Cold With The Night

The moon hung high above the dam, glowing with a brightness that Harriet had only ever seen once before. This she took as the first sign, rather than the second. The true first sign had so far gone uncontemplated, and now sat amongst the clutter of letters and utensils on her kitchen bench.

Harriet squatted in front of the oven, feeling the gentle warmth that radiated off it as she peered at the casserole baking within, wishing she could already hurry this evening to a close.

“Thank you again, Ma, for having us all over.”

Harriet nodded, her lips pursed.

Her son tried again. “I know things between us are not always easy, even these days. It means so much to me that we’re having this dinner.”

“He’s been so looking forward to it.” Katie stood in the doorway beside Lucas, smiling earnestly. “He’s been talking about it all week.”

“What can I say?” Lucas squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “Katie insisted on it. Besides, I’ve missed Ma, it’s as simple as that.”

Katie beamed. “It’s so nice to see how you two have been patching things over these last few years.”

“I regret that we ever had to be apart,” Lucas said, looking at Harriet with a gaze she could not quite read.

Katie looked between Lucas and Harriet, misinterpreting the look they shared, and said, “I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

When Katie had disappeared into the dining room, Lucas sighed. “You could at least make an effort.”

Harriet opened the oven door, prodding at the casserole with a spatula. “I am, dear. I’ve made your favourite for dinner, and—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Lucas interrupted coldly. “I know you don’t want us here.”

Harriet frowned, taken aback by his sudden change of tone. “I do, I am so glad you’re all here. Your father would have loved his family being back together again.”

Lucas’s jaw clenched. “It’s been forty years, woman. You need to get over it. I never even met the guy.”

At this, Harriet’s hand slipped and the oven door slammed shut. She stood up as quickly as her seventy-year-old knees would allow. She turned back to the range and stirred the bubbling pot of carrots, trying to pretend he hadn’t spoken to her like that. She wanted to believe he was truly the changed man he told her he was. But lately he’d been slipping, just every now and then, and now—

“What’s this?”

Harriet glanced over her shoulder at her son, who had picked up a small package from the bench and was turning it over in his hand as if trying to determine its contents.

“I found it this morning,” she said, “on the doorstep. Never mind it, it’s probably nothing.”

Lucas held it up to his eye, squinting at the brown paper wrapping. “Perhaps it’s for me. It is my birthday, after all. And anyway, who’d be interested in sending anything to you?”

Harriet snatched the package back and stuffed it into her pocket. It was no bigger than a matchbox but it had weight, like someone had filled it with stones. “It isn’t yours.”

Lightning fast, Lucas’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. His fingers gripped her too tightly, nails digging half-moons into her wrinkled skin.

“Careful, Ma, that’s not nice. You’re the doting mother, remember. Katie and Lachlan are so pleased that you and I have got back in contact, and I wouldn’t want them getting the wrong impression of you. Besides,” he nodded towards the package in her pocket, his voice taking on mock-concern, “you have no idea what’s in that. It might be dangerous, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to dear old Ma. What would Pa say if he were here?”

“You said it yourself, Lucas; you never even met the guy,” Harriet hissed quietly, trying to wrench her wrist free. “He wouldn’t even know you. And seeing how you are — how you still are — I don’t think he’d want to.”

Lucas’s mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, cold eyes clouding with anger, but a voice from the dining room interrupted them.

“I hope you’re not in there eating it all without us, Luke!”

Harriet saw Lucas’s lip twitch and, without letting go of her or turning away, he called back lightly, “Of course not, sweetie. I’ll leave that to Lachlan — you can’t underestimate the appetite of an eighteen-year-old.”

There was laughter from the other room.

He blinked slowly down at Harriet. “Speaking of my father; I saw you’ve still got that statue of him in the garden. Do you still talk to it like you did when I was little?”

Any brief impression of remaining filial concern that Harriet might have taken from his words was quickly dissolved with his next comment.

“Just as batty as you’ve always been.” He grinned unpleasantly. “It won’t bring him back, you know.”

Lucas dropped Harriet’s wrist and he turned abruptly, moving out to his wife and son in the dining room.

Harriet rested against the kitchen bench, breathing heavily and clutching a hand to her chest. He hadn’t changed, then, no matter what he tried to tell her. He was still the same selfish, callous boy that she had driven from this house when he was sixteen. The same boy who had pitted his friends against each other, set fire to her garden and, no matter what he or anybody else tried to tell her, the same boy who had most definitely drowned their greyhound in the dam. He was not what she had been promised. He was rotten.

***

As dinner crept towards dessert, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours, at least to Harriet. She should never have agreed to have them over, have him over.

