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'It was mutual,' he said after a moment, into the darkness about them. 'They resented their mother marrying my father, and quite naturally when I was born they resented me too.' 'How old were you when your mother died?' 'Fourteen. Social Welfare put me into foster care and my half-brothers left home.' 'Why couldn't you stay with your father?' She felt the movement of his shoulder as he shrugged. 'He was a long-distance driver. Away a lot.' It crossed her mind that he could have changed his job, but perhaps that might not have been easy. 'What was he like? Did you get your mathematical ability from him, or your mother?' 'Neither, as far as I know. He did play a guitar occasionally but he had no time for classical music.' 'He didn't mind you having lessons, though?' 'As long as it didn't cost him anything he didn't care one way or the other. He thought it was useless and a bit sissy, but typical.' 'Typical?' What did he mean by that? Jas explained on a note of cynicism. 'He'd have liked a son who played rugby and could stick up for himself. I never enjoyed fighting particularly my half-brothers always won anyway.' 'They must have been bigger than you!' Blythe said indignantly, tipping back her head and trying in vain to see Ms face in the darkness. 'What did your parents do about it?' 'They didn't believe in interfering in sibling quarrels unless the noise level irritated them.' Blythe ached with sympathy. His family life seemed a stark contrast to her own loving home. If Jas found it hard to express his feelings, perhaps it was an inherited trait. 'Still,' she said, 'he sent you to university?' The sound he made might have been a crack of laughter, but the banging and scratching of loose bits of roof made it difficult to be certain. 'I got a scholarship. The head of mathematics at my secondary school and Miss Paige my music teacher arranged an application. I have reason to be grateful to her.' 'Do you keep in touch?' 'She died a few years back.' The cottage shook again and something creaked. Jas switched on the torch as another piece of ceiling tore away from the beams to hang dangling in the sweep of light. He waited for a few minutes, then switched it off again. 'Don't want to waste the battery.' There was another question burning in Blythe's mind, and but for the dark and the extraordinary circumstances she'd never have dared ask it. 'What was your wife like? Where did you meet her?' He was silent for a long time, and then he said carefully, 'We met at university. Shelley was vivacious and pretty, and very popular. I couldn't believe that she was actually attracted to me.' He paused. 'She told me later I intrigued her because I didn't seem interested.' 'Were you?' Again she felt the hunching of his shoulder. 'Of course I was interested. I had no experience of women but my hormones were as active as any young man's. And she was...well, as I said...' 'So...' He'd fallen in love. Blythe tried to dismiss the hollow feeling around her heart. She felt chilled and oddly tired. 'We weren't taking the same courses, but somehow we often bumped into each other. She made a point of teasing me, even when she was with someone else. Flirting. I thought I amused her. When she practically asked me to make love to her I assumed she was setting me up for something, so I turned down her...offer, the first time.' He moved his hand and Blythe felt the duvet slip, but he quickly pulled it back over her. 'I didn't hold out for long. Three months later she was pregnant, and when I asked her to marry me she surprised me again.' 'Surprised you?' 'She said yes.' Blythe swallowed. She supposed he'd been thrilled. And it was futile and mean-minded to be jealous of a dead woman. 'I hope ' Before she could choke out the words 'I hope you were very happy' the section of roof that had been flapping for ages finally tore loose, making her gasp, and the floor vibrated. Then the sound of the wind became muted, as though it might have had enough for a while. Even the rain stopped driving into the room. Blythe lifted her face, trying to sense the storm's intensity through the darkness. She was shivering less, but still cold. Jas switched on his torch just as another section of the ceiling peeled away and hung into the room. 'If we stay here much longer we won't be able to get out in a hurry. I'm not sure the foundations are holding, and it's getting very cold.' 'The wind seems to have died down a bit.' 'They said we're supposed to be at the edge of the cyclone, didn't they not the eye?' 'Mm.' 'Are you all right?' Jas touched her face and hands again. 'Talking of hypothermia,' he muttered, and started rubbing one of her hands. 'We'll have to risk it. We're getting out now.' He helped Blythe up and grabbed the plastic bag. The wind hit them as they struggled out through the door and it slammed shut behind them. Down on the gully floor it wasn't so bad, but still she was glad of Jas's arm about her, holding her relatively steady as they battled with the wind that tried to push them from their feet. The ground was soggy, and when Jas finally ushered her into his darkened hallway and forced the door shut, she shone her torchlight down on her muddy, wet sneakers and said, 'Sorry, I've dirtied your floor.' 'That's the least of our troubles.' He shoved back a hank of wet hair as she raised the beam. 'You'd better have a hot drink and a bath. You can sleep in my bed. I'll kip on the sofa.' 'I'm much smaller than you. You couldn't possibly sleep on the sofa.' She bent and pulled tiredly at the laces of her shoes. Her fingers were numb. 'I don't sleep much anyway.' Jas knelt on the floor and tugged off her shoes for her. 'Is that why you play your keyboard at night?' Jas was slipping his jacket off. Under it he wore jeans and a T-shirt. 'I'll get you a towel. Come into the kitchen.' In the big bare kitchen he hauled two towels out of the warming cupboard, handing one to her before lighting a kerosene lamp. He rubbed his face and hair with the other towel, then slung it round his neck. Blythe ducked her head and began rubbing her own hair. She felt warmer already. Jas had left the old wood range burning. 'I'll run a bath for you,' he said. 'That would be lovely,' she admitted, 'but I can't take your bed.' Although he argued, there was no gainsaying the fact that she would be far more comfortable on the sofa than he. In the end she had her way. Blythe woke to light and the subdued sound of birds. She opened her eyes and remembered with dismay where she was and why. The rain had stopped, but outside the window a tree shivered in the wind. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |