had.’

‘To a family?’

‘To a father,’ I said.

I hadn’t realized I was going to say that, until I heard myself saying it. I stopped short, thinking. Trying to work out what I felt. Penny smiled, slipped her arm through mine, and cuddled up against me. I should have pushed her away. I knew it wasn’t fair, to her or to me, to give her any encouragement. As soon as I found the Colonel, and dealt with whatever business he had for me here, I would be on my way again. I’m always leaving. It’s easier on everyone else that way. Because they’re going to get old, and I won’t. Because I can never tell anyone the truth about me. Because they wouldn’t love me, if they knew I wasn’t human. And because … I’m afraid. Afraid I might not be what I think I am. That my memories, or flashbacks, might be just a cover, to hide something awful. I made a firm decision long ago to walk alone, and live alone, because that was safer for everyone. I don’t want to hurt anyone.

I walk on the dark side of the road.

I quietly disengaged my arm from hers, kicked my way through the piled-up snow drift, and strode out of the tithe barn and into the unnaturally still air. I headed past the Manor, towards the row of Victorian cottages on the other side. Penny came hurrying after me, muttering baby swear words under her breath as she trudged through the deep snow as quickly as she could. She stumbled along at my side, glancing at me from time to time in a puzzled sort of way, but said nothing. Perhaps she sensed my mood, even if she didn’t understand it. She moved forward to take the lead, and I let her. This was her home, after all. The sound of our footsteps, punching through the snow, seemed very small in the face of such a great open snowscape. Gleaming white expanses stretched away before us, heading off into the distance beyond the cottages, until they disappeared into the iron grey fog.

‘OK,’ said Penny, after a while. ‘This is just a bit odd, and not a little freaky …’

‘What is?’ I said, looking quickly about me.

‘Look at the snow behind us. What do you see? Our footsteps. A long line, from the Manor’s front door to the tithe barn, and then more, coming back. Now what do you see ahead of us? Nothing! The snow ahead is perfect, unmarked, for as far as I can see. You’d expect something … bird tracks, animal tracks … fox, stoat, badger. But there’s nothing. That’s not right, Ishmael. Unless, maybe it’s just too cold for anything to be out and about …’

‘Could be,’ I said. ‘I’ve been places where the air gets so cold, birds just freeze on the wing and drop dead out of the sky.’

Penny looked at me. ‘You’ve lived, haven’t you?’

I smiled. ‘You have no idea.’

We came at last to the long terraced row of Victorian cottages. Squat and square buildings, built from a creamy stone, with bay windows and neatly-slanting roofs. Probably tiled, under the snow. All of them dark and still and silent, as though huddling together for warmth and support against the cold. Penny looked them up and down, and sniffed loudly.

‘Pleasant enough, I suppose. Even charming, if your tastes run that way. They always look to me like they should be on the cover of some really twee jigsaw puzzle. Nothing too demanding. That big one standing on its own: that’s GravelStone Cottage. Originally intended for the Manor’s head gardener and his family. The others were for the extensive gardening staff. Took a lot of people to look after these grounds, in the days before the ride-on mower. The other servants lived in the manor house itself, so they could always be on call … But, these days, the gardening people are supplied by an outside agency, and the few house staff prefer to come in from outside. So Daddy rents the cottages out.’

She paused, so she could lean in confidentially. ‘Daddy needs the money. The family fortunes aren’t what they were. Daddy used to run the family business, and well enough from what I hear … but as he got older, he just found it all too much of a chore. He backed off and let the Board make all the decisions. They haven’t done as well. Particularly since they started listening to Alexander Khan. He speaks for the Board now. And I’m pretty sure he’s only here now because he’s trying to talk Daddy into selling off some of our land, to provide liquid cash for the company. I mean, I don’t mind! It’s not like we use it for anything. But Daddy won’t want to. Like the house, the land has been in Belcourt hands for generations. Alex is trying to get to Daddy through Mummy. They think I haven’t noticed. Hah!’

That last word came out harshly, with real anger behind it. I didn’t say anything. I did wonder why Roger hadn’t spoken to Penny about the money Khan wanted him to put into the company. It seemed like the kind of thing Roger would enjoy holding over her. To put pressure on her … Maybe the young man had principles, after all. People can always surprise you.

Penny led me on, past the row of cottages and round the end, so we could move out into the great white wilderness of the open grounds. There were a few dark stick-figure trees, too thin for the snow to cling to … and great lumps and mounds, here and there. Buried flower gardens; old moss-flecked statues buried up to their waists; pagodas and gazebos; and snow, snow, everywhere.