A Summer With Snow (Frosted Seasons #1) (2 page)

He doesn’t offer any words, but simply hitches up his trousers and crouches down at my side. Leaning into me, he wraps his muscular arms around my body, which crumples; he is strong, and I’m hardly able to breathe. The rough stubble on his cheeks cuts into the softness of mine; I inhale the manly scent that runs so fragrantly across his skin. I’ve waited for this moment for so long, always hoping he would come back, but he never did.

“Missed you, kidda.”

His voice is far deeper than I recall; it has lost its softness and now has a gravelly edge. His words grate on me as they trickle into my ear. I roll my eyes. Do I look like a kid? I have breasts and wear make-up … can’t he see? His arms tighten and I’m almost folded in two, my chin forced to rest upon his shoulder.

“I’m not a kid any more,” I utter, pushing my breasts forwards, hoping he will notice me.

He pulls back slightly.
God, what am I doing?
I stare into the fullness of his face. Every feature sits in just the right place. His jawline is strong, his cheekbones are pronounced and high, and I can’t help but admire the sun-kissed glow of his skin. His smouldering brown eyes seem to speak to me without him having to utter a word.
Were his eyes always this dark?
I wonder. He blinks, and I look down, embarrassed.

“You never came back, Snow. Mum and Dad thought the world of you…”

“Darcy…”

My heart is pounding. His address of me has a nice ring to it. He reaches across to take my hand; how smooth his skin is against mine, the way I imagine a hand to be that’s never done a day’s work. It’s all come so easy to him. I pull away before our fingers have a chance to link. He comes back after all this time and thinks everything is okay. For a split second I almost hate him. As I jump up, the stool teeters on its back legs and crashes to the floor. I turn away from him and stare out of the window into the beautiful green garden below.

“It’s taken today, Mum and Dad’s funeral, to get you here. Like the prodigal son you return.”

Though my words are terse, I weaken in his presence and my expression softens. I know my face gives away my true feelings, but I can’t let him see … I can’t look at him.

I flinch as his hand snakes its way around my waist. An intense heat bubbles inside me, rushing to my head. I close my eyes and lean back into his chest, but only for a second, and then my senses return.

“Get off me!” I blurt out.

Turning round to face him, I gaze up into his eyes, but despite their smouldering brown, they have lost their appeal.

“Whoa, sis,” he says, and backs off, lifting his hands up to the air. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of you guys.”

“You could have fooled me!” I spit out with what I think is conviction, but my voice cracks, not allowing me to hide my true feelings from this man.

I’m beyond annoyed with him, his address so impersonal it’s like we’re strangers. I shake my head and open my mouth to continue.

“The cars have arrived,” a croaky voice calls out.

Interrupted, I spin round to be met by my mum’s sister, Aunty Dot. Her head peers around the door and the floorboards creak beneath her black court shoes as she steps inside the bedroom to join us.

“And who have we here?” she asks in an unusually high-pitched tone.

“Snow,” he announces.

I see her small eyes widen, though I’m not surprised; she has always made a fuss of Snow. That summer of 2005 there were always mint chocolates and barley sugar tucked away in her handbag for him. I always complained to Mum that he was Aunty Dot’s favourite, though maybe for good reason, for each Saturday and Sunday as I lay in bed, he was up early tending to her allotment. Aunty Dot never knew Snow hadn’t got a sweet tooth, and when she wasn’t around he would sneak into my bedroom and give the chocolate to me, making me promise to hide the wrappers.

Though her bright face looks drawn, through the many creases in her cheeks she manages a weak smile.
Quite the doting nephew
, I think to myself as he walks into her open arms. The dress she wears is black velvet and hangs just below her knees. She has fat calves and ankles, and as I look down at her black shoes, I can only imagine the struggle she must have had getting them on. I snigger, though cough in an attempt to hide it, raising my eyes to where she holds a wide-brimmed hat that rests on the back of Snow’s shirt. The hug he gives her in return seems hypocritical, and I look away. On my returning glance, I see she has placed the cumbersome hat back on her head.
Quite a quirky old dear
, I can’t help but think.

I see Snow’s dark eyebrows raise and his chocolate-brown eyes widen.

“Darcy,” he mutters, holding his arm out towards me.

