Read Christmas in the Snow Online
Authors: Karen Swan
Christmas in the Snow
For William
Ski demon. Bear.
Prologue
21 January 1951
The candle flickered as the wind twisted in through a knothole, but nothing else stirred – not the straw on the floor, not her black hair, worn loose about her face
– and her eyes remained on the door and the thin rectangle of brightness framing it.
She had been here too long already. Nobody was venturing out and the heavy snow alone was her friend today, infilling her tracks and keeping her journey here a secret.
She felt like a slowly melting wax figure as thawed snow dripped around her in a circle on the floor, staining the wood black. She rocked gently on the stool to keep the blood flowing, knowing
she couldn’t stay much longer.
Cupped in her hands like a silver heart was the small tin cowbell, ready to ring in reply. It was warm from her touch, and her palms squeezed it gently, the red leather strap looped round her
pale wrist.
A sound outside came to her ear and she fell still, her body taut as she stared harder at the frame of light ringing the door. It wasn’t bright now. It was falling dim, and the distant
whip-crack she’d heard was replaced by the low rumble of the mountains shifting as they cast off overloaded snow like an unwanted fur coat. She had grown up with this sound, like a
grandfather’s snores in the background as she played with her toys. But this was different. The floor was trembling beneath her feet, and when she looked back up, the door’s light frame
had been switched off, as though the sun had fallen from the sky.
Only two seconds had passed, but there wasn’t time to scream, or even to gasp. In the next instant, the snow hit.
Allegra watched as Isobel ran ahead, shaking her head with embarrassment at the sight of her sister – head tossed back, long fair hair trailing as she twirled on the
spot, arms outstretched as she tried to catch the crumpled bitter-brown leaves falling from the trees, laughing as some pirouetted away from her in dramatic spins, clapping wildly as others lilted
softly to the mulch-blanketed ground. Allegra was sure it was only the fact that Isobel was pushing a pram that stopped people from calling the authorities.
Isobel was a good hundred yards ahead by now and Allegra saw her chance. Quickly, she darted behind the nearest horse chestnut tree and pulled out her BlackBerry. It had been beeping almost
constantly in her coat pocket as they’d been walking along – ‘enjoying the peace and fresh air’, as Isobel had fiercely insisted – and she felt her heart rate slow as
she scrolled through her messages, reading all the actions that urgently required her input.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Allegra looked up. Isobel was standing beside her, hands planted staunchly on her hips with self-righteous indignation. ‘Give me that.’ She threw out her hand, palm upturned, like it
was Allegra who was her disobedient child and not the infant in the pram with a face smeared with carrot purée and a penchant for poking dogs in the eye.
‘I was just—’
‘Now.’
Allegra handed it over. She may be the elder sister by birth, but it was Isobel who was the proper grown-up: married with a kid and living in a terraced house in the inner-city suburbs, hosting
dinner parties and driving an estate car.
‘Thank you,’ Isobel smiled, immediately placated. ‘And in return . . .’ She pocketed the BlackBerry with one hand, while with the other handing over a large
treacle-coloured conker leaf, almost as wide as her palm.
‘Oh no, really I couldn’t,’ Allegra responded ironically. ‘It’s such a beautiful leaf. It must be your most precious one by far.’
‘It’s not a leaf.’
Allegra arched an eyebrow and twirled the leaf in her fingers by the stem.
‘It’s a day of luck and you jolly well know it. I caught it for you.’ She panted slightly as though to prove the point.
A disbelieving pause. ‘You still do that?’
‘Of course!’ Isobel furrowed her brow, which had become more lined of late as the broken nights began to tell.
‘And to think I thought you were just trying to make Ferdy laugh,’ Allegra quipped, twitching as she heard her BlackBerry buzz again in her sister’s deep duffel-coat
pocket.
Allegra shivered in her own coat – a short tailored olive wool Burberry number with a high collar and beautiful pleats from the waist. It looked great over skinny jeans but couldn’t
combat these temperatures. There were reports snow was forecast for the end of the week.
‘Come on, let’s get a latte,’ Isobel said, maturely ignoring the dig and taking in her sister’s pinched cheeks. It was clear she wasn’t going to be breaking into a
run and catching leaves in those boots. ‘That’ll warm you up.’
‘Is there time? Anyone would think you didn’t want to go over to Mum’s.’
‘Of course I do,’ Isobel shrugged. ‘But we’ve got all day, and I know what you’re like with cold toes.’
Allegra smiled. ‘Fine. But it had better be a quick one.’ Caffeine was far preferable to her than fresh air anyway, and there was always the chance Isobel would have to disappear on
one of her lengthy nappy-changing trips with Ferdy, leaving her alone with her beloved BlackBerry.
