The blizzard whirls, Dinah turns back to her shovelling, and I make my decision, reversing up the cul-de-sac, slipping and sliding as I walk faster. This whole thing has been a total waste of time – I thought I had psyched myself up for it but I’m not ready to face them all.
‘Bye, dear!’ shouts Dinah after me.
I mutter ‘bye’ over my shoulder in reply.
It feels like an even longer walk the other way. After a few minutes, I stop under a tree and message Mother Pells.
Hi Mum, sorry, not feeling well so won’t make it today. Happy birthday, x
I wait for the ticks to turn blue but they don’t. She hasn’t seen it.
I walk on. Just a couple of streets to go. I’ve already slipped twice, but thankfully didn’t completely fall over. I did at one point grab a fence though, which means my hand is now covered in a mix of snow and a weird green slimy stuff which I want to call algae but probably isn’t.
It’s a complete white-out now and I’m struggling to even walk straight. A car slows down alongside me. It’s Josie, windscreen wipers going at a pace. The window winds down, tipping snow onto the road.
‘Erica!’
‘Oh… hi Josie.’
‘Get in! You can’t be out in this!’
I peer into the car and see Héloïse in the back. ‘Erm… I thought… you didn’t want me to…’
‘Oh, just get in.’ She sounds uncharacteristically impatient.
I am becoming a snowman in kitten heels so obey her, opening the door and plonking myself down in the passenger’s seat, bringing a whirling cloud of snowflakes into the car with me.
Once the door is shut, it seems very quiet.
‘I’ll have to wait here a minute for this to pass, I can’t see a thing,’ says Josie.
‘Okay.’
‘Why do you look so different Erica?’ says Héloïse from the back seat.
‘I had a hi-tech beauty treatment,’ I reply.
There’s a pause.
‘The snow is spectangular,’ she says.
‘That’s not really a word, cherie,’ says Josie, who looks tense.
‘I know,’ says Héloïse.
Another pause. I don’t say anything, and pretend to be preoccupied with brushing snow off my coat.
‘I don’t think you want to be young again, Erica.’
‘Don’t you?’ I say. Children are so annoying.
‘No. I think you don’t want to be old.’
I stay quiet.
‘Why not?’ Héloïse keeps going.
‘Why not what?’
