at her. ‘I’m not going home yet.’
‘What do you mean? Where are you going?’
‘Somewhere.’
‘Erm, I need more information than that. Or have you forgotten I’m your mother!’ Maggie gives an exasperated grunt and hurries across the street.
I grimace at Bella. ‘Family problems?’
She nods. ‘Mother and daughter tensions. They used to be the best of friends. But Becca’s just turned sixteen and she’s become a secretive, sulky madam overnight.’ She grins. ‘I remember it well with my own teenage daughter.’ She shakes her head. ‘You wouldn’t believe Becca’s the same young girl who sang her heart out at last year’s Christmas Revue, topping the bill. She had the whole audience on their feet, yelling and whooping.’
‘She’s a good singer?’
‘Oh, yes. Amazing voice for such a young girl. Well, amazing voice, full stop.’
‘It’s a shame about the Christmas Revue not happening this year.’
Bella frowns. ‘I know. To be honest, everyone’s really sad about it. But there’s nowhere else to hold it with the village hall out of bounds, so what can we do?’
We watch as Becca finally tows the line, after an angry exchange, and follows her mum over the road towards us. She keeps looking back over the green, as if that’s where she wanted to go. Perhaps she has a friend who lives in one of the houses there…
‘Becca, this is Carrie,’ says Bella cheerily.
I smile at her and she says a sulky hello and shakes back her long mane of glossy chestnut curls. Then she peers more closely at me, a frown on her face, as if she’s suspicious of me, a stranger to the village.
‘Come on, then, Mum,’ she says suddenly. ‘If we’re going, let’s go!’ And she stomps away through the snow.
I say goodbye to Bella and Maggie, and I cross over the bridge. I can see a light glowing in the window of Nora’s cottage and I feel a pang of sadness, thinking of her living there all alone, with so much uncertainty ahead.
Has she even been to any anti-natal classes?
That would be the perfect way for her to meet other mums-to-be…
Darkness has fallen as I skirt the village green, my breath visible in the frigid night air. A sharp wind has picked up, buffeting the trees in front gardens, their branches waving eerily against the night sky. The Christmas tree on the green is lit up and welcoming, though. Will Krystle put the tree up at home if I’m not there to suggest it? (Does she even know where the tree is kept?) Maybe she’ll have Adam to help her decorate it instead…
I think of the Zoom call earlier. They seemed happy and relaxed with each other; well-matched, in fact, although it hurts to think about it. I dig my hands deeper in my coat pockets and hurry on, not wanting to think about that now. I fix my eye on the amber glow in the window of Snowdrop Cottage. Perhaps I’ll have a hot bath when I get in, to warm up.
I’m walking past Moon Cottage, which as usual is in total darkness, when a banging sound makes me turn.
I stop dead in my tracks, peering through the gloom, and I catch a movement.
The barn door is wide open!
As I stand there, staring, the wind catches the door and it slams shut before swinging open again.
There’s a weird feeling in my gut. That barn door has been closed ever since I arrived, I’m certain of it. Or…maybe it wasn’t quite shut, and the wind just now has blown it open? Either way, it’s going to be annoying if it keeps slamming like that all night long.
After a moment’s hesitation, I push open the gate to Moon Cottage, wincing as it emits a long creaking sound. I glance at the windows. The curtains are still closed in exactly the same position as always. If someone is living in there, they definitely don’t want anyone to know about it.
My heart beating a little faster, I hurry along the path that runs down the side of the cottage, intending to just go to the barn, close the door and scarper. I’ve got my story ready if I’m discovered. I’m just a friendly neighbour who’s noticed the door is open…
Reaching the barn, I close the door and hear the latch click. But as I’m about to walk away, I hear the unmistakeable sound of a cat mewing inside. Not wanting to trap it in there, I turn and open the door again, peering into the darkness. I can’t