“The big four-oh,” Katie was saying, spearing some carrot with her fork. “Who’d have thought you’d be reunited with your Ma for it? And don’t think we’ve forgotten your present.”

Lucas chuckled. “I’m forty, sweetie, not four.”

“It makes no difference,” Katie grinned broadly. She pulled a box from her handbag and handed it to him. “From all of us.”

Lucas pushed aside his empty plate and opened the box, taking out a chunky watch from within. He fastened it to his wrist, the silver-and-gold band shining in the dining room light.

“You guys,” he said, looking around at his family, “this is too much. Thank you.”

He seemed genuine, Harriet thought. But then, so would any good liar.

Katie sighed and beamed at her husband. “I’m just so happy we’re all here.”

“You’d better get used to it, Katie,” Lucas smiled lazily. “Ma told me tonight that she’s giving us the house.”

Harriet stared at her son, wineglass paused halfway to her mouth.

“That’s right,” Lucas looked directly at Harriet while he spoke. “Ma’s told me she isn’t managing the place anymore. She’s going to move someplace smaller, and she wants us to move in instead.”

Harriet placed a hand to her temple, the table swimming in from of her. She stood suddenly, her joints cracking with the movement.

“I—” she stammered, “I need some air. I’ll just be a moment.”

Harriet tore out of the house into the garden, ignoring the calls of concern that trailed after her. She walked quickly across the damp grass, the icy night air turning her shallow puffs into dragon’s breath. Her old feet found the statue with ease, navigating the same path through the ferns and flowerbeds that they had taken so many times before.

He stood silently at the end of the garden, cold with the night.

Harriet reached a hand up to his smooth stone face, shivering. “This time, love, please.”

The statue was an exact likeness of her late husband. She knew each and every contour, memorised over all these years, from the ear that had broken off in a storm to the shallow gouge that ran down his thigh where she had knocked him with a rake. She pressed a balled fist to his stone chest in desperation.

“Please, love,” she moaned. “Please.” It had never worked before now, but that didn’t stop her trying.

“That’s the first thing I’m going to get rid of when I move in,” Lucas’s voice came from the darkness behind her.

Harriet whipped around, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

“Why did you say that?” She gritted teeth. “You know I’m not moving any time soon and even if I was, I would never give this place to you.”

Lucas stepped close to her, leaning forward and whispering in her ear, “Oh no? And who’s going to stop me? You?”

Harriet let out a cry of frustration and darted away from him, as well as her old body would allow, taking off around the side of the house.

She did not stop walking until she arrived at the shore of the enormous dam, wheezing heavily. Wide, flat, and surrounded by trees, it was beautiful in daylight and was what had first drawn her and George to the house. But by night its waters were ice-cold and dangerous, and the trees around it were an eerie wall of blackness, even in the bright moonlight.

Her eyes swept across the rippling, black waters, darting up to the trees and back, not knowing where to look but knowing that tonight, after all this time, it would work. The moon was as bright as it had been that night forty years ago, so dazzling it dimmed the starlight.

She drew a deep breath in and yelled out into the darkness. “This isn’t fair! This isn’t what we wanted. I take it back, the deal is off!”

She stood for several moments with only the sound of her ragged breathing coming back to her. And then, from somewhere across the lake came the voice she had not heard for forty years.

I gave you what you asked for.

Harriet shook her head. “You tricked us. You took him from me.”

I gave you a child, as you both wanted.

“But you didn’t say it would cost me him.”

You did not ask the price.

“We were desperate,” Harriet called wretchedly. “You tricked us. If we had known what he would be like, we— the son you gave us is nothing like we wanted. I want my husband back, do you hear me? I want him back.”

There was a long silence, and then:

You know the cost now.

Harriet, chest still heaving, nodded. “I know.”

There was another silence.

You already have what you need.

Harriet frowned. “What does that mean?” she called.

No gift is given without cause.

“What does that mean? How am I supposed to—” Harriet stopped, her eyes wide. With a shaking hand, she reached into her pocket and drew the small package from within. Of course.

The ground flew beneath her as she ran back to the garden, her limbs feeling lighter and more spry than they had in years, and then she was at his side again. Lucas was not there, thank goodness — she could hear his cold laughter coming from the dining room.

Her fingers trembled as she unknotted the string that secured the brown paper. Within seconds, a plain cardboard box sat on her palm. She eased off its lid, unsurprised to see what lay beneath.

The old stone ear was warm against her hand, and fitted perfectly on the side of the statue’s head. It was almost strange to see him so symmetrical after all these years.

As she placed her hand against George’s chest, there was a scream from the house behind, followed by a heavy thump.

Harriet smiled as her fingers felt a heartbeat, as strong and even as the day it had vanished, and she looked up into the twinkling eyes of the man she loved.