It’s an odd evening. After days of seeing Scott and Nathan, I find myself suddenly alone. The silence seems thicker than usual. Snow is falling outside. It started just a little while ago. I see it out of the window as I stare into the darkness and watch it coat the ground, leaving a blanket of untouched whiteness. It’s falling fast, thick and heavy. We don’t get to see snow very often; if we do, it doesn’t tend to stay. The sea air sees to that. I press my face against the glass and look out along our street. It’s quiet and peaceful; everyone is sleeping. Everyone but me.
My breath fogs up the cool glass and I wipe it away. Will has never seen snow. Not real snow like this. I wonder if it would be wrong to wake him. Perhaps it would be wrong to chance him missing this. All children should see snow at least once in their lives. It’s like magic.
I find my boots and coat and put them on. I grab Will’s too. He isn’t sleeping, either, when I poke my head around his open door.
“Do you want to come and see some snow?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer me. I show him his coat and boots as I kneel down beside his bed.
“It’s falling real fast,” I say. “Do you want to come and see it?”
He doesn’t say a word to me, but he takes my offered hand and lets me pull him into a sitting position. I put his boots on his feet and tuck his Spiderman pyjamas inside. No need to get dressed. I put his coat on and zip it all the way up to his chin. I add a hat and pull it down over his ears. I smile at him, but his mouth doesn’t even twitch.
His small hand rests in mine. He lets me lead him down the stairs to the door of our flat. We go out of our door, across the hall and outside into the cold night. The air is fresh. For a moment, I stop and take it in. The snow is soft under my boots as I step out. Will takes one step and then he stops.
“It’s real snow, Will,” I say. “Do you like it?”
I hope he does. All three-year-olds like snow.
Will doesn’t say. He doesn’t speak. Not even a murmur. I know he’s in there somewhere as I watch him for any reaction. Maybe the snow would make him utter his first word.
“Snow.” I hold my breath in hope of some kind of response.
He says nothing again.
I bend and scoop some off the ground. I offer it out to him, but Will just stares at it. His mouth doesn’t move, not even his expression changes. I sigh inwardly.
I reach for his hand and turn it over. Placing the snow in his palm, I push his small, pudgy fingers closed around it. I watch his face as he touches the snow for the first time. I hold my breath a little, waiting for just a spark. A little one. One to say that he feels it.
“It’s snow, Will. You like snow?”
He stares up at me with innocent blue eyes. Eyes that match mine in colour only. My innocence was never there, but I’m trying. Trying to ensure that Will keeps it, and my tainted life doesn’t ruin his.
“I wish you would talk.” My hand closes over his. “Do you want to make a snowman?” I ask. “Like in your storybook? We can give him a hat and a scarf, and then he won’t be cold.”
I’ve never made a snowman myself, but I have seen it done. I put my hand on the snow and push it down to leave a trace that we were there. Will doesn’t make a move. His hand is still out holding the snow that I gave him. His hand has gone red from the cold, and guilt bites at me.
What was I thinking? I open his fingers and push the snow away. His hand is so cold. I hold it between mine and try to rub it to give him some warmth again.
