Page 1 of Snowflakes Over Micklewick Bay

ONE

EARLIER THAT YEAR – TUESDAY 17TH FEBRUARY

Hannah Merryweather had been walking for hours, yet it had done nothing to ease the overwhelming pain in her heart. It was still there, a real physical pain, obliterating all her other senses. She was as oblivious to the tears streaming down her cheeks as she was to the Arctic wind that was blowing in off the North Sea, nipping at any exposed bits of skin and pulling at her long, dark hair. Nor did she notice the glowering clouds that had gathered overhead, ready to unleash their contents at a moment’s notice. Winter was clinging to Micklewick Bay with gnarled, icy fingertips, hanging on to the bitter end, a spiteful sting in its tail. It was hard to believe spring was within touching distance.

But right now, Hannah didn’t care what season they were in, or how cold it was; all she could focus on was walking. It was what she did when she was feeling stressed or upset or had something on her mind that needed to be worked through and made sense of. She’d push her feet into her trainers and head out of the door, hoping a bracing walk would help give her clarity, calm the chaos and restore the inner peace she so constantly craved. Heaven knew she’d done it enough times over the years to know it was a strategy that worked for her – most of the time, at least.

But that wasn’t going to happen today. If anything, pounding the pavements of Micklewick Bay had only served to intensify the pain, every footstep confirming what she so desperately didn’t want to be true. And now, the strides that had propelled her along with such dogged determination when she’d first set out had reduced to little more than a trudge. Reluctant as she was, she had no choice but to accept that peace was out of reach for her today. No matter how far or for how long she walked, it wasn’t going to change the facts, cold and cruel as they were, as her appointment with Mr Cuthbert, the solicitor at Cuthbert Asquith & Co, had confirmed that morning.

She had no one now. Not a soul to care for her, nor love her.

At the age of thirty-three, Hannah had never felt so lost or utterly alone.

TWO

Engulfed by a wave of exhaustion, Hannah’s steps ground to a halt; it felt as if her feet had been encased in lead. She’d been operating on autopilot since that dreadful day, but reality had finally landed smack-bang in her heart.

She stood, rooted to the spot, her overcoat flapping open in the wind and offering scant protection from the bone-numbing cold, the hood long since blown down, her scarf hanging loose, her trainers damp and covered in sand from her march along the beach. She was only half aware that the muscles in her legs were still complaining after the pull up the one hundred and ninety-nine steps that delivered her to the top promenade.

Hannah forced herself over to the nearest of the wooden benches that were set out at regular intervals along the top prom. She flopped heavily onto the seat, not caring that it was soaked through from recent rainfall. She unhooked her bag from her shoulder and let it fall onto the bench.

Swiping the back of her hand under her nose, her eyes travelled absently over the broad expanse of pewter-coloured sea as the wind blew her hair every which way. Down on the beach, a dog was chasing a ball its owner had thrown, its bark carried by the wind and mingling with the sound of the waves crashing on the shore. Her hand reached for the silver moongazing hare pendant around her neck. She smoothed her fingers over it as a tear travelled slowly down her cheek.

Her gaze roamed over the majestic hulk of the town’s iconic Thorncliffe that stood at the head of the line of cliffs, dominating the stretch of coastline. Unbidden memories started playing out in her mind, easing their way through the sadness, of walks along that golden arc of sand, meals enjoyed at The Jolly Sailors Inn, strolls along the pier eating ice creams. She was surprised to find a happy scene taking centre stage in her thoughts. It was of the last time she’d wandered along the pier with her mum, Bronagh – one of her much-cherished memories. They’d been joined by her mum’s older sister Colleen who was always up for a giggle. Hannah recalled it had been a blazing hot day as the three of them had sauntered along, ice creams in hand, chatting away. Auntie Coll had a gift for telling stories and the knack for making the dullest of subjects sound amusing; Hannah loved her for it. Colleen had been regaling them with one such anecdote when she’d let out a blood-chilling scream mid-sentence as a seagull swooped by perilously close. It had taken Hannah a couple of beats to realise that the seabird had cheekily grabbed her aunt’s ice cream before flying off, its ill-gotten gains clenched tightly in its claws. Auntie Coll’s expression of disbelief that segued to mock outrage had caused Hannah and her mum to collapse into a fit of the giggles. But she’d soon joined in with their hilarity when the scoop of ice cream had slid from the cone as the gull flew off, landing with a splat on the head of a man who was minding his own business, fishing off the end of the pier. His resultant yelp had set the three of them roaring with laughter, tears pouring down their cheeks.

