Elliot and Rik in a way, they had been different and special and beautiful right from the day they were born. And I wasn’t. I was never going to be a swan. I had to accept that. But the thing is, I was good at my job. Really good. And Snoop was doing well. And I cared about it—about them. So when the firm had problems raising money just before the launch, I offered Topher and Eva my grandmother’s money. I still remember the shock on their faces when I made the suggestion.” I laugh, remembering Topher’s expression when I spoke up in that meeting—as if his office chair had piped up, offering a solution to their finances. “I think they realized then that they’d underestimated me—that the girl who brought the coffee and took the minutes was a real human being who could understand a profit and loss sheet, and figure out when the company was in trouble. It was like they really looked at me for the first time. Eva offered to pay me back with interest, and it was a good rate too. I would have got back almost half as much again by the time it was all paid back. But Topher—Topher took me aside into his office and told me I should ask for shares, and hang out until I got them.
“I knew it was a risk. Rik spelled it out really carefully—I wouldn’t see my money back for a long time, and if the firm went under, I’d lose everything. But Topher—you don’t know what he’s like. He’s so charismatic. He makes you feel that you’re everything, that he will take care of you, that your money could not be in safer hands. So that’s what I went for in the end. I thought at the time that Topher was being generous. I thought he was looking out for me.” I stare into the flames, feeling the brightness burning into my retinas, as if it can burn away the memories I have carried with me for years. “I didn’t know then what I know now—that he had seen how it would pan out in the event of a disagreement, and thought I was someone he could pressure in the event of a split.”
I stop. Suddenly this feels hard in a way I didn’t think it would. It is good to spill all of this. Erin is a good listener in some ways, and it feels a little like lancing a boil—letting out all the poison that has festered away since that night. But it hurts too. And when I swallow against the pain, my throat is dry. The sensation gives me an idea.
“Shall I make some tea?” I ask.
“Sorry?” Erin says. There is an incredulous note in her voice. I can’t quite blame her—the question must have sounded slightly surreal in the midst of all this.
“Tea,” I say. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really thirsty.”
“Tea?” Erin echoes, like someone speaking in a foreign language, and then she gives a shaky laugh. “Tea… would actually be great. It’s exactly what I need right now.”
We get up and limp together into the kitchen, where I find two cups, and Erin fetches the stovetop kettle and a packet of tea bags.
“There’s no milk I’m afraid,” she says as she puts the kettle under the tap. “It went off yesterday.”
We both stand there, waiting for the kettle to fill, but there is no sound of rushing water. And then I remember. I can see from the sudden look of comprehension on Erin’s face that she has remembered too.
“The pipes,” she says unnecessarily. I nod.
“Should we get snow?” I ask.
“I… guess?” Erin says, but I can hear from the hesitation in her voice that she doesn’t want to go outside. I can’t say I exactly blame her. I don’t really want to go out either. We both know that stepping outside the chalet would give the other person the chance to lock us out, where we would very likely freeze to death. But the snow is piled up against the front door, so if we do this right, neither of us needs to go outside.
“If you open the front door,” I say, “and stand there with the kettle, I can chip bits off the drift by the door.”
She nods, and I can see from her expression that she is grateful that I have taken on the more precarious role. The snow is piled up so high that