THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END

there a bond between us?’
    ‘I think so, don’t you?’
    Judy moves her legs, trying not to touch Cathbad. The trouble is, the room’s too small. It’s getting smaller by the second.
    ‘Do you want to go to sleep?’ asks Cathbad.
    It’s as if he’s asking a different question altogether. Judy struggles with her answer.
    ‘Yes,’ she says at last.
    Much later, Judy wakes from a confused dream about ice floes, hooded figures, sacred fires. Groping on the floor, she finds her watch. Five o’clock in the morning.
    The landing is silent. No sound from Clara downstairs. Suddenly a soft footfall makes her jump and something rubs against her legs. She stifles a scream and, looking down, meets luminous green eyes. Jesus, she’d forgotten Ruth had a cat. Shakily she strokes Flint’s gently butting head. Where has he been hiding all this time?
    In the bedroom, Kate is still sleeping, making little snuffling noises. Cathbad is lying across the double bed. Asleep he looks much younger.
    ‘Cathbad?’
    He is awake in an instant.
    ‘You’ve shaved off your beard.’
    Cathbad reaches for her, pulling her down on the bed next to him. He is strong, much stronger than he looks. He smells of wood smoke and expensive soap.
    ‘We can’t,’ says Judy. ‘I’m getting married in two weeks.’
    ‘It was meant to be,’ says Cathbad, kissing her neck.
    I don’t believe in any of that, Judy wants to say. I’m a rationalist, a policewoman and I’ve only ever slept with one man. But, instead, she is kissing him back, greedily, urgently, moving her body against his.

CHAPTER 25
     
    It is nearly nine o’clock when Ruth wakes up. The curtains are open and the room is full of light. There’s no sign of Nelson. She goes to the window, wearing the duvet over her shoulders. Outside the sky is bright blue and the snow blindingly white. There are no footsteps on the path down to the beach, where the sea is breaking gently against the frosted pebbles. Still draped in the duvet, Ruth pads into the bathroom. From the bathroom window, which faces the side of the house, she sees Nelson, in his shirtsleeves, clearing the snow from around his car. She watches him dreamily, not thinking of anything very much. He is working hard, his breath billowing around him, but he’s doing it all wrong, bending his back rather than his knees. Ruth noticed this once before. When was it?
    How could she have gone to bed with him again? After trying so hard to keep her distance, to be independent, not to jeopardise his marriage. Perhaps she’s pregnant. Maybe they’ll continue to have sex once a year and, in a few years’ time, they’ll have a family of five. Don’t be silly, she tellsherself. It’s highly unlikely that she’s pregnant again and last night was a one off.
Another
one off. It was the snow, the house, the relief of discovering that Kate was all right. A combination of circumstances that will never occur again. Ruth is free to get on with her life. She leans against the window, her breath misting the glass.
    As she watches, another figure comes out of the house. Jack Hastings. He is warmly dressed in a heavy coat and peaked cap with the inevitable dogs running around him. He says something to Nelson and Nelson laughs, the sound echoing up to Ruth’s turret window. She retreats. She doesn’t want them seeing her there, like some overweight Lady of Shalott. Time to get on with things.
    She rings Judy. There’s a long wait before she answers and Judy sounds distinctly odd, flustered, unlike herself. Is Kate all right, Ruth asks anxiously. Yes fine, says Judy, Cathbad’s giving her some breakfast now. Is Cathbad still there then? Yes, the snow’s still pretty bad on the Saltmarsh. What’s Clara doing? She’s making some tea. Please stay with Kate until I get there, says Ruth. I’ll be as quick as I can.
    She showers standing up in the bath, washing her hair with some violently scented gel. It’s horrible, putting on the same clothes from last night. What was it that Nelson had said to her? ‘I can’t get you out of my head, Ruth. I try but you’re there all the time.’ She doesn’t know how she feels about Nelson; it’s all so complicated, so angst-ridden. But she knows one thing: when he said those words, a shock of pure pleasure had run through her. Nelson doesn’t love her, she knows that, but at least he can’t forget her. That’s something.
    Breakfast is awkward. Nelson doesn’t meet her eye. Stella cooks them