‘For now,’ he said gravely. ‘Then when we got to the bridge, it was practically impassable. I had to shift mounds of snow off it in order for us to pass.’ He looked ashen, suddenly older than his years.
‘Come on,’ I said, leading him to sit down next to the fire. I snatched a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over his shoulders. Wordlessly, he sat, locks of his hair falling over his face, the snow melting and dripping onto his nose. I enclosed him in my arms, squeezing him tight like my body alone could protect him from the fact that his brother and his father had died within such a short space of time. I kept him close to me until I felt him stop shivering.
I left Miles briefly to make him a hot toddy. I boiled the kettle and searched the downstairs rooms for Mimi and the twins to see if I could get them anything, but they had wordlessly gone up to their rooms. Back in the sitting room, I poured a good measure of whisky into a crystal tumbler and handed it to Miles. He looked up gratefully and threw it back in two gulps. I took it from him and refilled it.
‘How’s Mother?’ he asked eventually. ‘And the kids?’
‘The kids are understandably shaken. Your mum is… in shock.’ I didn’t want to alarm him unnecessarily; I was sure she’d realise soon that Tristan wasn’t coming back. ‘So, the police… They will be back soon to ask more questions?’
Miles nodded, his eyes deeply set in the shadows from the fire. ‘For now. There’s only CCTV of the car park, but they know everyone who went in and out. God knows how they’ll get back to us with all this snow though. They did seem concerned’—he stopped, looking towards the door, and then lowered his voice—‘about what happened yesterday.’
‘You told them about Mimi shooting him?’ I whispered.
‘The girls told them, apparently. They were going to find out, anyway; they would have found out from his hospital records.’
‘True,’ I agreed. ‘God, poor Mimi, her husband’s dead, and now she’s going to have to explain that one away.’
Miles fixed me with a stare, his voice low. ‘Do you think it was an accident?’
‘Well, it has to be, doesn’t it?’ I laughed nervously.
‘Could it just be a coincidence that my father and brother die a few days apart from each other?’ he said darkly as he drained his second whisky. ‘That’s the nature of coincidences, I suppose.’
I stood up and headed over to him. I placed my hands in his thick, wavy hair and kissed his forehead. ‘I’m so, so sorry my darling. I really am.’
His eyes were heavy as he looked up at me.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You head up, I’ll close everything up for the night.’
Twenty minutes later, I entered the bedroom and found Miles passed out fully clothed on top of the bed. I crept over to him, the light casting my long shadow across the wall. I tiptoed across and dimmed the switch on the lamp. Carefully undoing the laces of his boots, I slid one off and then started on the other. The left foot was more difficult, and I paused for a moment as he began to stir. When I was sure I wasn’t going to wake him, I started pulling again, successfully yanking it off after the third heave.
Neatly placing them near the door, I was about to start getting ready for bed when I noticed dried blood on the toe and rim of both boots. I stared at it for a moment, beforecarefullypicking them up again, taking them into the bathroom and methodically washing them in the sink.
The water swirled pink as it circled the drain, and I scrubbed until the leather was saturated. When I returned, Miles hadn’t moved a muscle, his breaths low and steady. I placed the boots back and slipped under the covers beside him.
But sleep didn’t come easily. The wind howled outside, battering the house with thick sheets of snow, and my mind whirled with unanswered questions.
8
MURDER, SHE MIGHT HAVE WRITTEN
The next morning, the world felt eerily silent; muffled under layers of fresh snowfall that clung thickly to every surface, four foot high now. The fire had gone out in the hearth, leaving only the ashy smell of extinguished warmth.
Miles spent all morning outside shovelling, in a vain attempt to cut a path towards the gates. He barely made it a quarter of the way before the snow started again, filling in the progress he’d made. I ordered him inside after two hours as it was clear no one would be leaving any time soon.
As Miles stomped his boots clean in the mudroom, I could see the exhaustion etched on his face. His cheeks were red from the biting cold, his breath still coming out in visible puffs.
‘The weather app says there’s more snow to come,’ he said shaking his head, ‘at least two days of it.’
In the kitchen, I handed him a steaming mug of coffee, which he accepted gratefully. ‘We’re just going to have to wait it out,’ I replied, trying to keep the worry from my voice. Through the frosted windows, all I could see was white– an endless expanse of snow that seemed to mock our attempts at escape.
We made our way to the living room, where the fireplace had been freshly stocked and was crackling merrily, a picture-perfect scene so at odds with the events of the last seventy-two hours.
Toots sat in the armchair, her thin frame wrapped in an enormous, expensive-looking tartan scarf, her thickly framed glasses making her eyes appear five times their actual size. She sat surveying Martha and Callum, who were decorating a Christmas tree. Callum looked over at me wearily.
‘Mrs Harlow found an artificial tree in the attic… Grandma said we should decorate it.’ The kids shared an awkward glance, slightly bewildered expressions on their faces.
‘I won’t have moping,’ Jeannie said, coming into the room holding a huge wreath in her arms. She walked over to the mantelpiece and draped it over the top. ‘There,’ she said proudly. ‘I’ll do the banisters next.’