My heart almost gallops in my chest, but feels broken; I miss Mum and Dad so much. Snow turns up unannounced, and I can’t put into words the ambiguity of all my pent-up emotions. I see Aunty Dot’s eyes follow his hand as it awaits mine. I roll my eyes to make a point, making sure he sees, and then loosely slip my hand into his open palm. A surge of electricity shoots through my body, and I tremble as his fingers tighten.

Following Aunty Dot, he leads me out of the bedroom and side by side we walk down the narrow staircase. It feels like eyes are following us from the many family portraits and pictures that hang on the walls as we pass. Within seconds I can feel the skin of my hands become damp and clammy. Snow gazes down at me, his full lips creasing into a smile, and for that split second I’m taken back to when he’s that seventeen-year-old boy and I’m that twelve-year-old girl with the childish crush.

Leaving the house, I turn briefly and gaze up at Mum and Dad’s bedroom window. The breeze is warm and soft as it kisses my cheeks, as though it’s her touch, her way of telling me everything will be okay. I blink back my tears at the thought. I see a group of people gathered outside the house: my sister, her kids, our neighbours Dennis and Ivy, and lots of faces I don’t recognise; the only thing they have in common is that they’re all dressed in black. Snow pulls me forwards and my body stiffens.
No, this can’t be…
I can feel myself shaking my head in denial.
They were too young to die; I’m not ready to say goodbye to them
. I pull my hand from his.

“Snow, get off me.”

But his grip only tightens. Whenever I am upset, my way of coping is to run away; it’s as if I believe that if I don’t face it, it hasn’t happened, and if it hasn’t happened it can’t hurt me.

“Darcy, there are just some things you can’t run away from.”

“Why, Snow, why? Why can’t I run away? What’s keeping me here? I’ve lost Mum and Dad, and now I’m losing the house; in a few days the For Sale sign will be up, then what? When that goes I’ve lost everything… So tell me, what’s the point of anything any more? I’ll be the orphan I used to be.”

He releases my hand and my arm falls free at my side. I sigh deeply and like a feral cat my eyes roam, looking anywhere to escape this situation. I hear the constant hum of engines, and out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of jet-black hearses approaching. I gasp and cover my mouth with my hand when I see the coffins. My legs buckle beneath me and I cry out. Snow’s arms are already there, comforting me as he pulls me into him. I never knew it was possible to feel one’s own heart shatter, and I lean against Snow’s chest and sob what seem like endless tears into his white cotton shirt. For a split second the warmth of his body seems able to shield me from reality. I feel my feet move as he walks me towards our black Daimler.

I peek from the confines of Snow’s chest. A sombre-faced man in a black suit and white shirt opens the car door. Aunty Dot has to remove her large-brimmed hat to get in. Normally this is something I would snigger at, but not today. The next few moments are a blur; I can feel the soft purr of the engine vibrating beneath me and hear Aunty Dot reminiscing. Though for me it’s all too much. I sit quietly, tears distorting my view as I stare out of the tinted window. I see the church getting closer, feel the car slow down.
This is it
. I close my eyes and Snow takes my arm.

I
t’s been a long day, an awful day; my head hurts and my heart aches. Politely I offer my goodbyes and thank everyone for turning up at the wake.
Forty-seven, forty-eight…
I count in my head and watch as they take their coats from the wall hooks in the hall and leave through the front door, then close it for the final time. I sigh and lean back against the cold glass.

I look across the hallway through the double doors and into the lounge; the coffee table is still covered with food and the red wine has left its mark, bleeding onto the white napkins. Black bin bags are tied at the top and have been left on chairs, thanks to Aunty Dot, whose favourite pastime seems to be bustling round tiding up after everyone.

My eyes fall on Snow, who is sitting on the carpet, leaning back against the settee. It seems the funeral got to him more than I thought it would; he had hardly said a word to anyone all day, and didn’t even strike up a conversation with Aunty Dot. I stand silently and watch him. He has a light-green tennis ball clutched in his hand, which he is throwing against the wall in front of him. I watch it bounce back and forth. I’m not sure if he senses my presence, but he looks up at me. His white shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, and as I move closer I see a smudge of mascara down its front and a spot of red wine that has split on his collar.

“You joining me, Darc…?” His words are slurred and spoken overly loud.

