‘I’m not keen on her myself,’ I cut in. ‘But she is sorry – wants our forgiveness.’
‘Yes, well, she won’t get mine.’
‘I know. You said.’ I’m frustrated by his lack of understanding. ‘I just feel you should give her a chance, that’s all.’
‘Pot. Kettle,’ he says.
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, you’ve never given Maddie a chance. Never tried to forgive her.’
‘That’s different,’ I say, though I’m not sure it is.
I glance back over my shoulder as Rosamund calls after us, ‘Second thoughts, a cooked breakfast does sound rather tempting. I’ll be right over.’ She steps back inside her cottage and closes the door behind her.
‘Robert!’ It’s Maddie, waving from her cottage doorway, dressed in her ski suit. ‘Can we borrow your muscles again, please? Thomas is starving.’
*
‘Did you hear about the footprints?’ Ruth says, topping up Dad’s tea.
‘Footprints?’ everyone says but me.
‘Bit odd really,’ she goes on, her hand on the side of the teapot as though her skin is made of copper. ‘Finn said they seemed to come from the woods and then go back again.’
‘That’s weird,’ Dad says.
‘Aye, it is strange,’ Ruth agrees, eyes searching the ceiling. ‘I can’t think who it could have been. The roads are blocked for miles.’
‘But what if someone’s been here all along?’ Maddie says, her voice cracking under her words. ‘Arrived before us. What if they came before the snow?’
‘What size prints were they?’ Thomas dips a piece of toast into his egg, and as the yellow trickles down the shell, he shoves the toast into his mouth.
‘Finn said they were made by large feet.’ Ruth turns to me. ‘What do you think, Amelia? You saw them, didn’t you?’
All eyes are on me, and Dad’s forehead furrows. ‘You saw them, Amelia? You never said.’
‘I didn’t want to worry you.’ It sounds pathetic now I think about it. ‘I was going to mention it this morning. I think we should tell Rosamund.’
‘Tell Rosamund what?’ She’s standing in the doorway, looking stunning in her orange coat, her wavy blonde hair spilling from her fur hat.
‘We were talking about the footprints,’ Ruth says. ‘Tea, coffee?’
‘Tea please, I’ve gone off coffee since I fell pregnant.’ She sits down next to Dad, and he shuffles his chair away. ‘What footprints?’ she asks.
‘There were footprints in the snow last night,’ Ruth says. ‘Whoever made them walked from the woods to your cottage.’
‘Oh God,’ Rosamund says, peeling off her gloves. ‘Maybe Elise did see someone hanging about.’
‘Elise saw someone?’ Dad says. ‘Nobody tells me anything.’
Rosamund shudders and nods. ‘Well she said she did. Said he was wearing a mask, and was looking in at her through the window of our cottage. But she makes things up. Always has done.’
‘It seems odd though, don’t you think?’ I say. ‘Especially after last time.’
‘I’ll talk to her again about it when she wakes up. Anyway, I didn’t notice any footprints this morning.’ She raises a perfect eyebrow.
‘Well we saw them last night, Rosamund.’ I bite into a croissant and chew. Crumbs fall onto the table. ‘It’s snowed since then. Covered them over.’
She shudders again. ‘Don’t, please, you’re giving me the creeps.’
Ruth hands her a mug of tea. ‘Get that down you, lass. It’ll make you feel better.’
After taking several sips, Rosamund puts the mug on the table. ‘Anyway, we’re going to head for home today,’ she says. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I’m not sure what I was thinking.’ She’s talking too fast, and her hands are trembling. ‘The weather’s getting worse, more snow expected later with winds of up to seventy miles per hour.’
‘I think you may be out of luck, Rosamund,’ Dad says, as though he’s getting pleasure from his words. ‘All the roads are blocked around here.’
‘But we desperately need to get back to the comfort of our own home.’
Ruth rests her hand on Rosamund’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry. I’m cooking a nice beef Wellington later.’
Finn appears from the back of the house. ‘What you lads and lassies need is a bit of fun,’ he says. ‘There’s a hill on the other side of the ruin—’
Ruth spins round to look at him, her eyes wide. ‘Vine Hill?’
‘And I’ve got a couple of sledges,’ Finn goes on as though his mother hasn’t spoken. ‘Does anyone fancy a bit of tobogganing?’
Ruth storms from the room, and within seconds Dad’s on his feet.
‘Not for me,’ he says. ‘I’m not here to have fun.’ He heads out of the conservatory without a word, but I can’t bring myself to call him back.
I think how odd his words sounded. From the moment Mum became ill, having fun or enjoying ourselves felt wrong somehow – that if I should laugh or feel happy, then I was being disloyal to her, to Lark, then to my lost baby. Yet at this moment, a part of me wants to whizz down a snowy slope on a sledge and yell and squeal and laugh at the top of my voice.
‘I’m up for it,’ Thomas says. His spinal injury affects his motor skills in his legs, though his sensory functions have always been OK. But I’m still concerned.
‘Do you think you should, Thomas? Dad won’t be happy.’
He glares my way. ‘Life is pretty crap right now, Amelia. I’m going down that slope whether you and Dad like it or not.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Who’s going to ride with me?’
‘Me!’ says Maddie, and I control an urge to thump her. ‘Let’s do it!’
‘Great!’ Finn says, his cheeks glowing.
Rosamund takes another sip of her drink, and shakes her head. ‘I’m not quite sure how you can all get so excited, after just saying we may have a prowler about, and we’re stranded in this awful place. No offence meant, Finn.’
My mind swirls with all the bad things that have happened, and it’s as though I’m punching them to the back of my mind. ‘Count me in,’ I say, desperately needing to feel the freezing wind on my face – in my hair.
*
It’s snowing again, and the wind is getting up, whipping the snow off the
