Page 18 of Snowflakes Over Micklewick Bay

Hannah had always thought Birdie’s name couldn’t have been more apt. With her petite frame, delicate bird-like features and dark, shiny eyes like beads of jet, she put Hannah in mind of a little sparrow.

‘Doesn’t surprise me about the temperature; feels like it’s pretty close to minus six already.’ Hannah retrieved her bag from behind the driver’s seat before aiming her key fob at the vehicle and locking it with a beep, the cold air whipping around her making her cheeks tingle, working its way into her still-damp clothes.

In the distance came the low rumble of a tractor from the direction of Thundercloud Farm. It was soon joined by the noisy bleating of Tommy Verrill’s flock of black-faced sheep in the field on the opposite side of the lane to the two cottages. Hannah turned to see the snow-covered creatures heading towards the five-bar gate in anticipation of Tommy or his son Tom Junior delivering a bale of hay to top up their feed.

‘Now then.’ Tommy’s muffled Yorkshire greeting travelled along the lane to them as he jumped down from his tractor, his hand raised in a wave.

‘Now then, Tommy,’ Birdie called over the cacophony of bleating, her reply overlapping Hannah’s hello.

The older woman turned back to Hannah as Tommy hefted the large bale into the field. She shivered and rubbed her hands up her arms. ‘By it isn’t ’alf raw out here. You look absolutely nithered, lovey. Why don’t you come in here first and have a nice cuppa, get warmed through? The sitting room’s lovely and toasty and I’ve baked some of your favourite ginger biscuits, the ones with chunks of stem ginger in – added an extra-generous measure, especially for you. I was up early, got cracking with them first thing. I had the radio on in the kitchen, listening to that DJ, whatchamacallim? You know, the one who plays the good music, happy sounding lad, nice and chatty he is, but his name escapes me at the minute. Anyroad, my point is, it’s the reason I didn’t hear you leave.’ She paused for a moment. ‘So, how about that cuppa, flower?’

As she crunched over the snow, Hannah took in Birdie’s smile, the hopeful glimmer shining in her eyes triggering another squeeze of guilt in her chest. Though she was inordinately fond of her kind-hearted neighbour, after the day she’d had, Hannah would’ve preferred to simply slip into Fern Cottage without having to make too much conversation. What she craved right now was a long soak in a hot bath which she hoped would warm her frozen body through and ease the heavy mix of exhaustion and grief that was still dragging her down. Only then would she be able to start processing the myriad thoughts that were currently cluttering her mind, not to mention what had been dumped on her by Mr Cuthbert at the solicitor’s office. She’d had no idea her aunt had been dealing with so much and while she was poorly, too. If she took Birdie up on her offer, Hannah knew it wouldn’t take long for her neighbour to work out where she’d been. That something over and above the loss of her aunt was troubling her, and, right now, she really wasn’t in the right frame of mind to answer Birdie’s questions, however well intended they were. And then there were the contents of the letter intimating that Birdie had something to share, well, make that several things. Hannah knew she was going to have to face it eventually, but that time wasn’t now. It was the knowledge that Birdie would’ve spent a long and lonely day, worrying about her, that put things into perspective. She needed to put her own feelings to one side for the moment and spend some time with Birdie. If her neighbour brought up the subject of Auntie Coll’s letter, all Hannah had to say was that she didn’t feel up to discussing it just yet. No harm done.

‘I’d love to join you for a cuppa, Birdie.’ Hannah gave her a warm smile, yet more guilt clawing at her as it dawned that she’d barely checked in on her neighbour since her aunt’s funeral almost four weeks ago. She’d been so wrapped up in her own grief, she’d almost forgotten Birdie had lost her best friend. Hannah had some making up to do.

Birdie’s face lit up. ‘Excellent.’

‘But first I just need to get changed out of my damp clothes, if that’s okay. I got quite a soaking – long story.’ Her trainers sank deeper into the snow. If she didn’t get moving soon Hannah was pretty sure her feet were in real danger of getting frostbite.

‘Ooh, of course, flower, you don’t want to be sitting in wet clothes, you’ll catch a chill. You go and get yourself changed, I’ll pop the kettle on, get the tea mashing.’

‘Fab! I’ll be two ticks.’

‘Grand.’ Birdie beamed before turning and carefully picking her way up the snowy path and disappearing into her little home.

ELEVEN

‘You still look pale, lovey.’ Birdie handed Hannah a mug of steaming tea which she took gratefully.

‘I’m always pale, Birdie, it’s my Irish heritage; the O’Riordan genes are responsible for that, it’s out of my control. Auntie Coll and my mum were the same.’

When Hannah was a child, she was regularly told she was the image of her mother and aunt which, as far as she was concerned, was high praise indeed and something she’d been thrilled to hear. She’d thought them both incredibly beautiful with their pale alabaster skin, bright blue eyes and thick, black hair which Hannah had inherited along with her fine high cheekbones and full mouth. She’d conjured up some magical story in her mind, believing them to have hailed from some magical place in Ireland and were secretly fairy princesses. The idea had been born from the tales her mother used to tell her at bedtime of the sidhe (pronounced shee) – or ‘Fairy Folk’ as she’d said they were also known in Irish folklore. Hannah’s imagination had run riot, absorbing Bronagh’s vivid descriptions, from their shimmering, iridescent clothes, to their cosy woodland homes and the antics that filled their days. Her mum had spun such vibrant tales, Hannah had been desperate for them to be true, wishing with all her heart she could be a part of them.

