In The Grip Of Old Winter Read Online Free PDF

you talking in
your sleep. Was it a bad dream?”
    Peter held her tight, for
Leonor had vanished.
     
    ***
     
    Peter remembered holding mum
and she must have stayed with him until he fell asleep, for when he awoke, grey
daylight revealed, on the other side of the room, the large wardrobe and the
chest of drawers. The drawn curtains made the light around the window glow much
brighter. The wick on the candle had burned out. He checked his digital watch
and it flashed seven forty-five.
    He pushed back the blankets, ran
to the window and swept the curtains aside. Still snowing! The mound on the
sill now reached up to his chest. Nothing stirred on the white landscape, no
mark from an animal or a bird ruffled the snow’s surface.
    Imagine if I was the only
person alive and this was the first day of a new world.
    The thought buzzed with
excitement in his head and its pleasure increased, because not being alone in
the old house made it feel safe.
    He dressed fast to keep warm
and as he pulled on his sweater, he thought of Leonor. Strange, daylight made
it difficult to remember. She said odd things, but thinking about what she was
made his heart pump. He didn’t know if he believed in ghosts, but if she was
one she didn’t behave as he’d imagined. Ghosts on television always went
‘whoooo’ and scared everyone on purpose. They didn’t talk like normal people;
they didn’t ask to be helped. Ghosts didn’t need help, they just haunted, so
why was Leonor different? He didn’t want to tell mum, because this secret was
his and he wanted to know more.
    The wooden staircase creaked
as he went downstairs and halfway down, he looked up. The bannisters crossed
and re-crossed above him and the empty space between them stretched high into
the shadows. There must be so many rooms in this old house and the thought of
their emptiness made him shiver, though it might be exciting to explore and
discover what was in them. Was Leonor in one of them now, looking out of the
window? Or perhaps in the small house above the battlements? He’d already seen
her once in daylight, something else that was different about her, for on
television ghosts only haunted at night.
    In the kitchen, grandma
hugged him. “There you are, my love, did you sleep well?” She wore an apron
covered in bright flowers and, like yesterday, she smelled of flowers too. On
the AGA, frying pans sizzled and saucepans bubbled and the smell of crispy
bacon and hot toast made his mouth water.
    “Yes, thank you.” It wasn’t a
bad lie, just an easy reply to a difficult question.
    Mum and dad sat at the
kitchen table and he pulled up a chair to sit between them.
    Dad thumbed through the pages
on his mobile. “Hopeless. Dead as a dodo.”
    Mum sighed. “Try outside.”
    Dad dropped the mobile onto
the table where it landed with a clatter. “Later.”
    Grandma lifted bacon from the
pan and arranged the rashers on to three plates. “Granddad’s clearing the path.
I hope he’s not overdoing it. It’s so difficult with the phone out. I suppose
we could walk down to Farmer Brunt and ask him to bring his tractor, but he’ll
be snowed in too.”
    Mum stood up to help. “I’m
sure Richard will lend granddad a hand. Why doesn’t he wait until after
breakfast? We can all help. You’d like that wouldn’t you, Peter?”
    Grandma lifted the lid off
the poacher. “I must get the fires going in the bedrooms. Almina can’t stand
being cold.”
    Mum opened a drawer and
picked out a small knife. “It’ll be exciting having a Christmas like the old
days.”
    Grandma slid a saucepan off
the hob. “Would you like some mushrooms, Peter?”
    “Yes please.”
    She scattered several onto
each plate. “It’s been years since the weather’s been so bad.”
    Mum eased an egg from the
poacher with the small knife. “I’ll just give Richard one. The doctor says he
has to watch his cholesterol.”
    Dad groaned.
    “Oh shame,” said grandma.
“It’s Christmas. Let him have two, as