Hooper is sprawled out on the cushion directly behind Snow’s head, his black button nose teasing his dark gelled hair. I can’t help but smile as I sit at Snow’s side. I lift an empty wine glass from the carpet, steadying my hand as Snow fills it to the brim.

“The dog hasn’t changed, still showing no interest,” he says. “Look…”

Again he throws the ball at the wall and on its return opens his hand to catch it.

“Six bloody weeks, the whole fucking summer we tried to teach Hooper fetch, and ten years on, look at him, still useless.”

We laugh. Sitting by his side, it’s as though he’s never been away. I turn my head to look into his eyes. I feel able to look at him now and my heart doesn’t beat quite so fast. I pluck up the courage to say what I’ve wanted to say to him all day.

“Mum and Dad waited, I waited. Why didn’t you come back? Didn’t the years they brought you up mean anything?”

His face doesn’t soften and he shows no emotion.

“I had my reasons…” he says, flicking dark strands of hair behind his ear.

“Care to enlighten me?” I add.

He shuffles forwards. I’ve lost his eyes and am now looking at the back of his head. “They weren’t my parents, Darc. I was fostered, not adopted like you.”

I grab his shoulder.

“It’s a bloody word, a meaningless word; they loved you like a son. Mum wrote to you every week.” I smile, remembering. “I watched her tear the letter she’d written from its pad, fold it neatly and place it in an envelope. Then she’d take my hand and we’d make the 15-minute walk we took every Friday to the post box.”

I feel him flinch as I press my fingers deeper into his bicep.

“It wasn’t just letters, Snow, she sent you photos, photos of us, at Christmas, on birthdays, pictures of Hooper and me growing up. We thought you cared… Why bother to come back now? Why bother to come back at all? It’s too late, they’re dead and buried.”

His head tilts my way.

“I had no choice, I had to come back.”

“So it wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart then?” I snap.

“I loved you all,” he tells me, though there is no empathy in his voice. “I sent blank cheques monthly, but not one was cashed.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” My voice breaks. “It was you we wanted, not your damn money.”

Snow looks away and throws the ball again, which spins up from the wall. As he lifts his hand to catch it, I reach in front, grabbing it before he has the chance.

“Damn it, Snow, you don’t listen!” I yell, launching the ball with speed.

Hooper’s bark makes us both jump, and my wine spills onto the carpet. He bounds off the settee, pushing between us as the ball ricochets off the TV stand at the far end of the room. Hooper leaps into the air. My mouth drops open as he catches the tennis ball perfectly between his teeth. Tail wagging, he trots over to Snow and drops the ball at his side. He pants, looking like he’s grinning at us. Did he know what to do all along, and was just waiting for the right moment?

“Way to go, boy!” Snow ruffles the long fur on the side of Hooper’s face with both hands.

Snow’s praise brings with it my tears. As he turns his head towards me, I lift my arm and dip my face into it.

“Darc…” he mutters, taking my shoulder and squeezing it softly between his fingers.

I jerk away.

“You just don’t fucking get it.” I bite down on my bottom lip. I very rarely swear, but in the short time Snow has been home, I feel he brings out the worst in me.

“Get what?” His face scrunches and he sits up on his knees, staring directly into my eyes.

My stomach is in knots. I can’t hold back any longer, he needs to know.

“I love you, damn it!” I cry out. “I’ve always loved you. I’ve waited all these years to tell you, for you to come back, and now that you have…” I shake my head. “I don’t know … it’s just not what my dreams let me see. You’re not the person I thought you were. You’re not what I imagined you to be.”

He frowns. “For fuck’s sake, Darc, this is madness! You’re my sister!”

The creases in his brows relax; I see his eyes drop and watch as they wander over me. This isn’t the way a brother looks at his sister.

His eyes flash back to meet mine.

“You were a kid when I left.”

“I wasn’t a kid,” I hiss, “I was nearly thirteen years old, and you can get it out of your head that I’m your sister, ‘cause I’m not. You were fostered, I was adopted, there aren’t any blood ties. We spent six weeks together, one long summer, which I’ve never been able to forget.”

Tears spill more freely onto my cheeks, but I don’t want him to see me cry, to see my tears, so I bow my head further, burying my face into the palms of my hands in an attempt to muffle my sobs.