A Kiss in the Snow - Rosie Green Page 0,56

driving me a little bit mad.

‘So when are you coming back?’ she asks. ‘Can you come today?’

‘Well…’ I glance at Ronan. He’s pretending not to listen but I can feel his judgement from across the table.

‘You could come back, spend the night here and then go back to Silverbells tomorrow?’ she says hopefully.

‘I could. But I don’t know. The roads might still be a bit iffy.’

There’s a silence at the other end.

It annoys me that she doesn’t feel she can call Mum and Dad to help her out. But she knows, as well as I do, that for them, the business comes first…

‘Look, I’ll think about it,’ I tell her, avoiding Ronan’s eye. ‘I’ll see what the roads are like and I’ll call you a bit later, okay?’

‘Great! See you later, Carrie.’

*****

After offering to dig out my car if I need it, Ronan walks into the village to hopefully pick up some milk, and I start packing my bags in case I decide to head home later.

My heart feels heavy, though. I don’t want to leave. Not yet…

Ronan comes back without milk, although he’s holding something up. ‘This was on the doorstep.’

I stare at it in surprise. ‘The flask that had the soup in it. So Reenie must have brought it back.’

He nods and disappears into the kitchen with it.

‘Are you leaving today, then?’ he calls.

I close my eyes tightly. ‘Maybe.’

There’s no reply.

But what I do hear, very distinctly, is the mew of a cat in distress. It sounds as if it’s coming from just beyond the living room window. Curious, I go to look, and sure enough, high in the branches of the hawthorn tree that stands a few yards from the cottage, is the gorgeous tabby cat from next-door. I stand there, watching it. The poor thing has clearly got itself stuck up the tree and is too scared to come down again.

I’d never get up there, but…I do happen to be sharing the cottage with a man who’s well used to climbing trees!

‘Ronan?’

Minutes later, we’re out in the garden, trying to coax the cat down, but it’s staying right where it is.

‘Okay. I’m coming to get you, kitty,’ says Ronan. He rubs his hands together and reaches for a sturdy branch above his head, then hoists himself up with such incredible ease that my mouth actually falls open.

‘Be careful.’ My heart is thumping, he’s climbing so high, so quickly.

‘I do this for a living, remember?’

‘I know. But still…be careful.’

At last, reaching along a branch so far that I almost can’t watch, he manages to reach the mewing cat.

I can’t relax until they’re both safely down on the ground, and it’s only then that I realise someone else has been watching the rescue as well. She’s standing anxiously by our gate.

Reenie.

I’m so taken aback to see her without the awful black wig, I just stare at her. Then I find my voice. ‘Hi, there. Is this your cat?’ I beckon her in.

She takes one step inside the gate. ‘Yes. She’s called Marmalade.’

Ronan carries the cat over to her, but Marmalade jumps out of his arms before he gets there. She darts over to Reenie.

I smile, walking over. ‘So cute.’ Marmalade is rubbing her little face against Reenie’s shin, purring loudly.

She glances down at the little cat and the angular planes of her handsome face soften. Reenie looks to be in her fifties; tall and slim. Even the lumpy grey tracksuit she’s wearing can’t disguise her elegant stature, but her face is deathly pale, I guess with being indoors all this time. She’s blinking a little in today’s feeble winter sun. Her hair, a pale blonde, hangs limp and lifeless past her shoulders.

She’s looking warily from me to Ronan, as if the months in her self-imposed prison have made her afraid of the outside world. It occurs to me that she probably hasn’t spoken to anyone, except Marmalade the cat, for three whole months.

‘Thank you for bringing the flask back.’ I smile at her and she mumbles something which I imagine is her thanking me for the soup. ‘Actually, I’m heating up a quiche for lunch. There’s too much for me. Shall I bring you some over?’

She bends to pick up Marmalade and hugs her close. ‘No, thank you,’ she murmurs, her face pressed into the cat’s fur. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure? It’ll only go to waste. Did you get the magazine and the toffees from Becca?’

At the mention of her grand-daughter’s name, her eyes fill with tears and