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“You did. It was after Daddy got frustrated because Poppy needed a wee.”

She’d thought it, certainly, but she hadn’t realised she’d said the words aloud. And Elsie had heard them.

She wanted more than anything to be a good mother and she was failing dismally. In trying not to upset her own mother, she’d been a bad mother to her own children.

Her brain felt exhausted and the backs of her eyes burned. She was tired and stressed and felt like a total failure. All she wanted to do was lie down and wait for Christmas to be over. But she couldn’t do that. She had to make it to her parents’ house. She had to smile for her children. She had to somehow dry her dress, style her hair, put on lipstick and give everyone the perfect Christmas.

Pull yourself together, Brooke.

“It was a stressful journey, Elsie,” she said, “and we were all a bit tense. Everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re tense.”

“So when Daddy said we were all going to die in a ditch, he didn’t mean it?”

Matt cleared his throat. “I think we should all move on from that very difficult car journey. We’re safe now. Thanks to Mabel’s kindness and generosity we have shelter and a warm blanket. And hot chocolate! What could be better?” He put the half-drunk mug of chocolate on the table and stood up before settling Poppy onto the chair. “Stay there. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She immediately slid off the chair and did a couple of twirls.

Matt reached out to steady her. “Finish your drink, Poppy. Daddy needs to make a couple of calls. Stop twirling.”

“I’m a dancer.”

“I know. But right now, you need to be someone who sits still and drinks your hot chocolate.” Somehow, he persuaded her back onto the chair. “Hold the mug tightly and don’t spill it.”

“She often spills things,” Elsie told Mabel.

Brooke looked at Matt. “Calls? Who are you calling?”

“I need to see if I can get in touch with the rental company. Find out if there is a tow truck or someone who can dig out the car. If not, I need to see if someone can take us to the nearest hotel.”

She wanted to say that if they could get to a hotel then they could get to her parents’, but she kept that thought to herself. In her efforts not to disappoint her parents she’d already crossed a line. They could have died in that accident. This time, she was putting their safety first. And it was just for tonight. With luck, they’d still make it to her parents’ for Christmas.

Really, it was too much. Christmas was supposed to be full of smiles and cheer with maybe a light dusting of snow to elevate the season to suitably festive levels and make real fires seem like a necessity and not a lifestyle choice. It wasn’t supposed to be a “weather event.”

“I suppose I should call my mother.” She was ashamed of how much she was dreading that call. Her mother loved her. It should be an easy conversation, but she knew it wouldn’t be. The exchange would be loaded with so many undercurrents that Brooke would be flailing around for a branch to grab on to so that she wouldn’t be swept away. She’d end the call feeling inadequate for not being able to control the weather, or at least its impact on her journey. “You go first. I’ll stay with the girls.” She wanted to postpone the moment for as long as possible, but what she really needed was to be able to give her parents good news (she was a terrible coward, and it was time to acknowledge it) so when Matt left the room with his phone, she followed him and pulled him to one side.

“Matt?” She gripped his arm. “We will make it to my parents’, won’t we? I mean, if our car isn’t fixable then the company will have to give us another car, or we could call a cab or—something.”

“Of course.”

His hesitation was so brief she might have missed it except that after fifteen years together she could read him as easily as one of Poppy’s picture books. She knew when his reassurance was genuine and when he was saying what he thought needed to be said to keep her calm.

“We have to make it,” she said. “It’s Christmas.”

“I know what time of year it is, Brooke. The car is stuffed full of presents and food. When we crashed, I was hit on the head by a tin of Miller Shortbread.”

She almost said, Thank goodness it wasn’t the gift basket.

Maybe they should start attaching airbags to bulky Christmas gifts in case of in-car accidents.

“I hope the shortbread isn’t damaged. You know my mother likes to collect the tins.” It was the kind of thing they said to each other all the time. A familiar banter that only the two of them understood.

The corner of his mouth flickered and she felt the tension between them ease.

“This tin probably has a skull-shaped dent in it.” He rubbed his forehead. “But maybe that will make it more collectable. As long as it keeps her happy it will be worth it. Make sure you add that to my obituary.”

“Death by shortbread?” The friendly exchange made her feel better. It was like sliding into a warm bath after the freezing tension in the car. “I’m sorry.”

“Because you chose the bumper-size tin and not the small box?”