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in disgust.

  Peeking back out, I saw that they were still locked together in a passionate embrace, Dan running his fingers sensuously through her hair as he pulled her closer to him. “Jeez!” I said disbelievingly, jerking my head rapidly back in behind the van as I realised I’d actually said that out loud.

>   This time, I waited a couple of minutes before looking out again.

  Dan was walking off in the direction of the bus stop, presumably to head off to the garden centre where he worked, and the girl was walking straight towards me. With as much composure as I could muster, I pretended that I’d been crossing the road next to the van and fell into step behind her. She frowned slightly as she passed me, but didn’t say anything.

  I wondered how long I’d have to follow her for, and worried a little about whether she’d notice me and confront me. But I needn’t have been concerned, because she turned up the next road and went through the gateway of the second house. I hadn’t even needed to follow her off the main road, so I could be pretty sure she hadn’t suspected anything.

  Well, now I knew where she lived. What was I going to do next? It didn’t take me long to decide that I’d have to get her out of the picture somehow – permanently.

  The next few days were a blur: I’ve no idea how Dan didn’t realise there was something seriously amiss. I went to work on autopilot every day, and somehow got the management accounts ready in time for the monthly deadline. It was as if I’d detached a part of my mind to plan what I should do whilst leaving the rest of it doing the normal everyday things.

  My solution was remarkably unsophisticated, and yet somehow satisfying in its simplicity. If she was dead, she wouldn’t be able to take him away from me.

  On the news, there had been stories recently about an arsonist who was targeting houses, seemingly at random, and posting burning newspapers through the letterbox. This would be easy, and the police would automatically assume it was another random arson attack as long as I was careful to leave no evidence and not be seen.

  My opportunity came, when Dan had to go off on a training course (something about trees I think he said), which involved an overnight stay in Folkestone the following Thursday. If he was out of the way, then he wouldn’t get hurt and he wouldn’t realise that I was out of the house at the time of the arson attack.

  It all went to plan; I put the burning newspaper through her letterbox in the early hours of the morning, and waited behind a bush in the garden until I was sure from the growing orange glow visible through the glass-panelled door that the fire was taking hold. Then I crept quickly out and back up the path to home without being seen by anyone, climbing into bed feeling satisfied and almost excited to hear the result of my deed.

  About 25 minutes later, I heard the siren of a fire engine that must have been called to the fire, and lay awake all night worrying that maybe she hadn’t been killed after all.

  On the local news at breakfast time, the newsreader said, “Local arsonist strikes again. One woman killed and a man in a serious condition in hospital as another home goes up in flames.” They showed pictures of the burned-out house, the wall below the upstairs window charred black from the flames, the window open and the fire crew still dampening down the remnants of the fire.

  Suddenly, I felt a pang of conscience. I’d killed someone. Someone I’d never even met. Someone that Dan loved. And who was the man? Panic struck me – perhaps Dan had not been on a course; perhaps he’d been spending the night with her; perhaps I’d almost killed my Dan too.

  Quickly, I grabbed my mobile phone out of my handbag and dialled his number. It rang for what seemed like an eternity, and I stared into space willing him to pick it up. And, eventually, he did.

  “Hey, Jess! Is everything OK? I wasn’t expecting you to call – I’ll be home in a few hours,” he said.

  “Oh, everything’s fine. Just wondered how the course was going?” I lied, my heart rate slowing back down to normal now that I knew he was all right.

  “Yeah, a bit boring actually. Nothing yet that I didn’t already know. But there you are, they wanted me to go on the course, so I went on the course.”

  I nodded. “I know what you mean. My work are always putting me up for courses and I have a hell of a job persuading them I already know about spreadsheets and databases.”

  “Anyway, I’ve got to go; we’re scheduled for coffee and biscuits in five minutes before we start our final session. Should be back by about three this afternoon, so I’ll see you when you get home from work.”

  “OK,” I said, “see you later then. Love you.” I pressed the red button to end the call, and slid the phone back into my bag, relieved that Dan was all right.

