Authors: Louise Forster
“Damn, I bet you’re hungry.” Katherine made for the pantry and searched the shelves, knowing it was a fruitless exercise, but couldn’t help looking anyway.
“Hey, anyone home?” Her groceries were here.
She’d know that voice anywhere.
Chance
. The guy she’d given her vulnerable teenage heart to and briefly dated in high school. The guy who had left her standing on the high school dance floor. No apology. No
I’m sorry, but it’s over
. He’d wanted to play the big man and humiliate her in front of everyone when he said, “You’re so boring,” and walked off with the most popular girl in school. Everyone had stopped dancing to stare at her. Crushed, yet determined to swallow back the tears, Katherine had straightened her shoulders and marched with dignity to the nearest refreshment table and grabbed the biggest bowl of Pepsi punch. Like the ebb and flow of water, the dance crowd had followed her every move. She’d carried the bowl to where Chance stood talking and laughing with Candice and poured the lot over him. Leaving the bowl on his head, she’d swung around and walked out of the stadium to a round of applause. After that life experience, no matter how hard a boy pleaded, she’d never accepted another invitation to dance.
“Hi, Kathy,” Chance said brightly.
Kathy?
He hadn’t a clue. No one called her Kathy. Did he even remember what he’d done fifteen years ago to a vulnerable teenage girlfriend? The conceited piece of shit. She told herself he didn’t matter. He was just a blip on her man radar.
A low rumble at her side meant Bubbles didn’t like him either.
“Back up, Bubbles.” Katherine braced her feet and pulled her dog away from the door. “On the kitchen table, thanks,” she told Chance.
He dropped the box and said, “Kathy, it’s me, Chance; you remember, from high school?”
Come on
, she told herself,
think of something smart
. “Really? Gosh, I didn’t recognise you.” That was pathetic. It would’ve had more impact had he been bald and gone to flab.
His hand flew up to smooth his hair and he went for a male model pose. “You’re looking good, Kathy. What brings you back to Spruce Valley?” he drawled.
She was
not
going to tell him she’d retired. She
did
want to say,
Screw you, it’s none of your business
. “I have a degree in physiotherapy and I’m back home to set up a practice.” She inclined her head. “And what are you doing?”
“I’m workin’ on a few projects.” He puffed his chest out and sidled closer.
“Seems nothing has changed. Projects always were your thing.” Maybe that was way too subtle. “Is Millie and Ted’s store a project?”
“Nah, just fillin’ ‘in time down there til I get my backers organised.”
She couldn’t be bothered with him anymore. “I’m busy, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to leave now.” She pointed to her door.
“Wait. You wanna come to the annual Christmas dance with me? We could have our own little
partaay
, like old times.”
“No, thank you! Last time you took me to a dance, you told me I was boring. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you humiliated me further by leaving me standing alone on the dance floor.”
“I … there was stuff happenin’ and—” he stuttered.
“Leave!” Katherine demanded, her voice low, steady.
Chance took off. Determined not to stoop to his level, Katherine used all her willpower not to let fly with language that would upset the neighbours. She shut the back door and, hopping mad, stomped into the kitchen. With no place to vent her anger, she picked up jars and pots and thumped them down again.
Bubbles nudged her fingers. Katherine hunkered down and buried her face in the dog’s soft fur. “Didn’t mean to startle you, and don’t worry, I wouldn’t send you off anywhere.”
The doggy noises Bubbles made during the night didn’t disturb Katherine’s sleep too much—not until the early hours of the morning when Bubbles started sniffing the air and growling. Katherine shushed her dog and explained that the old cabin creaked as it cooled down during the icy, night temperatures. Bubbles stared at her, ears pricked.
Katherine finally stuck her head out from under the quilt and stretched, coming face to face with Bubbles who had made herself comfortable with her head on the spare pillow.
“Morning, Bubbles. You’re noisy, you know that?” Her dog licked her face. “Ugh, morning dog breath.” Bubbles rolled onto her back. Legs in the air, she waited for a belly rub. Katherine cuddled her, the quilt shifted, her toasty feet popped out the bottom end and hit cold air. Quickly, she tucked them back into the warmth. “Oh crap!” Too tired to think straight the night before, she’d forgotten to pile logs in the combustion stove. She snuggled deeper under the quilt. Bubbles yawned and smacked her lips. “No, I’m not getting out from under these feathers.” But if she hurried, embers in the firebox might not have died yet.
