which flickered in the depths of the rising night, but it was the darkness which Ellen felt coming into its own – the darkness, and the lurid glow of the snowscape, and above all the cold. The temperature must have fallen several degrees since she had last been out of the house. She felt as if a claw of ice had seized her face. She thrust her hands into her gloves and hurried down to the main road, stumbling over footprints.
By the time she reached the shops, the cold was close to overcoming her ability to think. Each breath stung her nostrils, each step struck chill through her boots. The snow on the pavements was trodden down, and walking was treacherous with frozen slush. Most of the shops were open, their windows grey with condensation, but they had few customers. A family with a terrier on a leash crossed the square, their footfalls sounding compressed, their heads hanging low as if they'd been defeated by the cold. 'Watch you don't fall,' the woman with the terrier said, and Ellen saw that they were only attending to their steps.
As she turned along Hill Lane, she faltered. The mass of white above the streets – the common and the forest which was almost indistinguishable from it except for the hint of shapes of trees – was glowing. It put her in mind of an enormous crumpled page which was illuminated from within, and it appeared not to be entirely blank: she thought she saw patterns extending from the dimness beneath the trees onto the edge of the common. She made herself concentrate on the street she was climbing. Poring over her drawing must have affected her eyes, but she had to ignore that for the children's sake.
Soon she couldn't see beyond the town for the streetlamps, which seemed to huddle together as they approached the common. Nearly all the houses had at least one downstairs window lit. Their illumination shone through curtains and Christmas wreaths and lay on the pavement or in gardens, exhibiting snow. A door opened ahead of Ellen, and a woman hurried across the street to deliver a saucepan covered with a steaming cloth to an ageing neighbour. 'Don't leave it open, we'll catch our deaths,' a man protested as the woman dashed back into her house. The door slammed, and then the street was deserted apart from Ellen and several figures poking their white heads over garden walls.
By the time she reached Kate's and Terry's house her face felt like a frozen mask. As she stepped onto the short path, the roses on the trellis over the gate shed snow on her. She heard Johnny and Margaret laughing as she picked her way along the icy path beside a snowman surrounded by footprints. She dragged one hand out of her pocket and prodded the doorbell, and Kate ran to let her in. 'You look as if you could do with something to warm you up.'
'Don't open any Christmas spirit just for me.'
'Christmas has already started in our house.' Kate led her into the main room, where symmetrical angels had been unfolded and hung from the cornice, and slid the double doors open to the dining-room. 'Scotch is the answer to this kind of weather.'
'I'm glad something is.'
'Don't go imagining this is the kind of winter you've got to look forward to for the rest of your life. It can be cold here, but it's never been like this.'
Ellen's face and ungloved hands were already aching with warmth. Kate poured out single malts and clinked glasses with her. 'Here's to coping with the winter. We always have.'
'How's Terry managing with the van?'
'With the van, not at all. He's been out all day with one of Elgin's wheelbarrows, delivering books to the old folk. You can't keep a good librarian down.'
'Here's to him.'
'And to whatever keeps us all going. Children, and people in general. And pictures and stories that need you and Ben to put them on paper.' Kate squinted at their empty glasses. 'Well, that saw that off. Better have one for the road, or not for the road if you want to stay longer.'
She was heading for the cabinet when the doorbell rang. 'Would you see who that is, Ellen? It must be important if they're out on a night like this.'
Was it Ben? Perhaps a drink or two would help him relax. Ellen opened the front door, hoping to see him. But it was Terry, about to prod the button again with the key which his gloved fist had proved too cumbersome to wield. 'Another minute out there and you'd have had to defrost me in the microwave,' he said, shouldering the door closed. 'How are your pipes?'
'Pretty healthy as far as I'm aware. How about yours?'
'I don't mean your innards, I mean at your house.' He fumbled his gloves off and winced as he wriggled his fingers. 'I met Stan Elgin by the church, Kate. Some of the houses on the top road are already frozen up. He's going round to tell folk to keep their heating on overnight. I said I'd tell our street once I get warm.'
'I'll do it if you like, love. You've been out enough.'
'I'd much rather you stayed in, at least until we see how tomorrow is. And Ellen, if I were you I wouldn't wait much longer before you take the children home, unless you're planning to stay over, which you're certainly welcome to do. Right, Kate?'
'Any time.'
'It wasn't that bad when I came,' Ellen said.
Terry clasped his hands together and raised a glass of the malt to his lips. 'I'd say the temperature has dropped several degrees in the last half-hour.'
Ellen downed her Scotch and went to the foot of the stairs. 'Say goodbye, you two. Time we were going.'
She was sorting out their boots from the chaos under the stairs when all four children stampeded down. Margaret was glittering like a fairy on a tree. 'Look, Mummy, Ramona says I can have her party dress now it doesn't fit her.'
'You're lucky to have such a good friend. Better not wear it on the way home. You can dazzle your father with it when we're safely shut in.'
Margaret ran upstairs in a whirl of spangles which reminded Ellen of snow dancing in the wind, and Kate went to the kitchen to fetch a bag for the dress. Stefan and Ramona were playing pat-a-cake, clapping at each other's hands in a pattern so complicated they lost the rhythm and collapsed with laughter. 'You try it, Johnny,' Stefan said, and when they'd had enough: 'I'm sorry I forgot to sort out my monster cards for you. I'll give you all the spares next time, cross my heart and hope to die.'
Kate reappeared as Margaret came downstairs, and folded up the dress for her before slipping it into the bag. 'Ellen, if you want to borrow any extra clothes to keep the cold off you and the children, just say.'
'We'll survive, don't worry. You look after yourselves,' Ellen said. Once the children were as insulated as she could make them she urged them out onto the path. 'I'll be in touch,' she told the Wests, smiling at the sight of the four of them crammed together in the hall, and shut the door quickly to keep in the warmth.
Even before the strip of light on which she was standing vanished, Ellen felt the night close in. It felt as if there was nothing behind her but darkness and a cold so profound that the air itself seemed to ache. 'Off we go, Sherpa Peg and Sherpa Johnny,' she said.
Margaret stayed close as Ellen skidded downhill, one hand poised to support herself on the encrusted garden walls. Johnny would have skated down to Market Street if Ellen hadn't stopped him; though there was no traffic, she preferred to keep him with her in the dark. Eventually they reached the level road, where marble replicas of cars were parked beneath the streetlamps. More of the shops were closed, their decorations gleaming from the unlit interiors as though frost was developing on them, and the windows of the few lit shops were opaque with trapped breaths. The only sign of life was the confusion of footprints preserved by ice on the pavements. As Ellen led the way into the road, Johnny began to sing:
'Snow in your ears
And snow up your nose,
Snow in your eyes
And snow for your toes…'
'Shut up, Johnny, I'm cold enough as it is,' Margaret complained. 'What sort of stupid song is that?'
'About a snowman. It just came into my head.'
'We'd never have known.'
'Don't you listen to her, Johnny. I expect she's wishing she'd made it up herself.' Nevertheless Ellen was glad that he'd fallen silent, whether from pique or because he'd run out of ideas; the song had reminded her of the snowmen she'd passed on the way down the hill. She'd been too busy keeping her footing to spare them more
