Snowstorm

Rain. Always fucking rain. The rain had lashed down since she got up that morning. The air was sticky and oppressive, making it a hot, miserable wet day. She pushed her sodden fringe out of her eyes and hefted the last box out of the car boot. That was it. The last of the things from her house.

She carried the box up the path to Steve’s house. Her house. He appeared in the doorway.

“Here, give me that,” he said, taking the box from her. Immediately her arms felt as light as air, as though they were rising away from her body. She followed him into the house. Boxes were stacked everywhere, from the front room to the dining room to the kitchen. She placed her hands at the back of her waist and stretched, looking through to the back garden. She loved these old semis and the way the ground floor seemed to stretch on forever.

Steve put the box down on top of another, causing the bottom one to crumple slightly from the accumulated weight.

“Oi! Watch it!” she said, scooping the top box up and looking round for somewhere else to put it. There was nowhere else, of course, so she put it back down where Steve had placed it. Steve laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “you’re soaking.”

He took her hand.

“Come upstairs a minute,” he said, pulling her towards the hall. She pulled back against him.

“There isn’t time,” she said.

He pulled her again and reluctantly she began to follow him. His eyes were full of mischief and electricity.

“Come upstairs, I’ll find you a towel. We’ll dry you off,” he told her.

She sighed. They were climbing the stairs now, Steve still holding her hand. She looked at the back of his head. His hair was getting long, but she liked it. It softened him somehow. She wanted to stand up close to him and breathe in the scent of his cleanness.

At the top of the stairs they paused. Steve looked at her, trying not to smile.

“You go in the bedroom. Get your wet things off,” he said, turning to open the door to the airing cupboard. “I’ll bring you a towel.”

She walked to the bedroom and pushed open the door. Her whole body was weary from carrying boxes from house to car to house. The hot sticky day had left her drained of energy. The door swung open and she heard a faint click then a low whirring. The room was in darkness, the curtains drawn.

“What are you up to?” she asked, standing on the threshold of the room.

“Just go in,” Steve said from behind her, his voice muffled, his head inside the airing cupboard.

She stepped into the room. The lights on the central spot system clicked on. Suddenly she was standing inside one of those toy snowstorms, the ones with the plastic dome and the unnaturally blue skies. She stopped breathing for a moment. Sparkles of light danced against the walls and ceiling and played across her body like falling glitter. It was magical. Her eyes could not take in the dancing patches of light quickly enough, compelled to follow their scatter around the room.

Steve stood in the doorway behind her. “Well?” he said softly.

She could not speak. Her whole being was consumed with looking, trying to drink it in. She looked down to watch the light speckle and shimmer across her hands, her torso. She looked up to see where this space dust was coming from.

“Well?” said Steve again from the doorway.

They made love under the glitter of the snowstorm, her bones melting, her eyes leaking. Later, they sat among the half-unpacked boxes in the kitchen.

Steve sat to her left, his strong hands wrapped around his mug of tea, talking. She did not listen, replaying the snowstorm in her mind. She stretched out her hand and traced the pattern of veins and bones on the back of his hands with her forefinger.

Mentally, she listed the things she loved him for. The first time their eyes had met in that dingy club where he was the resident dj, how she had not wanted to look away, ever. The first time they held hands, walking down Wilbraham Road past Safeways. He had just taken her hand. No conversation, just a calm action. He had gripped her hand just right, his fingers locking naturally with hers as though they belonged. The way he seemed to complete her, without her knowing why.

Stupid little things like that signify, she thought, still tracing her forefinger over his veins. She looked up. He was gazing off into the distance, through to the front room. His eyes were wintry hard, almost flinty. Then he closed his eyes slowly, and opened them again to look at her, and the warmth returned.

He gazed at her, smiling. Suddenly, he stood up and turned on the radio. Turning to face her he said, “Let’s dance.”

She sat and looked at him. “I’m not dancing,” she laughed.

He held out a hand to her, palm up. “Dance with me. Please?”

She shook her head, still laughing. The music on the radio was some girl band, the rhythm angular. She couldn’t dance to this. She couldn’t really dance full stop. Steve began to jig about, singing along in a falsetto voice.

