The Cold Snap

The Cold Snap

"Spend some time at our cottage," urged Beth. "You're emotionally drained. A rest and some solitude will do you good." she continued, when Olivia did not immediately accept her offer.

They were in Beth's kitchen. It was a large, warm room. Terracotta tiles on the floor. Onion skins and cat hair drifted under the heavy pine table as a draft, from under the back door, stirred the air. Beth lifted the black kettle onto the range. "Do you want another cuppa?" she asked. She hoped Olivia would decline the tea and accept the cottage.

"Alright. I think it would be great to get away for a few days. Is it easy to find?" she waved a hand to reject the suggestion of more tea.

"Simplicity itself. You take the road out of Dolgellau towards Machynlleth. It's in a row, sitting above the road, on the right just before Corris. Mrs. Roberts, in the house at the end has the key." Beth explained. She grabbed her young daughter by a home-knit clad arm. The child squirmed as Beth wiped the little button nose. She said, "Go and have a wash and then we can do baking when Rory comes home." to distract the child before tearful objections were raised to the nose-wiping incident.

Olivia packed a duvet, some clothes and toiletries into her battered Ford estate. The dog jumped onto the passenger seat and sat up like a man, eagerly looking forward and ready to set off. His red tongue lolled happily out of his mouth.

"You may want to sit in the back, John. It is a long drive today. " The dog responded to her suggestion by crawling through to the back, over the hand brake, and between the two front seats. He was a tall, thin dog. He had the grace common to all running-dogs. Olivia and John were inseparable. When he had settled himself. Olivia slammed her door and they pulled out of the lane onto the main road.

She had complete faith in her old car. It had recently been serviced and the engine sounded sweet. She avoided the motorways, choosing, instead the small roads which took her through a succession of towns and villages. A list of town names was blu-tacked to her dash. Stone, Oswestry, Welshpool, Dolgellau.

It was a grey day. The uniformly drab sky became darker as the journey progressed. The mountains rose up between Oswestry and Welshpool. Olivia was soon driving through cloud. She cursed her bad luck. The views on that stretch of road were particularly stunning and she was missing them. She turned up the heat as she entered the Snowdonia National Park

The cloud cleared a little as she reached the pass between Cader Idris and the Cambrians. She pulled over into a lay-by to allow John to stretch his legs and to read the tourist information on the laminate board. They had been driving for two hours. John leapt over a stile and loped off into the mist.

"Don't go far, boy, and don't go too fast. There might be sheer drops." Olivia called after him. Talking conversationally to John was natural. She had always treated him with respect. He seemed to understand every word, but who could tell? The board told her about the history of the pass. It had been a meeting place for the chieftains of the area. Cattle deals and wars were planned there. The English were hated from there. The Welsh surveyed their land from there. It was a shame she could not see the grandeur of the place, through the fog. She heard John's claws strike the gravel behind her. He came to stand by her side and nuzzled her hip to announce his arrival.

"Right, let's get on." she said. They walked back to the car.

Olivia found the row of cottages, just where Beth said they would be. Nestled against the hill-side, the white-washed stonework was a beacon in the miserable gloom. There was parking space behind the terrace. She collected the key from Mrs. Roberts.

"How long will you be staying?" the old woman asked. "Only I am going to see my brother in Dolgellau for a couple of days, next week. If you go while I'm away, you'll have to drop the keys through the letter box." Olivia nodded,

"I'll probably stay till Tuesday." Today was Thursday.

"You'll have to switch the stop-cock on, it's in the back yard, you can't miss it. Beth and Bob leave it turned off when they're not here . It can freeze very suddenly up here, you see." Mrs. Roberts warned and she closed her door, leaving Olivia on the doorstep.

The cottage was small, two ground-floor rooms; a kitchen and a living room. Stairs from the kitchen led to a landing. There was a large front bedroom and a small back bedroom next to the bathroom. There were bunk-beds and brightly coloured teddy-bears, dolls and wall hangings in the small bedroom. The master bedroom had a hearth, like the one she had noticed in the living room. There was a large pine bed, under low white-glossed beams and ceiling.

John inspected the fireplace in the living room. It was cold in the house. The air was damp. Olivia looked around for some fuel to burn on the grate but, apart from a single log on the hearth, there was none to be found. It was probably summer, last time Beth and the family had been there. John's claws clicked across the slate floors to the back door. He wanted to explore outside.

"We will have to go and get some logs, John. Come on, back in the car." She was enchanted by the sight of snow gently falling when she opened the back door. The fog had lifted and the ground already bore a covering of powdery snow. She drove to the village. It was more of a hamlet in truth. There was just one shop. It was a post office, general store and newsagents. Stacked against the front wall, on the stone pavement, were blue, plastic bags of logs.

"I'd better have three bags, please." The shop-keeper nodded and without speaking, loaded the bags into Olivia's car.

"Anything else?" he enquired as he stepped back into the shop and behind his counter. Olivia bought some milk, coffee, bread and cheese. She did not plan on dining that night. She wanted to snuggle up in front of the fire and read.

