of the window anxiously, hoping we’ll be able to make it home without getting stuck. Even if Amy’s party is still on – and I very much doubt it will be – even Tavie must realise there’s no way I can drive her there in these conditions…
My little car almost gives up as I motor through the thick snow on the drive, but once on the main road, it’s not too bad. The snow ploughs have been along and there are banks of the white stuff piled up on the verges.
When I finally pull into my drive, I see the light on in Tavie’s room, and I sigh with relief. Dashing inside, I find the heating on full blast, which feels really lovely after the freezing drive home.
I shout hello up the stairs and smile ruefully to myself when there’s no reply. She’s probably listening to music with her headphones on.
My mobile rings as I wander into the kitchen, and my heart leaps when I see the name that pops up.
Noah?
‘Hi, Jenny. I got your number from Fen earlier. I was just wondering if you needed a lift home from the manor? Or is your car fixed now?’
My first instinct is to wish I was still at the manor, with the car still in the garage. Because then I’d be able to be in Noah’s company again. But I dismiss the thought as really rather pathetic.
‘Thank you. But yes, the car’s running again. And actually, I’m home now.’
‘Oh. Right. We’re just arriving back. Melanie and I could have taken you home, but it’s great that you’ve got the car again.’
Melanie and I…
So they really have spent the entire day together.
But before I have a chance to wonder what lovely things they’ve been doing, I’m distracted by a note lying on the kitchen table. How could I have missed it when I came in? My heart beating fast, I reach for it and start reading.
A cold hand squeezes my heart.
‘Jenny? Is something wrong?’
Noah must have heard my horrified gasp.
‘It’s Tavie. There’s no public transport, so she’s decided to walk to her friend’s party. But it’s at least a two-mile walk over to Taylors Farm.’ I clutch my abdomen, feeling sick with fear. ‘I need to go and find her. Before the roads become completely impassable.’
I drop the phone in my bag, grab my keys and race out of the door, slamming it behind me. I call her but I get the recorded message.
How long has she been gone? The note didn’t say when she left. What route will she have taken? Along the main roads? I’m hoping and praying that’s the way she went. Because the alternative is so scary, I don’t even want to think about it.
Please, please, please don’t let her have taken the short cut, in the snow and the pitch darkness, across the fields at the back of our house…
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I set off in the car to find her.
The snow is coming down heavily as I motor through Sunnybrook, and it’s windy, too. But thankfully, there isn’t much traffic on the road. I’m driving slowly, concentrating on the way ahead and on-coming lights, but I’m having to take quick glances to the left and to the right, hoping to spot Tavie on the pavement.
Once out of the village, it becomes scarier. There’s a stretch of about a mile where there are no street lights at all – although at least there’s a pavement on one side – and my heart is in my mouth as I drive along, relying on the headlights to capture the familiar figure in the dark coat who I’m searching for. She’ll be soaked and freezing by now as she battles through the driving snow…
At last, the lights of the next village appear, and a little up ahead is the turn-off for Taylors Farm. But when I turn onto the farm track, it becomes immediately obvious that I’m not going to get very far.
Coming to a stop, I pull out my phone and call Amy’s mum, Angela.
My heart clenches. Please let her be there, at the farmhouse, safe and warm…
She answers after a few rings, which feels like a lifetime. ‘Hi, it’s Jenny here, Angela. Is Tavie there?’
‘Oh, Jenny, no. I’m afraid she isn’t. We had to cancel the party because of the terrible weather. Could Tavie be at a friend’s house in Sunnybrook?’
A feeling of sheer panic floods my body. I feel light-headed and there’s a high-pitched whine in my ear.
Stay calm,