“I should maybe play this tomorrow night,” he said, as he stood with his back to her, shaking his bum. She grabbed it with both hands, squeezing it tightly.

”Oi, oi!” he said over his shoulder. “That’s a bit personal. I barely know you, missus.”

She put her hands on his waist and pulled him down onto her lap.

“I’ll crush you,” he warned.

She didn’t speak, just buried her face into his shirt, breathing in the smell of him. He tolerated it for 30 seconds, then stood up.

“Your legs have gone flat,” he said, casually. Then he drew a box towards him along the table. “Come on, let’s get cracking with these.”

There was so much stuff, she wasn’t sure what they were going to do with it. His stuff and her stuff, two households merging. She unwrapped a teapot. Her mind wandered. She unwrapped another teapot. She thought of how quickly this had happened. She unwrapped another teapot.

“How many teapots have you got?” Steve was looking at her incredulously.

She smiled guiltily. “Five,” she said.

Steve shook his head. “I won’t ask why,” he told her. “But you know you’re not right, don’t you?”

She reached across to him, lashing out with her outstretched arm. He danced away from her.

“Careful,” he laughed. “There’s crockery here. Teapots, you know.”

She grabbed a tea towel from the towel rail by the sink and chased him, trying to flick the towel against his legs. But his legs were longer than hers and he was able to stay out of her reach. He ran into the living room. She stood in the doorway, panting slightly from the exertion, the tea towel hanging from her hand. She let it drop to the floor, looking at him the whole time as he stood there, laughing at her and beautiful.

The telephone rang, making her jump. Neither of them moved.

“It’ll be your mother,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, maintaining eye contact.

“Don’t you think you should answer it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

The phone rang on. They stood staring at each other.

“So,” Steve said, eventually, not moving. “You’ve moved in then.”

She smiled. “Yes,” she whispered. “I have.”

There was a loud crack of thunder. Steve looked past her and through the kitchen window to the sky outside.

“Thank god for that,” he said. “Maybe the heat will lift a bit now.”

She yawned.

“You’re tired,” he said.

She looked at him sleepily, and he carried her up the stairs to bed.

The next day dawned bright and hot. She stretched luxuriously in the bed they now shared. She could see half mirror-balls dotted around the room, the source of last night’s snowstorm. Steve slumbered on beside her. The sun was leaking into the room round the edges of the curtains. The window had a halo of light. She lay with her arms above her head, her hands holding the bars of the headboard, remembering.

She looked at the clock. It was 9.30. She got up out of the bed. Steve stirred and muttered then settled back into sleep. She went slowly downstairs, savouring the silence.

In the kitchen, she lifted the blind and looked out at the back garden. One of the neighbours was already up, out in the garden, mowing the lawn. It was all so suburban.

She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then placed the coffee grounds in the cafetière. She loved coffee in the morning, its sharp bitterness, the sensation of it hitting her stomach, the wake-up buzz it gave her.

She unlocked and opened the back door to let some air circulate through the house. It was still hot. Even though she was naked, she went out into the garden. Sod whether the neighbours could see her. It would give them a suburban frisson to see her lardy arse on a Sunday morning.

The grass was cool beneath her feet. She didn’t know how Steve managed to keep his lawn so nice. At home (she smiled) – at her old house – the lawn was a nightmare. Full of weeds and moss, boggy and poorly drained. Every spring and autumn since she had lived there, she had thrown fivers, otherwise known as lawn feed, at it.

The morning sun was warm on her skin. She stood in the middle of the lawn, head thrown back to receive the full warmth of the sun on her face, worshipping. There was only the slightest breeze.

She heard Steve walk out of the house. She turned to face him. He was grinning at her, his face lit up by his mega-watt smile. He held out a cup of coffee to her.

“Morning, missus,” he said. She took the cup and grinned back at him. “Enjoying yourself?” he added.

She took a mouthful of coffee and looked at him over the top of the cup, before lowering it and smiling. She did not reply. He reached out a hand and brushed it against her body. Electricity shot through her.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked.

She thought for a moment, then replied, “Let’s go for a wander round, get some breakfast at Battery Park, or something.”

“Deal,” he said. “Think you’ll be able to manage clothes, you naturist?”

