“Time for a nap.”

Melissa jolts to see Izzy staring at Sorrel; she must have come in very quietly without making a sound.

“Hurry up,” Izzy says.

“Being mother?” Eric asks Izzy as Sorrel slips obediently from his lap; his voice sounds sharper than usual.

“Someone has to,” Izzy replies in a reasonable tone, and taking Sorrel’s hand, she leads her out of the room. Melissa watches them go; at least Sorrel is being included now.

“Eric, I’m sure Izzy didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, she’s right. A nap is a good idea, I’m exhausted. Maybe we should all have a little sleep.”

Five minutes later the house is quiet. Melissa sits on the sofa by the fire; as her eyelids drift together, she hears, or imagines, the quiet crunch of gravel outside, footsteps, arriving or leaving.

Grace

Grace leaves the co-op and jogs the few streets home. Sleet is falling, the air is turning colder, there’s a chilly wind. A storm has been forecast, the shop manager told her, Storm Adelina. Hurry home, snow is on the way. She is icy by the time she reaches the flat, slamming the door behind her. Much of the day has been spent filling bags with mince pies and frozen stuffing, customers stocking up for Christmas in advance. Her face feels stiff from smiling. She stands in the kitchen boiling the kettle for tea, and downs it quickly. She must hurry. She promised Melly she would bring fresh laundry to Eve’s and stay for supper, though it’s time they stopped going over so often. Eve’s family needs a chance to grieve in peace; she needs time with hers. She takes sheets from the airing cupboard and kneels down to fill a suitcase with them. She’s hardly talked to Charley or Blake despite changing jobs; in fact, they’ve talked even less. The children have been tired at night and silent at mealtimes, evasive with their answers as if their real life was somewhere else. They are all grieving, but that should be a time to draw closer, not move further away. They didn’t ask her to change jobs, but all the same, the disappointment stings; nothing has turned out as she’d expected. She collects towels, stuffing them into Martin’s old backpack. They can talk tonight after they’ve all come home; she could make hot chocolate and sit on their beds for a while, listen to whatever they might want to say. Martin will be with her and afterward they’ll be together, curled on the sofa. It seems a long time since they’ve done that. They’re busy, she knows that: his tutorials, her hours, both of them supporting Eve’s family. Tutoring turns out to suit him; the agency calls most days, he’s earning decent money, but she’s missed him, missed the old closeness. She wants to see him suddenly, fiercely. She needs to feel his arms around her. She throws the suitcase and backpack into the car and drives fast through the sleet. On arrival at Eve’s, she hurries up the drive with her load, the gravel crunching under her feet. Sleet blows hard into her face; the evening has darkened. Igor’s bulky figure is just visible, retreating down the path to his home.