‘Mummy! Snow!’ Theo hurtles out of the cottage and grabs handfuls of snow, which he flings ineffectually towards the adults.
‘The snow plough’ll be along soon,’ Frida says firmly, as if that’s the matter settled. ‘We might as well go in and have breakfast while we wait.’
Shelley bites her lip. ‘I think we should call Michael…’
‘Yes, call Michael,’ Frida commands.
Lena frowns, ruffling Stan’s head as he bounds out to join them. ‘I’m not sure he’ll be able to do much about this from London.’
‘But he’ll know when the gritters and snow ploughs are likely to arrive.’ Frida stares at her.
‘We could try digging up to the road,’ Niall offers, ‘but ifthat’sblocked…’ He blows out air. ‘It’s ten miles of single-track lane, Frida.’
‘Yes, but this can’t be a one-off event, can it?’ she counters. ‘Surely it happens every year, and they’re prepared for it?—’
‘Who’s prepared?’ Lena looks at her. ‘I mean, who’s going to come to a remote place like this?’
‘The council people!’ Frida turns to Roger, as if expecting him to back her up. ‘The snow team. Thearmy…’
‘The army?’ Shelley splutters.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Frida glares at her husband. ‘Isaidyou should paint the pudding before we came up here. Then we’d be all ready.’
‘But Frida?—’
‘Why didn’t you? What was the problem again?’
‘I forgot to get brown paint,’ he mutters. ‘I thought there’d be time today?—’
‘We’re not doing any good all standing around, are we?’ Shelley offers.
‘No,’ Frida agrees. ‘There must be something we can do to clear this snow…’
‘I’ll fetch my hairdryer,’ Pearl murmurs, and Nail’s mouth twitches into a smile. ‘Oh, but we can’t call Michael,’ she adds. ‘He’s lost his phone.’
‘I’ll try him at the hotel,’ Shelley announces, and as the others head indoors she plods through the thick white covering to the end of the garden. Here the whiteness is punctuated by the hen house and a glimpse of dry-stone wall. She stops and googles theairport hotel, calls the number and is put through to his room. ‘Thank God you’re there,’ she exclaims when he answers.
‘Shelley? I was just about to call the house. How is it up there?’
‘You know already?’ She steps carefully over a snow-covered log.
‘Yeah. I had the news on just now. Caught the weather report. So, it’s really bad, is it?’
‘It’s actually beautiful,’ she replies. ‘But yes, I guess it’s not exactly ideal?—’
‘No, it’s not. I’m sorry.’ He exhales. ‘This is going to be difficult for you, isn’t it? If the guests can’t leave today?’
‘We can look after them,’ she assures him. ‘And hopefully it’ll all be cleared tomorrow, so we can still catch our flight?—’
‘Shelley, I hate to say it but?—’
‘We’ll just get through today,’ she says briskly, unwilling to even consider that they might not be able to fly home, as planned, on Christmas Eve. ‘Frida’s not happy,’ she adds. ‘She’s had Roger digging for hours already, but their car’s stuck…’
‘Right,’ Michael murmurs. ‘Like that, is she?’
‘Yes, she’s used to things happening the way she wants them to.’ She breaks off. ‘But what about you? I’m sorry, I’ve been so caught up with things here, I’ve just realised. You’re flying home today, aren’t you? I’m so sorry. This is my fault…’
‘Your fault?’ He sounds bemused now. ‘How are you to blame for this?’