She laughed and looked down at her naked body.

“It’s very nice,” he told her, “but what must the neighbours think?”

While Steve showered, she got ready, dancing craply around the bedroom to the radio, pulling on pants, vest top and linen trousers. She ruffled her hair up, then regarded herself in the mirror. For her age, she wasn’t doing too badly.

Steve emerged from his shower, a towel round his waist.

“So coy, Mr Brenner,” she teased.

He grinned. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she replied, turning back to the mirror to apply some lip gloss. “I feel nice.”

He stood behind her and nuzzled his face into her neck. “Mmm. You smell nice, too. All outdoorsy. You should go naked into the garden more often.”

She laughed, then turned to face him. “Come on. Get dressed. I’m ready. I want my breakfast.”

“Can we go to Barbakan?” Steve started to get dressed. “I’m in the mood for a spicy sausage sizzler.”

She sat cross-legged on the bed, looking at his behind while he rummaged in the drawer for clean underwear.

“Sounds good to me,” she said languidly. Then she sighed. “I love your bum,” she told him.

The door bell rang.

“Jesus! On a Sunday?” Steve said, frowning. “Will you go?”

She went downstairs, could see the shape of a man through the glass in the front door.

She opened the door to see Sean, one of Steve’s friends from the club. He was looking down the road and turned to face her as the door opened.

“Hiya! You over for the weekend again?” he asked.

“Nah, Sean. Moved in last night. I’m a resident too, now.”

He nodded once. “Steve in?” He looked over her shoulder.

“Yeah, getting dressed.” She opened the door wider and stood back. “You coming in?”

“Cheers.” Sean stepped into the house and went through into the living room.

Steve came downstairs, pulling a t-shirt over his head.

“Who is it?” he asked her, seemingly reluctant to go into the living room.

“Sean,” she said.

“Ah.”

He went into the living room, holding out his hand and saying, “Seany-boy!”

“Alright, Stevo?” Sean replied.

She followed Steve into the living room and sat in the armchair. Sean had taken his rizlas and stash out of his pocket and was rolling.

“It was fucking rare last night, man. You should have been there. Errol surpassed himself. The floor was packed, you could just about move your arse out there. I stood up on the balcony with a couple of the lads most of the night, necking shit and just watching them all. Some really fit birds in, as well.” He lit up, took a couple of healthy drags, then offered round.

“Not for me, mate,” Steve said. “I’m trying to lay off for a bit.”

“Liar,” said Sean, holding the spliff in front of Steve’s face.

“Ah well, if you insist,” he said, taking it from his friend’s fingers and toking on it. He offered it to her, but she just shook her head, so he handed it back to Sean. She breathed in the sweet smoke, enjoying the dope vicariously.

Steve looked at her. “Will you make us a cup of coffee, love?” he asked. Sean was looking at the carpet, one leg bouncing, taking occasional tokes on his spliff.

She stood up and went through to the kitchen. She could hear them talking, voices lowered, the rhythm too urgent to be just a friendly chat. She went and stood in the doorway, intending to ask how Sean liked his coffee. As she reached the door, she saw Sean slip something to Steve. She coughed. They jumped guiltily.

“I won’t ask,” she said. “Sean, how do you like your coffee?”

“Oh, you know. Milk. Sugar. Ta,” he replied, not looking at her, leg still bouncing.

“Actually,” Steve said. “Sean was just about to go.” He turned to his friend. “Weren’t you mate?”

“Aye, yeah, I was,” Sean mumbled, standing up. He shook hands with Steve. “See you later then, mate.”

“Yeah, see you later. Let me see you to the door.”

She went back into the kitchen and turned off the kettle. She could hear them talking again at the door, low and urgent once more.

Steve came towards the kitchen from the front door, then leaned in the doorway.

“Are we nearly ready to go, then?” he asked.

She turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, we’re ready.”

He picked up the car keys from the side by the microwave.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

They looked at each other. She wondered briefly what he was thinking. He was smiling, but he seemed distant. Something about Sean’s visit had changed his demeanour. She smiled back, then he pushed himself away from the doorframe with his shoulder and walked down the hall to the front door.