Birdie sighed heavily. ‘Aye, I suppose they were, God rest their souls…’ she said, her voice tailing off.

Detecting the dip in Birdie’s mood, and knowing it wouldn’t take much before she followed her down that route, Hannah quickly searched her mind for something to say in a bid to lift Birdie’s spirits. As she was thinking, it struck her that she hadn’t had anything to drink since the half cup of tea she’d managed to swill down before she’d set off for Micklewick Bay that morning and that had been unpalatably cold. No wonder her throat felt dry. ‘Ooh, I’m ready for this, it’s ages since I had a hot drink.’ She took an appreciative sip of her tea then smiled over at Birdie. ‘Mmm. You always make a really decent cuppa; nice and strong, just the way I like it.’

‘Glad to hear it. Mind, you shouldn’t be going all day without a hot drink, young lady, especially in cold weather like this. There’s no wonder you look paler than normal, and wan, too – no offence, but it’s nowt to do with the O’Riordan genes. And it’s not like you to go off for hours on end and not mention anything, then come back all puffy-eyed and sad-looking. You need to take care of yourself, especially in the winter.’

Hannah opened her mouth to protest as thoughts of Darryl and the bombardment of calls and texts to her phone leapt into her mind, making her heart jolt. She’d forgotten all about them once she’d taken the road for the moors. Birdie continued before she had a chance to speak.

‘And there’s no point telling me you haven’t been getting yourself upset, it’s clear as day you’ve been sobbing your heart out. You looked wrung out when you got out of your car; still do, if I’m honest. Sorry if that sounds harsh, flower – I’m just worried about you, that’s all.’

Hannah heaved a sigh. ‘To be honest, it’s been a bit of a day.’ She knew there was no point in trying to hide it from Birdie’s sharp eyes, not that she wanted to mention Darryl. The last thing she wanted was for him, or his mother, to dominate their conversation.

‘Aye, I can tell. You’ve had a lot of them recently,’ Birdie said sympathetically. ‘But try to put them behind you for now and let yourself relax a bit, get nice and comfy.’

The two women were ensconced in Birdie’s compact living room with its low-beamed ceiling and thick, uneven walls – Snug Cottage couldn’t have been more aptly named; it was the epitome of snug cosiness. The aroma of baking lingered in the air, familiar and comforting. Hannah had her feet stretched out in front of her, a plump cushion at her back, while Birdie had made herself comfortable on her favourite all-singing, all-dancing chair with its adjustable footrest, her feet encased in a comfy pair of sheepskin slippers. Smudge was curled up and purring contentedly in her lap. It was hardly surprising considering the fire that was blazing merrily behind the glass in the log burner tucked within the inglenook. The table lamp on the sideboard added to the soothing atmosphere, bathing everything in its golden glow. Having postponed her longed-for bath until later, Hannah had changed into a pair of fleece-lined loose-fitting leggings, popped a thick hoodie over a long-sleeved T-shirt and slipped her feet into a fluffy pair of thermal socks. She’d left her wellies next to the mat by the front door of Snug Cottage. And though a hint of dampness still clung to her long hair – combing out the knots had taken an age and made her eyes water – she finally felt she was beginning to warm through.

‘It’s so lovely and toasty in here,’ she said, taking Birdie’s advice and allowing herself to relax a little as the warmth of the room wrapped itself around her, making her toes tingle as they came back to life. Already, she could feel the stress that had held her so tightly loosen its grip a little, and the weight from her shoulders ease ever so slightly. But most unexpected of all, it was almost as if a tiny crack had appeared in her grief, allowing a thin sliver of light to reach in, which was odd, and totally unexpected considering the day she’d had. She drew in a deep breath; she’d been right to accept Birdie’s invitation.

‘Aye, just the way it should be on a winter’s night, flower,’ Birdie replied, smoothing her hand over Smudge’s back, making him purr rapturously. ‘You can’t beat snuggling up in front of a real fire, as Smudgie here agrees, don’t you, lad?’ Smudge’s purring increased in volume, bringing a smile to his owner’s mouth.

‘I’m really sorry I worried you, Birdie, it was thoughtless of me and I promise not to do it again. It’s just… I mean… I… Ugh! I don’t know where to start, there’s been such a lot to take in and deal with recently. My head’s been all over the place and I didn’t think. Sorry.’

‘I understand, sweetheart, and there’s really no need to keep apologising. You’re back home safe and sound. I shouldn’t have said owt, I’m just a daft old woman, making a great fuss over nowt, that’s all.’ Birdie shuffled awkwardly in her seat. ‘I shouldn’t be making you feel guilty. After all, it’s none of my business what you do. I’ve made myself look like a right nosy parker.’

‘Don’t say that! You’re none of those things! You’re kind and considerate. And you’re perfectly entitled to say something, we always tell you when we’re heading out… well, we always used to when…’ Hannah’s thoughts were stopped in their tracks and she took a moment to gather herself. It wasn’t getting any easier, remembering that her aunt was no longer with them. She swallowed. ‘And I’ll continue doing it so you won’t be left worrying.’