Hannah let a sigh slip through her lips. Laughter had always featured highly wherever Auntie Coll was. She was one of those people who brightened a room with her presence; felt good to be around. It had been the same with her mum who’d shared Coll’s infectious giggle. And though Bronagh had been a quieter version of her older sister, her sense of mischief more reined in, it was her gentle nature along with her warm and friendly disposition that had people gravitating to her.

Hannah closed her eyes, squeezing them tight as if capturing the moment behind her lids before it could evaporate. The happiness she’d felt that day was almost tangible: the warmth of the sun, the tart sweetness of her raspberry ripple ice cream, the flap of the seagull’s wings, their laughter turning heads nearby. The two women she’d loved most in the world together in one happy memory that, despite her sorrow, somehow had the power to trigger a bloom of love in her heart. She gave in to the watery smile that was tugging tentatively at the corners of her mouth; a tiny glimmer of light breaking through the dense fog of her grief.

Bronagh had worked as a matrimonial solicitor at Macey & Merryweather further up the coast in Skelby-by-the-Sea. It was when she’d been doing her articles as a trainee lawyer that she’d met Jon Merryweather – a newly qualified solicitor and son of one of the senior partners. It had been an instant and mutual attraction, with the pair soon falling head over heels for one another, marrying a couple of years later. When Hannah had come along, Bronagh had been besotted with her little daughter. She’d reduced her hours at the office to part-time, eager to spend as much time as possible with her chubby-cheeked little girl. Hannah had adored her mother and had looked forward to the days they spent together, whether it be baking cookies or building sandcastles. But what Hannah had loved the most was the warm, enveloping cuddles – or squidgy hugs, as Bronagh and Auntie Coll had called them – imbued with her mum’s comforting scent that were always in plentiful supply. Hannah had felt truly loved.

Despite her endeavours to cling on to the memory, it wasn’t long before her mind pulled her back to the last time she’d been in Micklewick Bay. There were no happy memories linked to that particular day.

The six months that had passed seemed like a lifetime ago. How was it that everywhere could still look the same when so much had changed?

Before she knew it, her grief had taken hold once more. ‘Argh! Will this pain never ease?’ she cried, her words whipped from her mouth and carried off down the prom. She covered her face with her hands and started to sob.

‘S’cuse me, are you okay?’ A soft voice made Hannah start; she’d been crying so hard she was oblivious to her surroundings, and the few foolhardy locals brave enough to face the weather who’d passed by. She swiped the tears away with her cold-numbed fingertips and turned to see a young woman standing beside the bench, sympathetic eyes peering through a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. She was bundled up well against the elements in a chunky duffel coat and red bobble hat – a bold splash of colour standing out on a grey and gloomy day. The black Labrador she held at the end of a lead was observing Hannah with curiosity.

It took her grief-fuddled mind a couple of moments to process that the young woman was Florrie Appleton; she’d been in the year above Hannah at school there in Micklewick Bay. It had been years since the two women had crossed paths but, appearance-wise, Florrie didn’t seem to have changed at all.

‘Sorry, that was a really daft question to ask someone who’s very clearly upset.’ Florrie gave a gentle smile. A straggle of hair had escaped her hat and she tucked it behind her ear. ‘Hannah, isn’t it? Mind if I join you?’

Every fibre in her body craved to be left alone; the last thing she needed right now was to have a conversation with someone she half knew. Hannah was tempted to say she was fine, but it was obvious from the state she was in, it was a far cry from the truth. And besides, she didn’t want to be rude. The Labrador gave a whimper and pushed its head into her lap, gentle amber eyes gazing up at her, full of concern, tail swishing.

Hannah sniffed and rubbed her nose. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was tight and the word came out more harshly than she’d intended as she struggled to marshal her emotions.

‘Oh.’ Florrie’s face fell. ‘Okay, right, well… I’ll just… but, if you…’

‘I mean, yes, I’m Hannah, and no, I don’t mind. Came out wrong. Sorry.’ She dredged up a smile as a pang of guilt struck her.

‘As long as you’re sure?’ Florrie said cautiously.

‘I’m sure.’ Hannah nodded, the feeling that she actually meant it creeping over her. There was something about the kindness in the other woman’s chocolate brown eyes and she found herself unexpectedly welcoming some company, even if it was that of a virtual stranger. She smoothed her hand over the Labrador’s head that was still resting in her lap and was rewarded with a tail wag and a nudge to continue the fussing.

‘Meet Gerty,’ said Florrie. ‘She seems to have taken a shine to you.’

‘She’s lovely, aren’t you, lass?’ Hannah gave Gerty a tickle behind her velvety ears which resulted in more tail wagging.