It was soon apparent that her old Ford was not going to make it up the hill. The road was completely white. It had been covered, in a few minutes, by a thick blanket of snow. John was sitting in the front seat, human-style, and he panted with excitement as he watched the swirling blizzard through the windscreen. The wipers were not managing to keep the view clear. After the third attempt to make the wheels grip, Olivia gave up. She allowed the car to slide back and she steered it off the road as best she could. Pulling on the hand-brake, she stopped the engine.

"Well, John, it looks like we're going to have to walk back. I'll have to carry a bag of logs with me." Olivia frowned. She was only seven stone and not confident of her ability to lug a bag of logs, through a snow-storm, a mile or so, up a hill. John seemed to understand, he whimpered.

Olivia was wearing stout walking boots, thick track-suit trousers, a chunky woollen cardigan over a sweat shirt and a black, felt beret. While in the bathroom, earlier, she had noticed a single earring. It was a carved, wooden parrot, bright and attractive. She had slipped it into the hole in her left ear. As she stepped out of the car, the parrot was almost ripped from her ear-lobe. The icy wind assaulted her with unexpected viciousness. She struggled to slam the car door shut. Olivia and the dog battled against the wind to the back of the car. She hauled a bag of logs from the boot and hugging it to her body as some protection from the freezing blast, they set off up the road.

John was an invaluable companion as he, alone, seemed able to discern the edge of the road. No kerb was visible under the rapidly drifting snow. A generous mound of snow already huddled against the stone wall, which itself was little more than a white hump. The bag slipped and a small log fell to the ground. Olivia's hands were painfully cold. She told herself to stop worrying. It was impossible for her not to make the short walk. She rearranged her burden and leaning into the gale, wet snow scouring her exposed face, she trudged on. No one saw the woman and the dog battling through the storm. They were completely alone.

The shop-keeper locked his door. He turned out the shop lights, and pulling back the baize curtain which covered the door to his parlour, he stepped through to the warmth. His dinner was on the table and a fire roared in the grate.

"It's bloody evil, out there, Gwynneth." he commented to his wife, who had eaten and was busy straightening the knives in the cutlery drawer.

"Aye. It's not a night for travellers. That's for sure." she agreed.

"There was a girl in just now. Staying somewhere nearby. I bet she won't be wanting to repeat the experience after seeing the weather like this. That might be one more cottage saved from the holiday-home mob." he chuckled and put a large piece of tender lamb into his mouth. Some rich, brown gravy trickled down his stubbly chin.

Olivia had no idea how much further she had to go. She saw nothing ahead of her but wild stars of ice, darting into her face. John was barking. He instinctively knew that it was important for him to maintain contact with his mistress.

"John, I can hear you. Good boy. Won't be long now." she screamed into the wind. The cold chilled her teeth as she spoke. Her legs ached. Her feet dragged heavily. She redoubled her efforts to pull each step out of the deep snow. She felt the squeaking crunch as she made each new impression in the callous drift. On, on, on she walked. The bag of logs was now on her shoulder. The weight being much easier to carry that way. She had to keep hold of the logs, otherwise she and John would not be able to get warm when they did reach the cottage. Her sweat shirt was soaked because there were no buttons on the cardigan. It flapped about her and was encrusted with ice. There were times, when she turned away from the wind and walked backwards up the hill. This was only a temporary measure. She became nervous and preferred to see where she was going, even if it was a very limited view. John's tail, black, with a white tip acted as her guide. She kept her eyes fixed, as best she could, on this steady pace maker.

Mrs. Roberts was on the telephone. "It's bad." she told her brother. "The wind is howling in the eaves. There'll be no traffic through now until the ploughs can get here." a large grandfather clock whirred and began to chime. "Oh that's six o'clock. Time for the news. I'll see you on Tuesday, Dai. Bye now." Mrs. Roberts placed the handset back in the cradle. Moments later, the telephone line at the pass was dragged down by the gale and the weight of snow. There would be no more telephone conversations that night.

Olivia, at last saw John's tail move to the left. He had reached the steps at the front of the cottage. She began to run. More logs fell from the bag. She clambered up the steps and fumbled for the keys in her trouser pocket. Mercifully, the pocket was deep and the key had not fallen out. Her fingers were so numb that she had difficulty fitting the key in the lock but soon she fell into the house. She pushed the door closed, and stood for a moment with her back against it. The bag of logs fell to her feet. fragments of bark mingled with dirty snow on the slate floor. John was no longer a black dog with white markings. His short, thick hair was a frozen jacket of crystal. He shook himself, but the ice was stuck firmly. It was not until Olivia had lit the fire and rubbed him with a huge cotton towel, that he started to defrost.

Some time later, she thawed her toes in front of the fire and nursed a mug of Cuppa-soup in her lap. Olivia looked down at her exhausted dog,

"Well, Lad. That was an invigorating experience. I feel quite glad to be alive. It's amazing how a litle danger puts everything into perspective." John wagged his tail and nuzzled under her arm.

"Hey, watch the soup! " she gently chastised.

~The End~