  At work, my feelings of guilt started to grow like the beanstalk in Jack and the Beanstalk, its tendrils wrapping tightly around my chest as I worried about the man who had been in the house with her. Was it a relative, friend, or maybe some other boy she was stringing along? I hadn’t wanted to hurt an innocent person and, when it came to it, I didn’t want to kill anyone. Not even her. Not even to keep Dan.

  By the time I got home, my conscience was nagging at me so much that I actually picked up the phone to call the police and confess. But what good would that do? Dan would hate me forever, and probably leave me anyway. I had to stay strong.

  Dan wasn’t there when I arrived home. I called out, but there was no answer. In the kitchen there was a note in his spidery handwriting fixed onto the fridge using a magnet we’d brought back from our holiday in Morocco. It read: “Gone out. Back by 6:30. Will bring Chinese food and a dinner guest. See you soon. Dan.”

  Dan often brought friends from work home, and I was happy not to have to cook, but I had hoped that he’d find out about the girl’s death while we were at home alone together. I suspected that he’d confess what had been going on between them, and I was ready to be forgiving and supportive and to show him how much he needed me.

  Oh, well; I’d handle it whenever and however it happened.

  At quarter past six I got plates and cutlery out and laid the dining table ready for their arrival. About ten minutes later I heard his key in the front door, and he called, “Hi, Jess, I’m home. Come and meet our guest.”

  I smiled to hear his voice, and hurried into the front hall. He was helping someone with her coat, and when he moved to one side to let her pass, the colour drained out of my face and I nearly fainted. It was her. The girl I thought I’d killed.

  “God, Jess,” he said, taking a step towards me and reaching out for my hand, “are you all right? You look bloody awful! Tanya’s had a really bad experience today and needed to be with friends so I thought it was the right time to introduce her to you, but if you’re ill or something…”

  “No!” I spluttered. “No, I’m fine. I just think I ate something that disagreed with me at lunchtime; my tummy’s been churning all afternoon.” I smiled faintly.

  “Let’s go and sit down then,” he said, waving an arm in the direction of the living room.

  We all went in and I sat down heavily on one of the armchairs. If ‘Tanya’ was here, then who had I killed? I concentrated my efforts on stopping myself from shaking; I was going to have to hold things together here, or the truth would come tumbling out and Dan would hate me.

  Dan and Tanya sat on the sofa, and he took her hand in his, their fingers interlocking.

  “I’d hoped to meet you in happier circumstances,” she whispered, smiling at me weakly, her eyes red from crying. “But someone I care about died last night and Dan said he wouldn’t leave me alone in my flat feeling miserable, so he suggested coming round here. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Someone you care about?” I asked, my lips feeling ice cold as I spoke.

  “Yes: Someone I care for actually. I’m a home carer – you know, looking after people in their own house so that they don’t have to go into a care home? There’s a couple I go to once a week who live down near the park. They were asleep in bed last night when that arsonist struck. He put a burning newspaper through their letterbox and… and now she’s dead and he’s in hospital suffering from smoke inhalation and most likely a broken heart to go along with it. They’d been married over 60 years.”

  As she finished the last sentence, the room seemed to revolve slowly in front of my eyes. Blackness closed in on either side of me, as though I was reversing rapidly down a long dark tunnel.

  The last words I heard before I passed out were Dan saying, “Sis..? Sis, are you all right?”

  Lola’s First Christmas Eve

  On Christmas Eve afternoon, David and I sat huddled in front of the telly, watching the weather forecast. We were planning to go to David’s parents for Christmas, leaving that evening. But there had been snow warnings for the last week, with forecasters hedging their bets and saying they weren’t quite sure where it would hit – or even whether it would materialise at all.

  “With a cyclonic cold front coming in across the Atlantic, there is a 90% chance of heavy snow causing severe disruption to all routes across the south of the UK. The AA and RAC are advising people not to travel unless they really have to,” announced the slim, female weather forecaster, smiling inappropriately.

  I gave David a resigned look. “I guess that means we shouldn’t go: especially with Lola – she’s only three months old – what if we got stuck in the snow with her?”

