In The Grip Of Old Winter by Jonathan Broughton Page B

and on
this land and not all of them are forgotten. Some stay, for reasons dear to
them and passing time is of no consequence. Sometimes, when the cold bites, old
and new times mix.”
    “Like - Leonor?” asked Peter.
    “Is that the child’s name?”
    “She was in my bedroom last
night. She wants me to help her, but I don’t know how. And I saw her in - that
other time. She was real then, not a - not a ghost.” He glanced at the disc.
“Perhaps she wants this.”
    “She spoke to you?”
    “Not in that other time. I
hid, because there was an archer. He shot an outlaw - but he missed - though he
didn’t mean to hit him.” Peter pointed into the trees. “Let me show you the
branch. You touch it and everything changes.”
    Granddad raised his hand.
“No, I will not meddle in these events. They are not for me. I have enough to
think about already.” He leaned close. “You though have experienced much. There
is meaning in that. Something needs doing.”
    From the house came a distant
call.
    Granddad stood straight.
“There’s grandma. Fancy a hot drink and a sausage roll?”
    The carrier appeared in
this time? Did he appear as a ghost
too, like Leonor last night? Peter thrust the disc into his pocket. “Yes,
please. The old time moves much faster. I’m starving.”
     
    ***
     
    Aunt Almina sat at the head
of the kitchen table and watched grandma and mum as they fetched plates and
cups, waited for the kettle to boil and checked the AGA. Dad sat at the other
end and studied his mobile.
    “Ah.” Almina beamed when she
saw Peter and granddad. “Bonjour, mon amours, bonjour! How’s the path-clearing
progressing? I was watching you from my window.”
    In daylight, Almina’s make-up
reminded Peter of an old painted doll he’d seen once on TV in an episode of the
Antiques Roadshow. That face too shone with bright colours, too bright and
heavy in daylight. A long coat, brown and silver, like animal fur, draped from
her shoulders.
    Granddad grunted. “Almost
there.” He poured warm water from a jug into a bowl and rinsed his hands and
Peter rinsed his too.
    “It’s like the Forth Bridge,”
Almina laughed. “You finish one end and then have to start back at the
beginning again.”
    Dad muttered. “They’ve found
a new paint. They don’t do that anymore.”
    Granddad sat down at the
table. “Well, I’m hoping the snow won’t last for ever. I like to keep the path
clear to the track in case we need it.” Peter sat beside him.
    Almina nodded. “Very wise. I
hate the thought of being trapped in this cold old house. The last time I was
as cold as this was touring Hamlet in Poland.” She leaned toward Peter. “I
played Gertrude, the Queen. Thank goodness they gave me heavy gowns to wear - I
feared pneumonia, I can tell you.”
    Grandma banged a plate of
sausage rolls onto the table. “We’ll get the fires lit as soon as we’re done
eating.”
    Almina raised her hands as if
surprised. “Oh, I’m not complaining.” She took hold of Peter’s wrist. He
winced, but didn’t draw back, he even tried to smile.
    “I’m treating this whole
visit like the most exciting adventure.” Almina’s eyes widened. “Will we
survive? How long until the food runs out? Who will be the first to be eaten?”
    “Almina,” chorused mum and
grandma.
    “Stop frightening Peter,”
scolded grandma. “We’re not going to run out of food.”
    Almina sat back and a
satisfied smile creased her powdered cheeks. “Peter’s not frightened - a fine
young man like him. I saw him roaming through the woods all by himself.” She
leaned forward with the speed of a striking snake. “Did you find anything
interesting?”
    Peter gulped, shocked by the
force of her question. “I didn’t - I wasn’t looking ...” Did she see him at the
old tree? Did he vanish when he touched the charred branch, is that what she
meant? Then again, she might mean the disc when he showed it to granddad, but
why did she care about it? Granddad called