Writing for Fun
January 2017
Ice Cold - Jenni Bowers
Her body was ice cold, shivering she tried to light the gas fire but the switch just kept clicking with no resulting pilot light to be seen. Why had she expected the heating to work? Grandad had usually favoured his coal fire and thankfully she saw the scuttle was full – her eyes filled with tears, he’d been so independent, refusing to live in a home or to come live in London with them, he must have taken in the coal just before his heart attack, maybe lifting the can had finished him off – how awful that now it felt as if he’d expected her visit.
Taking an old woollen blanket from the bed and wrapping it round her, she switched on the kettle but nothing happened; flicking the light switch reality dawned – power cut! ‘Oh no – where’s the torch I wonder, before the light goes that will be my main concern, I need to ring someone to get the heating and electricity restored too,’ but when she picked up the phone it too was dead, no signal!
Heather wasn’t worried, but didn’t look forward to a cold dark night alone in the cottage where her granddad had died last month – the visit to her inheritance, was, she’d told Lenny, just to see what could be salvaged and what should go to the local tip before putting the place on the market. She’d envisaged a couple of days alone in the Dales, enjoying peace and quiet and thinking about her family, taking a few photos of the lovely area, once she’d decided on the staying and going list, before Lenny joined her with his van to start clearing the place out.
Now, she must do something to get warm and that heating on before nightfall, even the air looked frozen with dust particles shimmering in the hazy and snow was building up on the window ledges. The blizzard had been getting thicker just before she arrived and the lane was impassable now – her little Fiat was beginning to resemble a giant snowball.
I can’t even charge my mobile, I’ll have to walk to the phone box in the village about two miles away – better set off now – where’s the torch for coming back though? Searching the car boot was an effort but she’d found a broom to sweep some of the snow off and locating the object, slammed the boot shut and began to trudge down the lane after discarding the blanket and retrieving a hat and scarf from the kitchen door – who cares how I look, she thought – just need to keep warm, silly not to bring more winter stuff with her.
Reaching the red box she was dismayed to find it vandalised, the cord hanging with no handset attached and the windows smashed. ‘Ok it’ll have to be the pub then, that should be open it’s only just gone lunchtime closing.’ However, the Red Fox had closed down months before, business had slumped since the new supermarket in Harrogate began selling alcohol and people stayed away.
Heather stood there gazing at her Granddad’s favourite watering hole in dismay. ‘Now what?’ she began to panic. ‘I’ll have to knock the shopkeeper up although it’s early closing and see if I can use their phone.’ She felt so cold her hands were hurting and her nose felt as though it would fall off – frost bite – she thought. I must get in the warm soon.
Knocking at Rosemary Cottage she was overjoyed to see the light go on and gradually an elderly face appeared at the window, then the front door creaked open and there was Mrs Armitage, the kindly soul who’d been her grandad’s cleaner and friend for over forty years. ‘Come in come in my dear,’ she exclaimed, ‘it’s so cold today; what are you doing here?”
Heather explained her mission and was soon communicating with the electricity company who promised ‘a man will be out within 24 hours’.
Mrs Armitage poured her a welcome cup of strong sweet tea and had found a very old fashioned gabardine mackintosh to lend her – but, worried Heather was intending to return to the cottage in the gathering gloom outside, tried to persuade her to stay.
‘Thank you so much, but I am really ok about being in granddads cottage.’ She smiled as she donned the mac and began her return trip as the light failed with snow relentlessly covering everything. ‘Very pretty,’ she mumbled to herself, ‘but not fun today.’
Reaching the front door she fumbled in the dark for her key, luckily it was a large, heavy one and easily turned in the lock – but ‘hang on – what’s this?’ – she’d almost fallen over a large black lump in the porch – suddenly a yelp, then a bark and the lump transformed into a Labrador which stood in the doorway growling.
Heather recoiled in fright, she had to get into the cottage but the dog was barring her way with teeth bared. ‘I’m so tired now this is all I need – think!’
Memory prodded, ‘I wonder if this is Buster, the dog granddad used to feed now and then.’ She whispered the word and the growls became grunts as the dog extended his nose, sniffed Heather’s hand and began to lick the wet glove.
Gradually she pushed past the animal and called him into the cottage. ‘At least I’ll feel safer with you here she whispered – wonder where your food is though – did granddad buy it especially each time you came to call?’
The torch began to flicker so hastily she put out the candles Mrs Armitage had given her and lit them all – remembering to lock the front door too. Next she hunted for the dog food and located a couple of cans of chum under the kitchen sink – emptying one into an old enamel bowl she found on the draining board she offered it to Buster who greedily scoffed the lot and looked for more.
‘No way, you can wait for the next one – let me light the fire.’ She lit the newspaper knots and firewood in the grate. ‘Now to copy the oldies, as I used to watch them getting the fire going,’ so holding a large sheet of paper up she began to ‘draw’ the fire. Within ten minutes it was going well and she began to put coal slowly on to it.
Once the cottage felt warm, she ate the sandwiches she’d brought with her, made a mug of cocoa and lay on the lumpy old sofa with a blanket covering her, Buster at her side on the floor snoozing. She soon fell asleep but woke with a start. ‘What was that? I thought I heard the door open!’ ‘Who is it?’ she stuttered reaching out to the dog – he was no longer in the room. With a sigh of relief she realised he must have knocked against a door on his way around the cottage – rising and looking at her watch she was shocked to see she’d slept for three hours with all the candles burning, some were now sputtering out and it felt very dark and eerie. ‘Why am I scared?’ she thought, ‘I’m a policewoman, I can handle anything with my judo and karate training,’ but still she shivered and not from the ice cold air this time.