who,
overnight, had transformed my lonely world into a glitter
of snow and sunlight.
Then, 'Fuck!' Wagner came for Pryce.
Sophie had been watching, as disinterested as the
crows, crouching in the snow with her arms around the
old dog's neck; it seemed that she'd found a friend in
Wagner. Myopic, he'd sensed from her touch and her
voice that she was someone he would never dream of
biting. But as he watched the blur of snowballing and
fighting, and when he knew that his true friend, me, was
in battle with a tall dark figure he'd never liked and
indeed had learned to hate so many years ago, he
wrenched himself from the grasp of the girl and came
rollicking forwards, burly, black and all but blind.
The dog hit Pryce's shoulder with a breathtaking
shock. Wagner rolled him over, and he shoved his grey,
slobbering muzzle into his enemy's throat. For a mad
moment, Wagner had the young man pinned into the
snow. Only the scarf and the collar of Pryce's coat
prevented the dog's teeth from meeting bare flesh.
The teeth tore at the young man's ear. Pryce squealed,
'Fuck!' again as I manhandled the dog away.
Pryce sat up and squeezed the lobe of his ear. He said
the word once more when he saw blood on his fingers,
and he flicked a spatter of it into the snow. In the bright
sunlight the blood was black at first, then red, and almost
at once it fused into the ice, the loveliest pink. I hugged
the dog, who was panting so hard that his fat old body
was hot and huffing like a boiler. Sophie stared and
gaped, as if half-afraid, half-thrilled by the conflict, and
a funny, fake smile played on her face.
I tugged Wagner across the lawn, our feet crunching
where the snow was still perfectly unmarked. I spotted
something under the boughs of the copper beech, and
bent to pick up the frozen capsule of an owl's pellet:
sometime in the night, since the snow had stopped falling,
a tawny owl must have perched in the branches and
regurgitated this pellet of indigestible matter. I broke it
apart with numb, clumsy fingers, and found, among the
chitinous remains of many beetles, the skull and bones
and matted fur of a shrew that the owl had swallowed
whole. I glanced upwards to see where the owl had
gripped the tree with its talons, and I tried to imagine
how the bird had sat there, its feathers puffed out, its
swivelling head hunched into its shoulders, through the
cold, dark hours before dawn broke, while I'd been fast
asleep in bed. I saw also that Sophie had crossed towards
Pryce and knelt beside him.
The girl winced as Pryce took hold of her arm and
pulled her closer. 'You're hurting me,' she said. 'You hurt
me last night . . .'
He tried to kiss her, but she squirmed like a child and
averted her face, flicking his lips with her hair.
'Hey relax, Sophie,' he said, and he caressed her cheek
with the snowflakes on his fingers. 'No one knows we're
here. No one knows anything. Look, we're in the middle
of nowhere.' And he gestured around him, at the
encircling woodland and the tall, cold sky.
But the girl glanced over her shoulder towards the
house. There was a movement in one of the upstairs
windows. They both saw that Mrs Kemp was watching
them.
'Don't worry about her,' Pryce said. 'We'll do what we
came to do. There are a few loose ends I need to tie up,
then we'll get out of here. Trust me.'
He looked up again at Mrs Kemp.
'Revenge is a dish best served cold,' he muttered, 'and
it doesn't get much colder than this.' The woman
withdrew from the window.
He tried again to pull the girl close, and this time she
relented, quite wooden as he folded her into his arms. I
watched him closely, and the momentary joy I'd experienced
in the snowball fight dissolved into a shudder of
anxiety. I held my breath as they kissed, and, without
realising I was doing it, I clenched my fingers so tightly
that the skull of the shrew popped in my fist. For a
second, Pryce turned his eyes and stared at me.
Dusting the remains of the pellet into the snow, I led the
overnight, had transformed my lonely world into a glitter
of snow and sunlight.
Then, 'Fuck!' Wagner came for Pryce.
Sophie had been watching, as disinterested as the
crows, crouching in the snow with her arms around the
old dog's neck; it seemed that she'd found a friend in
Wagner. Myopic, he'd sensed from her touch and her
voice that she was someone he would never dream of
biting. But as he watched the blur of snowballing and
fighting, and when he knew that his true friend, me, was
in battle with a tall dark figure he'd never liked and
indeed had learned to hate so many years ago, he
wrenched himself from the grasp of the girl and came
rollicking forwards, burly, black and all but blind.
The dog hit Pryce's shoulder with a breathtaking
shock. Wagner rolled him over, and he shoved his grey,
slobbering muzzle into his enemy's throat. For a mad
moment, Wagner had the young man pinned into the
snow. Only the scarf and the collar of Pryce's coat
prevented the dog's teeth from meeting bare flesh.
The teeth tore at the young man's ear. Pryce squealed,
'Fuck!' again as I manhandled the dog away.
Pryce sat up and squeezed the lobe of his ear. He said
the word once more when he saw blood on his fingers,
and he flicked a spatter of it into the snow. In the bright
sunlight the blood was black at first, then red, and almost
at once it fused into the ice, the loveliest pink. I hugged
the dog, who was panting so hard that his fat old body
was hot and huffing like a boiler. Sophie stared and
gaped, as if half-afraid, half-thrilled by the conflict, and
a funny, fake smile played on her face.
I tugged Wagner across the lawn, our feet crunching
where the snow was still perfectly unmarked. I spotted
something under the boughs of the copper beech, and
bent to pick up the frozen capsule of an owl's pellet:
sometime in the night, since the snow had stopped falling,
a tawny owl must have perched in the branches and
regurgitated this pellet of indigestible matter. I broke it
apart with numb, clumsy fingers, and found, among the
chitinous remains of many beetles, the skull and bones
and matted fur of a shrew that the owl had swallowed
whole. I glanced upwards to see where the owl had
gripped the tree with its talons, and I tried to imagine
how the bird had sat there, its feathers puffed out, its
swivelling head hunched into its shoulders, through the
cold, dark hours before dawn broke, while I'd been fast
asleep in bed. I saw also that Sophie had crossed towards
Pryce and knelt beside him.
The girl winced as Pryce took hold of her arm and
pulled her closer. 'You're hurting me,' she said. 'You hurt
me last night . . .'
He tried to kiss her, but she squirmed like a child and
averted her face, flicking his lips with her hair.
'Hey relax, Sophie,' he said, and he caressed her cheek
with the snowflakes on his fingers. 'No one knows we're
here. No one knows anything. Look, we're in the middle
of nowhere.' And he gestured around him, at the
encircling woodland and the tall, cold sky.
But the girl glanced over her shoulder towards the
house. There was a movement in one of the upstairs
windows. They both saw that Mrs Kemp was watching
them.
'Don't worry about her,' Pryce said. 'We'll do what we
came to do. There are a few loose ends I need to tie up,
then we'll get out of here. Trust me.'
He looked up again at Mrs Kemp.
'Revenge is a dish best served cold,' he muttered, 'and
it doesn't get much colder than this.' The woman
withdrew from the window.
He tried again to pull the girl close, and this time she
relented, quite wooden as he folded her into his arms. I
watched him closely, and the momentary joy I'd experienced
in the snowball fight dissolved into a shudder of
anxiety. I held my breath as they kissed, and, without
realising I was doing it, I clenched my fingers so tightly
that the skull of the shrew popped in my fist. For a
second, Pryce turned his eyes and stared at me.
Dusting the remains of the pellet into the snow, I led the
Similar Books