  “Don’t be over-dramatic – it’ll be fine,” he assured me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “We have a Land Rover, and Dad has a 4-wheel drive too. There haven’t been road conditions yet that were impassable with the Land Rover. Anyway, we have to go – it will be the first time Mum will have seen Lola, remember?”

  David’s Mum, Carol, had been in hospital recovering from a hip replacement operation when Lola was born, and had then caught an infection which kept her from going home for another two weeks. Since being discharged, she had been nervous about going out of the house – especially in the icy conditions we’d had for the last couple of weeks – and had not ventured beyond their little cottage in Lettingham. Having had Lola by Caesarean section, I had not been allowed to drive either, and with David being exceptionally busy at work in the lead up to Christmas too, circumstances had conspired to prevent Carol and Lola from meeting before now.

  I had always liked Carol, seeing her almost as a second mother, and was keen for her to get to know her first granddaughter at last. Perhaps it would give her the inspiration she seemed to need right now to start getting out and about again.

  Despite my best efforts to be as positive as David, the thought of travelling in the atrocious weather being forecast worried me. “Lettingham is a tiny village in the middle of nowhere. It’s at least two miles away from the nearest ‘A’ road. I’m not sure I want to chance travelling with Lola if the forecasters are right.”

  “Trust me,” said David, taking my hand in his. “Everything will be fine. We’ll take extra supplies, including a snow shovel and a flask of hot tea, and wrap Lola up snugly. We can put our wellies in the back in case we need them, and if we really get stuck I can ring Dad to come out and get us. But it won’t happen – the weather forecasters always exaggerate the risks, ever since the whole Michael Fish ‘there isn’t going to be a hurricane’ fiasco.”

  “I’ve always loved your sense of adventure,” I responded. “I suppose you’re right. If we leave as early as possible, before the temperature drops too much after sunset, I expect we’ll be fine.”

  Despite my positive words, I still worried as I looked down at our sleeping daughter, snug and warm in her cot with her mouth open and her hands flung up either side of her peaceful little face.

  We loaded up the car with a bagful of Christmas presents, the snow shovel, wellies, two pairs of thick, thermal socks, two blankets, a bottle warmer for Lola’s feed and a flask of hot tea for ourselves.

  David checked that his mobile phone had plenty of charge, and we left the house just as the sun was setting. The snow had begun to fall heavily about half an hour earlier, adding quickly to the light dusting that had fallen around lunchtime. David still didn’t seem the least bit worried, so I decided not to mention my nagging doubts about the worsening travel conditions.

  The journey to Lettingham usually took about an hour, but by the time we were halfway there, darkness had well and truly fallen, the temperature had tumbled to minus three and the dual carriageway had narrowed to one passable lane.

  David drove in silence, squinting to see his way through the thick snow that battered the windscreen like a thousand squashed, white insects, his jaw set in that stubborn way I had seen so often before.

  Lola, in the car seat behind us, slept on, impervious to the worsening of both the weather and her parents’ moods.

  By the time we left the dual carriageway, there were very few other cars about. Three or four vans passed us going in the opposite direction, and we followed another Land Rover for a couple of miles, until it turned off along a narrow driveway, leaving ours the only vehicle on the road.

  I chewed nervously on my bottom lip and David, giving a sideward glance and noticing my mood, frowned. “It’s fine,” he assured me. “It’s only a couple of miles now.” He patted my hand, but I just sighed heavily, wishing he’d keep both hands on the steering wheel.

  Staring out of the side window, I found myself unable to appreciate the beauty of the snow-blanketed countryside around me – I just wanted to get to our destination safely and quickly.

  At last, we turned down the final lane that would take us the remaining half a mile or so to the village.

  I was just daring to breathe a sigh of relief when the Land Rover started to slide. David grabbed frantically at the steering wheel, turning it to no avail – there was no grip to be had, regardless of our 4-wheel drive.

  “Brace yourself!” he shouted, as we swerved off the road. I grabbed at the dashboard and braced my feet as best I could in the foot well just as we crashed into a snow-filled roadside ditch.

  Silence enveloped us briefly.

  “Are you OK?” asked David.

  “Fine. What about Lola?”

