in front of the fire and keep warm, Jadie.’
As soon as she had gone upstairs, Jadie turned to me and offered a hesitant smile, but there was a reticence in her expression now that hadn’t been there before. I wondered if it was because now I knew the truth about her condition she was adding me to her list of adults who lived in a state of fear.
‘You should have told me you weren’t allowed to go out in the snow,’ I chided gently, perching on the couch next to her.
‘Then we wouldn’t have made the snowman or the snow angels,’ she said. ‘I never get to do anything fun.’
‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’ I acknowledged with a smile. ‘Did you used to play a lot with Amber?’
Jadie’s eyes became round at my easy mention of her sister’s name. She studied my face for a while and then nodded. ‘We still talk a lot, but she can’t play now.’
‘How did she know I was coming?’ I asked softly.
‘She knows everything. I used to cry every night because I wanted Mummy to come home, but Amber says she won’t come back. She promised we’d have a new mummy soon, and then you came. Are you going to be my mummy?’
My mind lingered momentarily on the extraordinary feelings I’d experienced when her father had carried me back here. I shivered involuntarily with pleasure at the memory. I had to admit Jadie’s suggestion wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever heard, but I knew I was being fanciful in entertaining the concept even for a millisecond.
I could hear a telephone ringing somewhere in the house, jolting me back to reality, such as it was. I ignored it and shook my head. ‘I don’t think so, sweetie,’ I replied. ‘Would you settle for me just being your friend?’
‘If you’re going to be my friend, maybe we could play some more.’ She looked at me hopefully. ‘Can we make more angels?’
I thought about it for a few minutes then asked her if she had some paper and scissors to hand. I had the most curious feeling that someone—an old lady perhaps—had taught me how to make a string of angels from paper. Jadie nodded happily and scrambled off the couch, going into the kitchen and returning with some scissors. ‘Daddy’s got paper in his office,’ she said after handing me the scissors. ‘I’ll see if we can have some.’
I sat musing about this family for a while and then belatedly remembered Tara’s instruction to Jadie to stay near the warmth of the fire. I was about to hurry after her when she returned with her father in tow. He was holding a pile of computer paper and seemed a lot more relaxed now.
‘Jadie’s been trying to steal my paper.’ He eyed me over the stack in his hands. ‘Is she bringing it for you?’
‘Well, yes.’ I took a couple of sheets of the paper from him. ‘I’m trying to see if I can remember how to make paper angels.’
To my surprise, Vincent perched on his armchair and studied me with a look of delighted anticipation. ‘Do you think you remember how to do it?’
‘Let’s see,’ I replied, determined to rise to the challenge.
I folded the paper over, back and forth as if I was making a fan and then began to snip little bits of it away. I noticed as I was cutting that Jadie had crept closer to her father and was resting her hand on his knee. They were both watching me expectantly.
Snipping the last tiny piece away, I opened out the folded paper and held up the row of little hand-holding angels with a flourish. ‘Ta-dah!’
‘Angels!’ squealed Jadie, clapping her hands in glee.
‘Good grief.’ Vincent’s mouth had dropped open. He was looking not at my masterpiece but at his daughter, in total astonishment. I suddenly realised it must have been the first time he’d heard her speak in almost two years. He looked as if he was about to exclaim further, but I shook my head slightly, afraid that if he made too much fuss, Jadie would fall silent again. He gave me a questioning glance then took a deep breath, taking the hint.
‘We used to make snowflakes with paper and scissors at school when I was little.’ His voice cracked slightly and I saw him swallow. ‘The teacher hung them on the classroom ceiling and stuck them on the windows at Christmas.’
‘Here.’ I handed him the scissors. ‘I’ll bet you can remember how to do it.’
He picked a piece of paper from the pile he’d brought and folded it carefully, then set about cutting bits off it. I watched as he snipped away, his eyes moving every so often to his intently watching daughter. She looked so like him, with her golden hair and slightly pointed chin. I wondered if she was aware that she’d spoken in front of him. I also wondered when had been the last time he had played with her. Tara had intimated that Vincent was something of a workaholic and that she was Jadie’s main carer. Watching father and daughter with their heads bent together made a heart-warming picture.
‘What’s going on?’
We looked up to see Tara approaching with Jadie’s cardigan and slippers in her hand.
‘We’re making angels and snowflakes,’ Vincent answered—more calmly now, as if he were trying to pretend this was an everyday occurrence. ‘Watch this…’
He unfolded the paper to show a beautifully made snowflake with symmetrical points and delicate filigree arms.
‘Ooh!’ said Jadie. ‘Let me try.’
‘I’ll show you how.’ Vincent’s voice was once again heavy with emotion at hearing his daughter’s excited voice. Tara clapped her hand to her mouth and watched as he showed Jadie how to fold the paper, then handed her the scissors.
Jadie snipped happily away, seemingly unaware of the consternation she had caused. Now the floodgates were open, and although her voice was still weak and whispery, Jadie was evidently finding it easier to speak with her father and Tara present.
She unfolded her snowflake and Vincent reached out and clasped her to him. ‘It’s beautiful, princess. Just like you.’
Tara had fallen silent and was standing stock-still, looking from her employer to her charge and then back to me. I was about to smile when I realised that behind Tara’s aquamarine gaze was an emotion I couldn’t quite discern. Was it anger? Confusion? Or jealousy?
I shivered and looked quickly away. I was at this family’s mercy and it didn’t seem like a good time to start making enemies.
Tara drew in a deep breath and appeared to make an effort to pull herself together. She plastered a thin smile on her face. ‘Well, time for some breakfast, I think.’
We were sitting at the kitchen table, finishing bowls of cereal washed down with strong sweet tea, when the front doorbell rang. Tara got to her feet, muttering about how it was a miracle that anyone could come calling in this much snow. As soon as she left the kitchen to answer it, Vincent turned to me. He seemed to be struggling for words and I waited, wondering what he was going to say.
‘This
