*
I rise at six, and pad towards the bedroom window. My head thuds, my mouth is dry, and regrets fill my head at the things I said to Finn last night.
I pull back the curtains. It’s still dark outside, but the lights on Rosamund’s porch are on, haloing Elise crouched with her back to me in front of a rather splendid-looking snowman. She’s clearly still a fan of pink; the hat she’s wearing is the same one she wore on the beach a year ago, but the pink jacket is paler – more grown-up – and her fair hair is longer, several inches peeking out of the bottom of her woolly hat. As she rises and pushes a carrot into the snowman’s head, I see she’s taller, no longer a child but a young woman.
Unbidden memories flood my head of playing in the snow with Mum and Dad when I was a child, and my throat closes round them. I turn from the window, and shiver. It’s not cold in the cottage. The central heating is on and, if anything, it’s too warm. It’s the simple thought of being here again – where Lark disappeared – where we were all last together.
I close the curtains again. I need water – lots of water – and head downstairs, where I gulp back a tumbler full, and flick on the kettle. I hear Dad’s footfalls on the stairs, and make him some coffee, and myself some tea, and leave the kitchen.
He’s sitting on the sofa, and I place the steaming mug on the table in front of him. ‘Thanks, love,’ he says, as I kiss his head.
I perch on the edge of the armchair, cradling my mug of tea. ‘Rosamund and Elise have built a great snowman,’ I say, before taking a sip.
He smiles. ‘You used to love the snow,’ he says. ‘Lark not so much. She used to cry if her hands got too cold.’ I hear a crack in his voice. ‘And Thomas used to throw snowballs at me when I came home from work.’
I laugh. ‘I remember,’ I say, recalling the small boy who would run like the wind when Dad chased him.
‘Do you think we should head for home today?’ I say, blowing the steam from my drink.
‘I’ve been wondering that myself.’ He picks up his coffee.
‘There’s nothing here, Dad. We’re chasing shadows.’
He nods. ‘But I’m not sure how the roads will be this morning. It’s been snowing through the night.’ He picks up the remote control and flicks on the TV. ‘Let’s see what’s happening in this area, shall we?’
We wait a while for the local weather forecast, before a chirpy young woman tells us the local roads are blocked until they can get a snowplough out. We’re stuck here, and my heart sinks.
‘Maybe it’s fate.’ Dad flicks off the TV, and puts the remotes on the table. ‘Maybe we are meant to be here. Maybe the fact we can’t leave means we will discover something.’
I can’t find the words I want to say, without extinguishing his hopes further, so I stay silent, biting the inside of my mouth and tasting blood. A crushing foreboding settles on my shoulders.
What if it was a stranger who took Lark?
What if it wasn’t Jackson, after all?
What if whoever took Lark is back, or never left?
What if they made the footprints in the snow last night? Looked in the window at Elise, while wearing a mask?
Dad picks up his Kindle, and I rise, slip on my padded jacket, bobble hat and boots, and take my tea onto the snowy porch at the front of the cottage.
A milky sun is rising, casting a bright light over a shimmering sheet of untouched snow. The footprints we saw on our way home last night have gone – due to last night’s snowfall – though it’s not falling now.
I’m lost in thought, my nose and fingertips tingling as I sip my tea, when I hear someone call my name.
It’s Finn, wearing winter running gear and a beanie hat and scarf. He isn’t exactly running, more stomping through the snow. ‘Morning,’ I call back, raising my hand, hoping he won’t hate me for the way I behaved the night before. ‘Not the best conditions for a run.’
He laughs. ‘You’re right about that, but if I don’t stick to my routine, I’ll give up.’ He glances over his shoulder at the snowman near Rosamund’s cottage. ‘They’ve done a great job, haven’t they?’ He sounds a little out of breath.
I smile. ‘They really have. Oh to be young.’
‘Hey, we’re still young.’ He laughs and picks up speed. ‘See you at breakfast?’
‘Yes, we’ll be over soon.’
‘Great!’ He heads away with another wave, and I take a deep breath and go back inside.
‘Are you ready to eat, Dad?’
‘Sure,’ he says, rising and climbing the stairs. ‘I’ll have a quick shower first, then we can head over.’
*
We pass the snowman on our way to the conservatory, and I notice Rosamund standing in the window in her dressing gown, holding a mug. She lifts her hand in a wave, and I return the gesture. Within seconds she’s gone from the window, and appears at the front door.
‘Morning,’ she calls. ‘Can you tell Ruth we won’t want breakfast this morning. Elise has gone back to bed – she was up at the crack of dawn building our new snowman friend here.’ She smiles. ‘And I’m feeling a bit groggy after the stressful journey here.’
‘OK, we’ll perhaps see you later,’ I call back as we continue to trudge through the snow, trying so hard to forgive her.
Dad makes a grumbling sound. ‘I don’t know why you give her the time of day, Amelia. That