He opened the door to two police officers. That stalled him. She stalled too, in the hallway behind him.

“Good morning sir. Could we come in a moment, please?”

Steve stood back from the door, frowning slightly. She smiled guiltily at the officers. Why did she feel guilty? It was probably something and nothing.

“Is there somewhere we can sit down and have a chat, sir?” one of the officers said to Steve.

“Yeah, through there,” Steve indicated the living room. “What’s all this about?”

“We’ve had a complaint from one of your neighbours, sir. Apparently a naked woman was seen in your back garden this morning, and they called to complain.”

Steve laughed. “But it’s our back garden. Surely my girlfriend can go out there naked if she wants to.”

The police officer smiled, but without any warmth. “Of course, sir. However, we have also had other complaints about people visiting your house at strange hours of the night, one of whom answers the description of a known drug-dealer operating in this area.”

Steve stayed quiet. She spoke from the doorway from the living room to the kitchen where she had gone to stand unobtrusively.

“Would either of you like a cup of coffee?”

The other police officer looked up. “Not for me, thanks, love,” she smiled.

The first officer continued. “As we were driving up, we saw the same man leaving your house. A Mr.,” he paused to check his notepad, “Sean Whelan?”

He looked up at Steve. “Do you know this man?”

Steve smiled.

“Yes, of course I do. We’re djs together at a club in town. I know him well. He’s a mate.”

“Did he come here to do a deal, sir?”

Steve laughed. “No, but if he did, do you really think I would tell you so?”

“Maybe not, sir, but if he did come here to do a deal with you, you are advised that informing us of the fact now may work in your favour later in proceedings.”

She stood in the doorway, coldness beginning to fill the pit of her stomach. She knew Sean and Steve were dope heads, few people in Manchester and in their circle weren’t, but this was more serious. The police wouldn’t be after Sean for a bit of dope dealing. She remembered the package that Sean had been passing to Steve when she came into the room to ask him about his coffee. She hoped to god it wasn’t what she suspected.

“So when Mr Whelan came to your house this morning, it was a purely social visit?” the officer asked Steve.

“That’s right. He’s a mate.”

“And the purpose of his visit was not to supply you with any illegal substances?”

“No.”

“Then you won’t mind if we have a look round, see what we can find?”

“Yes, I will mind, actually. Do you have a warrant?”

“No, sir. We don’t have a warrant, but we can easily come back with one. If you have nothing to hide, however, then there’s no harm in us looking now, is there? Unless there is anything you would like to inform us of now?”

She spoke up. “Steve?”

He looked at her, his eyes icy. “What?”

She lowered her gaze. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I just wanted to remind you we’re going to be late.”

Steve stared at her. “Late?” He looked back to the police officer. “Oh yeah, we’re supposed to be meeting people for lunch in Chorlton. It’s not really convenient for you to look round now. But if you want to come back, that would be fine.”

The police officer looked at Steve with an inscrutable expression on his face. Looked at him for a long time. Steve looked right back at him, unflinching, smiling his mega-watt smile. The icy feeling in the pit of her stomach grew. This was bad.

Eventually the first officer stood up, followed by his colleague.

“Alright, Mr?”

“Brenner. Steve Brenner. I think you should have asked me that at the start of your questioning, shouldn’t you? To check you had the right man? Because I’m sure you know my name.” Steve was still smiling, but his voice was hard.

“Yes, Mr Brenner, I probably should. Thank you for your time, and please know that we will be back later today.”

Steve showed them to the door. When he returned, she had begun to shake.

“Tell me what’s going on,” she said, her heart beat slowing as she hardly dared to breathe. “What was that package Sean passed to you earlier? What’s in it?”

“Sparkle dust, darling. Coke. Charlie. A little bit of magic. A snowstorm more exciting than the one upstairs last night,” Steve replied, looking straight at her, into her eyes, deep into her eyes and menacing.

The ice in the pit of her stomach froze solid. She did not know how she would get out of this one. But she knew that she must. She knew it as she knew that her happiness was draining away before her eyes, as a third snowstorm danced before her eyes, as she fell to the floor in a faint of panic, as the blood rushed to her head.

© J R Hargreaves 2003