Tessa Hadley - The Past

Climbing out of the wood, across another stile, she was surprised that there was so much light left in the sky. Milky mist was pooled here at the field’s bottom below her; above her she could still make out distinctly the tall rocky banks and mounds of bramble, stunted thorn trees. Weren’t those cows, standing at the top of the field across the stream, looking down attentively towards her? Some white shape, anyway, against the gloom. It was a relief to be out in the open. The deep cleft of a stream, overgrown with more brambles, bisected this field in a meandering line; unseen, it babbled in its hollows like a muffled clapper in a bell. Again Alice called out, sing-song. Het-tie! Har-riet! She stared up at the distant white shape, which seemed to be lying now along the ground, then started towards it, stumbling on the tussocky rough grass, torch beam jerking inconsequentially.

— Hettie! Is it you? Are you there?

If it was a cow, it might scramble to its feet and charge at her, knock her down. Everything in the night was alive with threat. And Alice couldn’t understand, if the shape was Harriet — too slender, and too tapered, after all, for a cow — why she didn’t move, and why she showed up in that distinctive way, an inert pale smudge against the gathering darkness of the field. If it was Harriet, she seemed to be turned away, concentrating intently over something private. Alice’s ears were filled with her own gasping for breath as she hurried up the slope, boots slipping in the wet. She fell and cracked her knee sickeningly against a rock, struggled up again. Water boiled somewhere nearby in a cold rage, the stream must be falling over a lip of stone. Peering ahead, poking the torch beam, Alice saw then in one scrambled recognition that her sister lay naked on the grass, fork-limbed, face down, bottom up. The violence of the night had been made real, the worst had happened — even though Alice in her horror refused its truth with all her force, protesting aloud against it. It couldn’t be so, but it was. The protest, even as she made it, seemed directed at no one present who could hear it. No! No, no, no!

Then Harriet lifted her head, twisting her neck to look up over one shoulder, squinting into the torch beam. — Oh Alice, why did you come? she said. — I wanted to die.

Alice was overwhelmed. She couldn’t bear Harriet to know she’d believed she was dead, and directed the torch at her accusingly, dazzling her. — But what are you doing here? Where are your clothes?

— I threw them in the water, so that I couldn’t change my mind.

— Change your mind about what?

— I don’t know. I just wanted to die. I’d had enough.

— You’re kidding. You’re not serious. Whoever, in the whole history of idiocy, tried to kill themselves by catching cold in the middle of summer?

— I don’t know. It turns out I don’t even know how to die.

Shining the torch around, Alice found Harriet’s woollen jumper, caught in a bramble bush and not quite fallen in the stream. One cuff was soaked where it had dangled down. — Put this on. At once.

— But I haven’t got my underwear.

— Have you gone mad? Oh yes, I forgot, obviously you have gone mad. It doesn’t matter about your underwear, you idiot. I’ll give you my jumper too, to put on top. We have to stop you getting hypothermia — not that I seriously think you could get hypothermia at this time of year. I’ll give you my skirt as well.

While they talked, Alice was dressing her sister as best she could, pulling the jumper over Harriet’s lolling head, rolling up the wet cuff, then taking off her waterproof and her own jumper, putting these on Harriet too. Harriet was compliant but she didn’t help, she let Alice put her clothes on for her as if she were a child; her arms were heavy, quite separate things from any will of hers, Alice had to lift them and force them into the sleeves. Harriet said that she was numb. The night was cold, but not unbearably; at first Harriet wasn’t even shaking, and then when she began she couldn’t stop.

— You see, we have to put everything on you, Alice said. — I’m all right, I’m warm, it really isn’t that bad, you’ve just got yourself into a state. Although I hope we don’t meet anyone when we get to the village, me in my knickers. What were you thinking of? What were you thinking?

— You’ve no idea what’s happened to me, what an awful thing I’ve done.

— Yes I do, Alice said. — I do have some idea. You made some kind of pass at Pilar and she turned you down. Don’t worry, she hasn’t told anyone, she won’t. No one knows. I just guessed. This stuff happens to everyone. It’s happened to me a million times over. I mean, mostly with men, it’s true, and not with women. But actually, it did happen with a woman once.

Miserably Harriet turned her face away, closing her eyes.

— I know that just because it happens to everyone, that doesn’t make it any better. But didn’t you think about the rest of us, Hettie, and how we love you? Look at me, open your eyes! Isn’t it amazing that I found you? I knew you’d be here, in this field at the end of the first wood, I knew. I came out because it was unbearable, waiting at home and worrying. And Fran said it was such a bad idea, because we hadn’t a clue which way you’d gone, and she was perfectly sensible of course, I was the daft one as usual. But I just had this instinct! Something guided me, although it was all so dark and so awful. You know I’ve always believed in all that stuff. And now I’ve found you, thank goodness! And I’ve saved you! Isn’t that amazing!

— But I didn’t want to be saved.

— Yes you did. You did really. You just don’t know it yet.

Kasim made Molly wait outside the cottage for a few minutes while he hurried about inside, lighting the candles and the fire which he’d laid ready, spreading out the blankets on the floor in front of the fire. It didn’t smell too bad. Molly was afraid of the dark, she pressed up against the far side of the door, moaning through the crack in her distress. — Can’t I come in yet? Please , Kas! Let me in. It’s horrible out here.

Then he was suddenly nervous when he did let her in, in case she made fun of what he’d done in the cottage, which he was so proud of. He watched her face uneasily; he couldn’t get used to how different she looked with her hair sticking out all over her head in those weird plaits — exposed and mocking at the same time, like a clown. She was a stranger whom he hardly knew. When she smiled around her, liking everything, he remembered that women bestowed those bright smiles to encourage men’s efforts and be kind to them, whatever they really thought. So he didn’t trust her, and felt slightly vengeful.

— Oh, it’s lovely, Kas. You’ve made it lovely. I’m so glad I stayed.

He got busy with opening the wine — it turned out to have a screw top, no need for the corkscrew — and emptying a packet of crisps into a bowl. They sat down on the blankets in front of the fire, which was burning well — he’d been drying the wood in preparation for a few days. Everything at least was going as he had planned. Still, Molly’s idea of what happened next might not be quite the same as his. She might just think that they were going to spend the evening kissing and touching each other and getting worked up as usual, and then blow out the candles and go home. Strategically, according to his plan, Kas ought to be topping up her wine every time she tasted it. But when he tried, Molly put her hand across the top of the glass, saying she didn’t want to get too drunk. Then she kissed him and her mouth was full of wine, which flooded into his mouth, shocking him. Had she done that deliberately?