Grumbling, she jumped out of bed and dressed quickly in thick socks and warm winter sweats. Bubbles rolled and grunted, big legs wriggling.
“Come on, you can get up too.” Katherine rubbed her dog’s belly and padded into the kitchen. A heavy thud on the floor and Bubbles was up, nails clicking as she followed.
“What have you got? Hey, that’s my sock!” Bubbles dropped it in Katherine’s hand and sat with a front paw in the air. “
Eeywh
, slobber. But thanks, I’ve been wondering where that was.” She laughed as Bubbles woofed, tail wagging. “Right, whatever you say.”
Hands over the hob, a little warmth still radiated from the ‘old girl’. Poking about in the glowing embers, Katherine managed to raise a few weak flames by throwing in crumpled newspaper and kindling. She grabbed the last of the wood and filled the firebox.
“Shoot!” To get more firewood, she’d have to brave the cold outside. Fortunately, there was a decent supply still left in the shed. Her father, bless him, had always made sure there was plenty of cut wood stockpiled. “I suppose you need to pee and … stuff.” She pulled a pink beanie off a hook, shoved it on her head. She slipped her feet into her father’s boots, which stood at the ready inside the back porch.
Katherine opened the door. Bubbles darted outside and disappeared into thick fog. Ghostly and strange, it obliterated familiar landmarks and slowly swirled in front of her. As the fog moved it revealed, for the barest moment, a flash of red. The bright colour caught her eye. She squinted, trying to see through the mist. There it was again! A brilliant red with flashes of silver standing out against the pure white snow. She could hear Bubbles’ frantic sniffing and occasional low growl.
In her oversized boots, Katherine shuffled cautiously towards the colours she’d seen. The mystery was suddenly revealed—a life-size snowman holding a bunch of long-stemmed red roses wrapped in silver cellophane. A flamboyant red satin bow held the bouquet together, and an oversized envelope jutted out from the crook of the snowman’s arm. She lifted the frozen roses and card from the snowman’s grasp. Jack Riley instantly sprang to mind, but instinct told her this wasn’t his doing.
She took a deep breath and opened the envelope. Eric’s face grinned at her from the front cover of the huge customised card. “Maniac,” Katherine growled, her body tensing in anger. Trust Eric to think that no design could ever be a match for his face. The blind arrogance of it made her shudder.
Suddenly the snowman had turned from something innocent to something far more worrying. She frowned at the stark charcoal eyes and slash of evil mouth. It occurred to her that Eric might still be lurking somewhere, and she quickly scanned her surroundings for any sign.
“Eric!” she shouted, but the thick covering of snow dampened her voice. “Eric!” she tried again. Nothing.
Bubbles came bounding to her. Katherine crouched and threw her arms around the dog. “Sorry girl … he was here and I told you to shut up. I’ll never ignore you again.” She followed Bubbles, who was sniffing and making her way to the back door. Nose almost touching the snow, her dog latched onto another scent and Katherine caught sight of footprints in the snow. Unlike her shuffle from trying to keep her dad’s oversized boots from falling off, these were definite, large man-sized footprints. She stared at the tracks with a sinking heart, and traced them through the fog to the cabin. Eric appeared to have stopped outside the spare room before continuing on to her bedroom window where the well-trampled snow proved he had lingered for some time.
Katherine was about to yell her outrage into the fog, but what good would that do? Better to get inside before she froze. She slammed the door behind her, no longer cold but burning with rage. She kicked her father’s boots off in the porch, stomped into the kitchen, tossed the roses onto the table, pulled her gloves off with her teeth, and ripped apart the envelope. There it was again; the technicoloured photograph of the man who had invaded her privacy while she slept. Katherine dropped to her knees and flung her arms around Bubbles.
“I’m so glad I’ve got you.” She kissed her dog’s head, and stood.
Inside the card Eric had written in his distinctive scrawl, ‘Merry Christmas, Katarina. We will be together soon, one way or another, I promise you. You need me. Your life is worth nothing without me. Mother is over the moon. She has arranged a party for me and my famous ballet dancer I’m dating. Of course there’ll be celebrities, but I’ll be the one in the spotlight.’