  At that very moment, the baby began crying. “I hope that’s a good sign,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing through to the back seat.

  As I checked Lola for any signs of injury, David said, “The snow shovel won’t dig us out of this: I’ll ring Dad and get him to come and pick us up.”

  Fortunately, Lola seemed to be only shocked rather than hurt, the car seat having kept her from any serious harm.

  David’s dad, Geoff, said he’d be there in a few minutes and told us to wait in the Land Rover until he arrived.

  Unfastening Lola’s buckle, I lifted her out of her car seat and hugged her possessively. She soon stopped crying and fell back to sleep, sucking enthusiastically on her saliva-puckered thumb.

  The snow had stopped and the clouds cleared leaving the dark, velvety sky shimmering with stars invisible from our light-polluted town. I found myself revisiting a night when, as a child of about six, my father had shown me how to pick out the constellation of Orion, now clearly visible overhead.

  “Here he is!” said David, brightly as Geoff’s headlights came into sight along the lane.

  No sooner had he spoken than Geoff’s car lost traction and kept going in a straight line instead of following the bend in the road. I could see the expression of shock on Geoff’s face as the car careered out of control, in a weird kind of slow-motion ballet, joining our Land Rover in the ditch some twenty feet further along the road.

  “Great,” I commented dryly. “Better get the wellies and blankets out then. It looks like we’ll be walking after all.”

  Luckily, Geoff wasn’t hurt either. He hadn’t been going more than about ten miles per hour, but had simply lost control on the ice-packed road, just as we had.

  “Should we call the police, or the fire brigade or something?” I suggested.

  “Nah,” said David casually. “They’ll be snowed under.”

  Well, at least that one gave us a laugh.

  Climbing out of his car and giving it a dirty look as if it had skidded off the road on purpose, Geoff crunched along the verge to meet us.

  “Sorry about that – some rescue party I turned out to be,” he said, ruefully.

  “Never mind,” said David. “We’ll just have to walk. It’s not far from here.”

  So we all sat in the Land Rover while David and I put on our thick woolly socks and wellies. Then David grabbed the bag of presents and slung it over his shoulder while I took charge of carrying Lola, having bundled her up as snugly as I could in one of the blankets. Then we left the two cars in the ditch and began the last part of our journey.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Geoff, looking around at the countryside glistening under the blanket of snow. The long, straight shadow of a telegraph pole stretched out in front of us, as if pointing the way.

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” I conceded, hugging Lola tighter to my body. “Not exactly how I had planned this evening to go though – I thought we’d be at the cottage by now with Carol meeting little Lola for the first time and a lovely log fire burning in the grate.”

  “Well, never mind,” said Geoff cheerfully, “Carol has some mince pies in the oven, so we’ve got those to look forward to when we arrive. And we’ll all be together for Christmas Day, despite the weather’s best efforts to prevent it.” He winked and brushed a gloved finger lightly across the tip of Lola’s nose. “I’ll just ring home and let her know we’ll be a little later than planned.”

  Geoff strode ahead with his phone clasped to his ear, while David and I, with Lola in my arms, trudged along the lane beside a field in relative silence. We approached a wooden gate, where two horses greeted us by puffing out clouds of water vapour that lingered in the air, while their heads bobbed up and down in unison, as if agreeing to some secret plan.

  “Hey, guys, how’s it hangin’?” asked David as we passed.

  One of the big, white horses gave a little nicker in response and the next thing we knew, the two horses were trudging along with us, just the other side of the fence.

  “Honestly, David,” said Geoff, grinning, “I didn’t know you were a horse whisperer!”

  “Me neither,” David replied. “I feel more like Father Christmas really, though; carrying this bagful of presents wearing my black wellies and thick winter coat.”

  “And here we have Mary carrying the baby Jesus,” commented Geoff, pointing at Lola and me. “If the horses were donkeys, we’d just about have our own weird and wonderful Christmas story going,” he cackled. “I’ll be The Grinch!”

  “A Christmas story with Mary, Jesus and a donkey, Father Christmas and The Grinch? Well, weird would certainly be the appropriate way to describe that story!” I