It was early January and winter had really set in. Icicles hung from the roofs of all buildings making the frozen water drops look like sparkling ropes of pear-shaped diamonds. Sometimes the sun would break through for a short spell, melting the ice ever so slightly; and then the nightly freeze would once again turn everything rigid. Ice over half-melted snow made pavements dangerous to walk on, and so the streets were empty except for the few who had no choice other than to make their journey. Dirty, sludgy snow, pushed aside on the streets by the snowplough had frozen in their massive mounds along the pavements’ edges. The roads were covered in packed snow. No bicycles or cars were to be seen on the roads flanking the rows of terraced houses in the Cooper Road area. Daylight didn’t arrive fully until around 9am, hovered sadly for a time, and was gone by 4pm, but the greyness of the heavens heavy with more snow let little light through. It was a miserable time of the year.
In the little terraced house in Cooper Road, they’d all got colds and George had warned the boys to stay away from Iris so as not to infect her. A cold for her would be much more serious due to her weak chest, he’d warned them. George had taken to sleeping on an old mattress in the living room so as not to disturb her with his snoring or infect her with his cold. But it was hard to stay out of Iris’ way in the small house and before too long, she was spending more and more time sat in bed with a bowl of hot water and camphor on her lap and a towel over her head to catch the steam.
School was still open and each day David, hardly able to walk because of the many layers of clothes he had on and the slippery pavements, would struggle through the streets to Welholme Road. The knowledge that he could leave the coming summer and finally start to work together with his Dad and Calvin kept him happy on his cold journey. For, despite his brilliant grades, David didn’t want to stay at school. All he wanted was to be part of the family business, to work each day with his dad and his cousin, to belong.
Calvin’s week-night jaunts had stopped simply because it was too damn cold. Twice he had slipped on the ice on the roof outside David’s bedroom window and fallen off. And the walk to the Mecca Dance Hall was too long in this weather. Also, it occurred to Calvin after that visit from the policeman that it might be a good idea to stay away from the Mecca for a while. He didn’t even go at weekends now.
George and Calvin were mostly home, these days. Work was getting scarce, seeing as it had hardly stopped snowing for the last few days. Although George had lots of jobs on his books, he couldn’t do any of them because of the weather conditions. This was always a slow time for him. And so he would sit by the fire, smoking his pipe and watching the television while he drunk his whisky.
George and David didn’t notice anything different at home, besides that they were all snivelling, but Calvin did. The atmosphere was different. First he suspected, but then he knew: Iris’ manner was different towards him. She was a little distant, not her usual friendly self. He couldn’t make out what was wrong between them and, at first, put it down to her illness. It took some time before he realised that her change towards him had started with the visit of the policeman.
Iris would get up to sit, swaddled in blankets, near the living room fire twice a day because Doctor Barrowman had told her she must try to move and help loosen the phlegm on her lungs caused by her bronchitis. Although she was following the doctor’s advice, she was finding it consistently more difficult to breath freely. Just walking from the bedroom to the living room, even when helped by George, would leave her exhausted. She would sit, staring into the fire, her thoughts her own. The old black, oven-flanked tall fireplace had gone and in its place was a modern grey-tiled one. The clock was in the middle of the mantle-piece with two pieces of plaster-of-Paris sculptures that David had done at school either side of it. Iris cherished the artwork, a seal sitting up and an abstract piece. This new fireplace might look tidier, she thought, and it certainly made the room look bigger because it was a lot smaller than the old one but the heat it generated was only half that generated by the good, old fashioned black cast-iron fireplace.
Calvin entered the living room from the scullery, where he had been helping George and David make tea.
‘Do you need anything, Auntie Iris?’ he asked, treating her to one of his brilliant smiles.
