‘But Quentin’s only just been found…’ Mrs Harlow began, ‘don’t you think it could wait until things aren’t so…’ She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. It was becoming clear to us all that things were never going to be calm or normal ever again.
‘No-no, no one else cares about whatIwant, so we might as well get it over and done with before we’re trapped in here again. We’ll worry about Quentin and what to do with him when I’ve been for a walk and had chance to clear my head. We must remain steadfast!’
‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ said Callum, and I shot him a glare.
We watched aghast as Jeannie headed over to a kitchen cupboard, whipped it open and, standing on her tiptoes, began rooting around for something at the far back. Tupperware and its lids began raining down, crashing loudly to the floor around her feet.
‘Let me help…’ offered Mrs Harlow.
‘No! I have them. Here!’ Jeannie pulled out two large, ornate tins and held them out before us. ‘Tell me, what do you all think is best, the dark green Harrods ground-coffee tin, or the peacock-blue Fortnum and Mason loose-leaf Assam? Which tin do you think George would prefer?’
We stood staring at her.
‘Come on!’ she chided. ‘We haven’t got all day, it’s a simple question!’
‘Um… I think Harrods,’ I offered.
‘Agreed,’ said Martha. ‘It says “old money” with just a hint of disappointment.’
‘Harrods it is!’ Jeannie declared, discarding the Fortnum and Mason tin on the side with a clatter. She yanked the lid off the coffee tin, reached for the bag and unceremoniously dropped it inside.
‘Right, then. We should go for a walk,’ she said decisively.
‘But the police…’ Mrs Harlow said warily. ‘Won’t it look bad if we all march out of here for a walk?’
‘I am a Weiss!’ Jeannie trilled, ‘I care not for the opinions of sheep!’
‘But the eggnog!’ Mrs Harlow lamented. ‘It won’t be as good reheated. What if it splits?’
Jeannie blew out her cheeks, a nanosecond away from fully blowing her top. She flung open one of the cupboards, flinging drinking bottles and travel mugs over her shoulder in a cacophony of noise. ‘Aha!’ she announced, pulling out the biggest stainless-steel Thermos I’d ever seen. ‘Here—’ She thrust it at Mrs Harlow aggressively. ‘Put it in there. It will keep us all warm on the walk and numb the insanity.’
‘Whatever you do,’ Callum warned, ‘don’t mix those vessels up. A dose of ashes down the gullet would be hard to come back from.’ Martha elbowed him in the gut.
Jeannie left to tell Fergus the awful news: not only was his wife dead, but now his son, too. With dread in our hearts and our minds reeling, we headed to our rooms to collect our coats, hats and walking boots.
I looked at Miles with concern. What if he’d wanted time to prepare something to say about his father? He had told me, Martha and Callum that he wanted to be more open about his feelings, but I could see that the only way he could operate right now was to shut himself down. But there was no time to ask him how he felt about it, as Jeannie began banging the gong like we were in the Blitz and had to get to our air-raid shelter post-haste before being blown to smithereens.
23
IT’S SNOW LIE
18thDecember 2025
In the early hours of the morning, I was up before the lark and on my way to retrieve the castor-oil plant from the greenhouse, when I spotted a shadowy figure lumbering through the snow around the walls of Weiss Manor. That was extremely odd, because we were completely snowed in; so the fellow must have walked quite a way to get here. The scoundrel was about to jump the fence when he spotted me.
It was that son of a bitch, Quentin, thinking he could swan in here and trade his prison slop for smoked salmon and cream cheese. He stared at me through the railings, and it was like having the devil himself clap eyes on me. Except what Quentin was yet to realise was; he’d always just been playing… I’m the real fuckin’ deal baby.
He told me he’d been released and that he’d rented a car but had only made it so far before he’d had to abandon it and walk the rest of the way. He hadn’t told any of us he was coming, of course, he wanted it to be a ‘Christmas surprise’. I opened the gate and invited him in like the good host I am.
I had zero intention of anyone from the house seeing him, though. Quick as a flash, I grabbed him from behind using the scarf around his neck. I dragged him towards the trees as he fought valiantly; but he obviously hadn’t been doing his chin-ups while he was locked away, because he was weaker than a Filet-O-Fish.
After making sure the life was well and truly squeezed out of his nefarious neck, I couldn’t very well dig a hole with all this snow. I rolled him about a bit until he gathered up a nice coating of the white stuff, before I sat him up just beneath the treeline. It was still dark enough that I was confident no one from the house would be able to see me. I packed and packed the snow around him, until he no longer needed support to sit up. I fashioned the snow around him and kept packing it in until he resembled a squat little thing. I’d gather the carrot and coal later tonight, I figured, but for now, I tied his scarf around him and patted his cold, snowy head.
He’d deserved something brutal and far bloodier. But if he would insist on turning up unannounced, then he’d have to make do with improv.
We gathered in the foyer and Fergus was already waiting for us, looking rather lost but surprisingly sober for once.
He looked straight at Miles as he said, ‘I can’t believe it.’ But he didn’t sound completely devastated. He sounded more like a man who’d just had a millstone removed from around his neck.