Rage banished the sick feeling in her empty stomach. Katherine curled her fingers and crushed the card. She glared at the bouquet on the table and grabbed the frostbitten roses. She hated blood-red roses; they would always represent death. Her knees threatened to fold under her. Quickly, she pulled out a chair and sat with a thud. Bubbles whined and lay her head on Katherine’s lap.
Katherine closed her eyes. Her thoughts went back to the Calgary mortuary as if it were yesterday. When she’d been unable to face the sight of her dead father, her Uncle Pierre volunteered to do it for her. With her mother in hospital, she and her uncle had to take care of all the arrangements.
In the windswept car park that cold early morning of the funeral, she’d clutched her mother’s hand. Margaret sat in a wheelchair pushed by Pierre, allowed out of hospital only to attend her husband’s burial. Her mother’s close friend Cynthia and daughter Leandra had walked with them. Had it not been for everyone’s support, Katherine feared she would’ve collapsed from the grief that engulfed her. They’d watched in silence, four lonely figures shrouded in deep sorrow, as attendants slid the coffin into the hearse. On the glossy mahogany surface, her Uncle Pierre had placed a large bouquet of deep red roses. The door of the hearse closed with a hushed click. With a whisper-crunch of tyres, the black, glossy hearse rolled slowly out the main gate and down the road to Spruce Valley’s crematorium. Since the funeral, Katherine associated the deep red roses with death.
Outraged, she snatched the small hotplate lever from its hook on the mantelpiece, and lifted one of the round lids from the top of the stove. The flames leapt out as she shoved the crumpled card, with its photograph of Eric on the front, into the fire. In a flash his face curled grotesquely, turning black, disappearing, becoming ash. Seizing the roses, she stuffed them stems first into the burning circle,
instantly
regretting her action. But it was too late. Smoke curled up towards the ceiling. The cellophane around the flowers burst into flames, taking the bright red bow with it, twisting and crackling as it melted—gone in seconds. Without cellophane the long stemmed roses spread out as if plunged into a vase, but a vase of flames. The stems hissed as moisture and life-giving sap turned to steam. Slowly, the blooms with their soft velvet petals hung their heads towards the hot black stovetop. Katherine watched in horror as the flames crawled towards the petals. They singed, curled and finally burst into flame.
Bubbles sneezed as a pall of acrid smoke filled the kitchen. Grabbing a pair of tongs, Katherine squashed the blooms into the firebox and dropped the cast iron lid in place. She sat, pitying the innocent roses, and regretted her hasty action. But most of all she was angry with herself for allowing Eric to provoke her so easily, which served to make her angrier.
“I’m not going to let a creep skulking around my house change the way I live,” she said, staring at the remains of a few charred rose petals. “Damn it all, I’m not!”
She paced the room, looking for something to throw to vent her fury, but everything she saw was too precious to waste on her rage. She remembered the empty wood basket and the reason she’d gone outside in the first place.
After pulling on her dad’s boots, she stormed outside. The thick fog that had enveloped the cabin was lifting slowly, as the sun grew stronger. “Stay,” she said to Bubbles, and closed the door. On her way to the woodshed, she detoured and kicked at the offending snowman. When it didn’t budge, she lunged at it and its head toppled. Not happy, she shoved at its body until it fell over. She eyed it, then continued to stomp on it, jumping up and down, destroying the snowman. It was unrecognisable in seconds, but she kept going, stomping her way through her rage.
“
You
will
not
intimidate me!”
Smash!
“I will
not
be afraid!”
Stomp!
“I will
not
let
you
invade my home!”
Jack’s head spun from talking to locals and wandering the streets asking if he could put up posters. To top it off, he was stopped by police and taken in for questioning. He’d pleaded innocence to whatever he was supposed to have done. The sergeant, once he’d seen Jack’s passport, was satisfied he couldn’t be the man they were after. He explained, in brief, that there had been a complaint about a stalker, but he wouldn’t elaborate further.
Free to go, Jack stood staring at Ted and Millie’s store from the opposite side of the street.
Shit, am I lurking?
He scanned up and down to see if anyone was looking at him strangely, as if he might be the weirdo.
He decided to get off the street and pay the store owners another visit.