‘So tell me about this new house, then,’ Isobel said, looping one arm through her sister’s and expertly steering the aerodynamic buggy with one hand as they strolled through
the majestic avenue of trees with all the other families, loved-up couples and dog walkers for whom this ritual
was
Saturday morning. To their left beyond the railings, the Thames eddied
past, high-tided and in a rush, a few bulky industrial barges tethered against tyre fenders as black cabs chuntered past on the Embankment opposite.
‘Well, you’ve seen as much of it as I have. I’ve not stepped foot inside yet.’
Isobel tutted. ‘I can’t believe you bought a house without even visiting it.’
‘Not a big deal. My property consultant had it surveyed and I downloaded the PDF. It ticked all my boxes.’
‘And only you could have a property consultant,’ Isobel groaned.
‘Fine, property hunter, whatever you want to call him.’
‘Him? Was he good-looking?’
Allegra rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my
God
. Now you’re trying to fix me up with a man you haven’t even met?’
‘Needs must. God only knows how you haven’t bagged someone at work. The place is crawling with men.’
‘Yes, there’s just a slight problem: I
work
with them. Most of them report to me, and those who don’t, I report to them.’
Isobel shrugged as though she didn’t see what the problem was. She probably didn’t. Sex and office politics weren’t life-and-death issues in her world.
‘Yeah, but was he?’ Isobel grinned, nothing if not persistent.
Allegra smiled. ‘He was fine.’
‘Fine? Wow! He really must have been a corker,’ Isobel laughed, drawing an admiring glance from a guy roller-blading past, orange Beats headphones on. ‘You should invite him
round for an intimate supper in your new mansion by way of thanks.’
‘The house is just an investment. I’m going to gut it, get an architect in to redesign everything except the facade, which is listed, then sell it on.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Islington.’
‘Legs! Why did you have to buy all the way over there? You easily could have bought in Wandsworth. You’d get a bigger garden then, at least. And
we’d
be
closer.’
‘I just told you, I’m not going to live there. It’s an investment. I’ll still be in my flat.’
‘Yeah, and your flat’s a nightmare for parking. No one has cars where you live.’
‘That’s because they don’t need them. We can walk everywhere.’
Isobel stifled a laugh.
‘What?’
‘You? Walk? Listen, you get driven everywhere – be honest. You’re too busy and important to walk.’
Allegra flashed her sister a scornful look, but she couldn’t argue the logic – she was incredibly busy.
‘Well, I still think that if you’ve bought it, you should live in it. It doesn’t seem right just leaving it empty and having developers come in.’
‘Not every house has to be a home, Iz.’
‘Not
any
house is a home for you, more like. Unless you count the office. Which you probably do.’
Allegra ignored the dig. ‘There is no point in
me
living in 8,638 square feet.’
‘Approximately.’
‘Yes.’ Allegra smiled, her eyes falling to the shadowy silhouette of Canary Wharf in the distance, her own tower block the highest on the horizon. She squinted, quite sure the lights
she could see on over there were on her floor. Reproof from afar.
It was a beautiful day, Allegra was vaguely aware of that, the air carrying the icy strains of a far-travelled Arctic wind that would bring a fierce red sunset later. She made a mental note to
try to remember to catch it from the window.
They stopped at a cafe where buggies were tightly bunched in a cluster by the door, dark, skinny pigeons walking, heads bobbing, over the forest-green metal tables that had been sitting empty
for weeks now as everyone clamoured for hot chocolates inside, beside the electric heaters.
‘I’ll get the drinks,’ Allegra said quickly, as she watched Isobel scoop Ferdy out of his harness and move to hand him over. ‘Latte, right?’ No way was she holding
a baby with reflux in this coat.
‘OK, but get me a cookie or a brownie or something – anything with chocolate in it. I need the sugar,’ Isobel added, hoisting Ferdy onto her hip as she rooted around in the
tray of the buggy. ‘And can you ask for a jug of boiling water too? I need to heat this,’ she sighed, holding up a bottle of milk. ‘Don’t let them give you any shit about
health and safety either. I’ll sign a disclaimer saying I know that boiling water is hot, whatever. Just tell them they do not want to hear this boy with cold milk. And nor do their other
customers.’
‘Right,’ Allegra nodded, retreating to the safety of the queue.
Four minutes later, she made her way over to the table with a steaming jug of boiled water, a deep wedge of ‘death by chocolate’ cake, a latte and a double espresso. Isobel
wasn’t the only one who’d had four hours’ sleep last night.
Her features brightened at the sight of the BlackBerry sitting, flashing like a beacon, on the table. Pointedly, Isobel turned it over. ‘Don’t touch it. We are going to talk, for
once. I only put it there because I felt like bloody Inspector Gadget with it in my pocket,’ Isobel tutted. ‘It’s permanently buzzing and bleeping. There are sex toys that
don’t work as hard as that thing.’
