‘John, we need to take Dylan home,’ said his mum, much more gently.

‘Hello, Esther. I had gathered that this wasn’t a social call. Hello, Lily.’ His face softened at Lily, who was hanging back, her face the colour of paper, her eyes stricken and darting between them all, like a crazy person.

‘Hey, Boo.’ Dylan found his sister’s eyes, holding his with such a combination of apology, support and an oh-God-what-a-shit-storm that without the old man hanging on him, he would have thrown his arms round her.

‘Hey, Dyl. Sorry, I had to.’

Behind her, the door blew shut on a gust of snowy wind, trapping them all in the little hall. His grandfather let go of him in the same instant, clutching the banister post instead.

‘Dylan, pack your things,’ his father commanded, his voice flat and cold. ‘Mum and Lily will help you. John and I are going to talk.’

‘I’m not going to pack.’ Dylan’s heart was skipping again, but for his grandfather now, still hanging onto the stair post, his head bowed. They couldn’t just leave. They couldn’t. But his mother pitched in, telling him to do as he was told, dropping her gaze to her snow-crusted boots instead of his pleading eyes. ‘But, Mum…’

‘It’s all right, lad,’ his grandfather growled. ‘Do as they say. Make yourselves some tea though, Esther, before you go. And there’s cake. In the tin by the kettle.’

‘We don’t want tea,’ thundered his father. ‘In here, with me. Now.’ He flattened the sitting-room door as wide open as it would go, slamming it shut the moment the old man had shuffled inside.

44

‘You need to start it in second.’

‘I know. I have been.’ Esther had stuck her head out of the car window and snowflakes were blowing against her teeth and landing on her tongue. Lucas, leaving Dylan and Lily still ranged behind the bumper, approached like some Arctic explorer back from a foray, the hood of his coat pulled over his beanie, his eyebrows and upper lip crusted with snow.

‘Lucas, this is hopeless.’ The cottage was some twenty yards behind them, the spiral of smoke from its chimney a drifting pencil line against the heaving white sky.

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘I’ve been in second, and the wheels are still spinning.’

‘Try again.’ He stomped back to the children and a few moments later thumped the roof by way of an instruction to restart the car. The engine burst into life and lurched forwards as the three of them pushed harder than ever before, allowing the car to find such a promising rhythm that Esther knew she had to keep going. As she pulled away, she could see the children and Lucas in the rear-view mirror, blurry figures receding in the blizzard. Beneath her, the tyres squeaked and crunched over the freshly fallen, deepening snow, gathering purchase.