Free A Cold Season by Alison Littlewood

top, twisting it. A dark stain was splashed onto the fabric. It had crusted over, a deep rust-brown. ‘What’s that?’
    Ben pulled away. ‘Ribena,’ he said. ‘Have we got any Ribena, Mum? Damon’s mum has. She’s got everything.’
    ‘Has she?’ Cass muttered, but Ben didn’t hear, he had already dropped to the floor, the controls ready in his hand, and started up a new game.
    Ben slept peacefully that night. Cass knew this because she kept waking in the dark, wondering where she was, feeling uncomfortable and unsettled. She imagined Ben the same way, hot and feverish, but when she went in she found him lying on his back, resting his head on onehand, his face tilted to one side. The nightlight illuminated the pale curve of his cheek. He breathed steadily, as a sleeping child should.
    Cass stood over him for a while, not wanting to go back to bed. She knew she had been dreaming, and though she couldn’t recall any of the details, the feeling of it stayed with her.
    Eventually Ben sighed and turned over, and Cass tiptoed from the room. She lay awake a long time, and then, as though on cue, as she began to close her eyes the scratching in the walls began.
    When the dream came, Cass sensed someone leaning over her. She couldn’t see a face, but she knew the tall, broad figure, the black folds that fell from it. She could feel the way he looked at her.
    Her father leaned in closer, hair gleaming as candle-light shone through it. He held something out, a small white disc.
    Cass opened her mouth, and he placed it on her tongue. It was dry and papery and tasted of nothing. ‘This is love,’ he said, and Cass woke again, cold to the bone, sitting up and staring into the dark.

TEN
    The world was hidden by a mist that drifted in sheets across the hillside, masking everything, turning the trees into veiled figures with their arms outstretched. Cass stood at the window, drinking coffee that failed to clear her head.
    Ben munched on Weetabix from his football bowl, stuffing in great mouthfuls and swallowing as quickly as he could. He poured more milk with one hand, still scooping up spoonfuls with the other. He saw her watching. ‘We’re playing football in the gym today,’ he said. ‘Damon’s going to show me how to do keepie-uppie on my neck.’
    Cass stirred. Her neck was stiff, her limbs sluggish. When she’d looked in the mirror there were dark circles under her eyes. She’d spent half the night thinking about Ben, and now she was awake it was her client she was worried about, pacing up and down his office, waiting for his missing files.
    ‘Come on, Mum.’ Ben’s spoon clattered into the bowl, scattering droplets of milk. ‘Have you got my kit?’
    Cass checked the clock, swore under her breath and gathered it together, grabbed his bag and lunch and the keys. They pulled on their coats as they went down the stairs. Last night’s lockout already felt unreal, like something she’d dreamed.
    They waded through the snow, which squeaked under their boots. The lane was solid white, the top layer hardened like pastry crust. Ben picked some up, karate-chopping it into pieces.
    ‘Hurry up, Ben,’ she called.
    He jumped up and ran ahead, waving his arms, and Cass saw Bert standing at the top of the hill, a now-familiar figure. Captain was, as usual, at his master’s side, chest heaving between squat wide-set legs, breath puffing out rhythmic plumes.
    Cass waved and hurried on, but she wasn’t as quick as Ben, who ran straight for the dog, arm outstretched to stroke Captain’s black muzzle.
    Cass was still yards away when she heard Captain’s jaws snap together. She blinked. Everything was still, so that she thought she must have imagined it: the lunge forward, the heavy chest straining, the neck stretching forward as grizzled lips drew back over old yellowed teeth.
    Then everything started to move: Ben pulling his arm away, cradling it in the other, shrieking; Bert holding Captain back; Cass calling her