‘No, thank you, Calvin. I’ll just wait for tea.’ She took her eyes away from the fire and let them rest on Calvin’s face. He was indeed a handsome lad, beautiful, in fact, she thought. However he got to be in this family she couldn’t imagine. Her brother had certainly been no Adonis and she wasn’t what you would call pretty. She’d only ever seen a photo of Calvin’s mother and she had looked quite run-of-the-mill, so where did this boy, man now, get this extraordinary face. Even his body was god-like. He was tall and muscular with broad shoulders and slim hips. She looked at him and wondered.
‘You’re not going out so much these days Calvin,’ she said, without preamble, staring at him, her face expressionless.
Calvin stared straight back at her and smiled. ‘Well, it’s really too cold to go out every weekend, Auntie Iris. And what with this cold and all...’
‘I didn’t mean at the weekends, Calvin. I meant during the week when you leave the house by way of David’s bedroom window.’
Calvin’s eyes flashed then darkened. ‘What do you mean, Auntie Iris? Has David said anything?’
‘David would never say anything to either George or me, Calvin. You know he adores you. Looks up to you, he does. Which puts him in a difficult situation ‘cause he’s always been truthful to us until you came here.’ She breathed deeply, wheezing audibly and carried on, ‘I know you were out on that night, the night the policeman was asking about. I heard you. And I couldn’t find any grass stains on your trousers, come to think of it. I thought they were just muddy. But it was a very red type of mud, Calvin. Where exactly were you?’
‘You must be mistaken, Auntie Iris,’ said Calvin walking over to her. He reached for the blanket around her shoulders and pulled it closer together around her neck as if he were being caring and trying to keep her warm.
‘Tell me,’ she whispered.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ he smiled down at her, his blue eyes cold as steel, the blanket getting tighter and tighter around her neck.
‘Hey, Cal,’ George called from the scullery, his voice breaking the moment ‘No skiving off. Get in here and help.’
Iris pushed Calvin’s hands away.
With a gentle stroke of her cheek, Calvin left the living room and returned to the scullery to help with the tea.
Iris’ pulse raced. Her heart was beating so strongly she felt sure it would jump out of her chest. She felt her lungs constrict as she started to wheeze. It took all her strength of mind to calm herself, to keep breathing at a regular pace and as deeply as she could, just like the doctor had advised her. She eventually quietened her mind of the terrifying thoughts that were flying through it and, in so doing, the impeding threat of an asthma attack receded. ‘George,’ she called. ‘Would you help me, dear? I think I’ll take me tea upstairs tonight.’
A few days later, as George was out pricing up a job and David was at school, Calvin found himself alone at home with Iris. She was upstairs, not having left her bedroom since their last conversation. The television was on; the room was bathed in an orange glow from the burning fire. Calvin sat pondering Iris’ words. She knew, he thought; or, at least, suspected something. She obviously hadn’t said anything yet because David hadn’t mentioned it and George was his usual self. What was he to do? It wouldn’t do for Auntie Iris to spoil things for him. He was doing fine here. He got on well with George, the silly old man, and David looked up to him like a God. There was money to be had here and he deserved his share of it. He’d worked hard for them, hadn’t he? Done his bit, he had. If Auntie Iris started putting suspicion into words, he might lose all this. Where would he go? He’d have to do something.
He turned the television sound up a tad and made for the stairs. Taking his time he slowly ascended, making sure to miss the third and eleventh step so no creaks could be heard. Turning at the top of the stairs, he crept along the landing towards the front bedroom. The door was open; he peered around it. Auntie Iris was sleeping, still propped up with most of the pillows but one was on the floor where she had thrown it before settling herself down for her sleep. Calvin, ever so quietly, crept into the room and picked it up. Transferring the pillow to both hands, he held it above Iris’ head. Suddenly she opened her eyes, looking straight at Calvin; immediately they filled with fear and widened in disbelief. He smiled at her, one of his especially charming smiles, before pressing the pillow over her face and holding it there, tightly, silently. Her arms and legs started to flay about, but the heavy bedclothes hindered her movements. Little muffled wails of fear and mounting hopelessness escaped through the feathers, and then ceased. All in all, Iris had hardly fought back at all and soon lay completely still.
