felt him moving forwards, taking slow measured steps through the deep drifts, his breathing deep, and even while I clung to him, the warmth of him gradually brought my senses back to life. Though half conscious, I realised from the gentle rocking motion that he was wading through thick snow, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured as he battled against the blizzard with the weight of me in his arms.
Pinned against him, I tried to match his rhythm, to make my body weightless, to be one with his. He was strong; I could feel the muscles in his arms supporting me, his chest rising and falling methodically. My own breath mingled with his as he carried me steadily onwards.
I would have been happy to stay entwined like that for ever; my senses tingling, my body on fire with the intense cold, my body blending with his. But somewhere in the murky depths of the tunnel I heard voices calling, exclaiming, and then I was jostled and moved roughly about. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut I tried to feel him against me again, to savour once more that amazing connection of energy, but then I was being lowered down and I felt hands roughly dragging at my clothing, bundling me in something soft and heavy, and then the bright white light went out and I slipped into the lonely darkness of unconsciousness.
‘Hello…’
Searing pain ran through my hands and feet. Struggling not to cry out, I opened one eye, and there before me stood an angel. She was small and slight, with a halo of golden hair tumbling round her shoulders, and she was surveying me with eyes of the deepest blue.
My first thought was that I was truly dead and had gone to the place some people called heaven, but my pain belied that myth and I wriggled my fingers and toes in an attempt to lessen the stinging discomfort. Seeing the movement, the angel leaned towards me, her hair cascading forward as she bent to whisper to me, her voice soft and slightly husky.
‘Hello,’ she breathed again, her lips brushing close to my ear. ‘Amber said you’d come.’
I opened both eyes and stared hazily at her. ‘Where am I?’ My voice seemed thin and reedy. The effort of speaking made me cough harshly, causing fresh pain in my chest and head. This surely couldn’t be heaven when I hurt so much; but if not heaven, then where?
The angel had stepped back when I’d coughed and was now surveying me anxiously.
‘Are you going to die?’ she asked.
I considered this question, stretching my aching fingers and wiggling my toes to assure myself that the pain was real enough.
‘No.’ I was relieved to find that I believed it. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’
‘Not ever?’ she pressed, coming closer again and staring so intently into my face that I wondered again for a fleeting moment if I was hallucinating. Something about the solemnity of her expression, however, made me cautious with my answer. I needed some answers myself, but it seemed that my questions would have to wait.
‘Well, I will die one day…we all will one day. But I’m certainly not going to die today, not if I can help it.’
Pushing myself up on one elbow, I looked round at my surroundings. I was lying on a couch in a sitting room with low wooden ceiling beams and leaded-light windows just visible behind partially closed curtains. There was a Persian rug on the polished wooden floor and a fire roaring in an inglenook fireplace; it seemed warm and peaceful, a sanctuary from the blizzard raging outside in the darkness.
The angel was smiling at me with a wondrous expression that made me feel slightly nervous. It was the sort of look a child might have when seeing Father Christmas actually emerging from the fireplace on Christmas Eve. I wondered if that was how I had been staring at her.
‘Where am I?’ I asked again, struggling into a sitting position so that the blankets I’d been cocooned in flopped down into my lap. I realised belatedly that I was wearing only underwear, and hastily pulled the blankets back up. ‘And who are you?’
‘I’m Jadie.’ The angel was dressed in a little tartan kilt with a cream jumper and thick woollen tights. ‘I’m six and a half years old.’ She paused for a moment then repeated softly, ‘Amber said you’d come.’
‘Who’s Amber?’
‘My sister.’ Jadie’s shrug intimated that I should know such a thing already.
‘Ah. And can you tell me where I am?’
‘You’re in our house. Daddy brought you in. You were all cold and covered in snow, so me and Tara, we pulled your wet things off and Tara sent me to get the blankets.’
‘Where is your daddy now?’ I asked, remembering suddenly the glorious feeling of being carried by the man in my dream. I felt myself blushing. Jadie was regarding me minutely. I felt quite guilty under her scrutiny, as if she could read my thoughts, which weren’t at all suitable for a child of six and a half years old.
‘He’s working.’ Jadie inclined her head somewhere behind me. She swallowed and cleared her throat slightly. ‘He only went out to clear a path to the road and he found you and now he’s working in his study again. Daddy’s always working.’
‘What about your mummy?’ I asked, looking round as I spoke. ‘Is she here too?’
Jadie looked down at her toes. ‘Mummy’s gone away. She was very sad and then she went on an aeroplane with Uncle Jack.’
Deciding not to pursue that little gem of information, I tried to get back onto more neutral ground. ‘Oh. And what about…er, Tara, wasn’t it?’
Jadie suddenly pressed her lips together as if afraid more words might tumble out. I looked at her quizzically, then realised from a movement of air in the room that a door had opened somewhere behind us.
‘You’re awake then.’ The voice came from behind me, making me jump. I turned to see a slim young woman with short, dark glossy hair emerging from a doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel. ‘I’m Tara, the housekeeper here. How are you feeling?’
She came round the couch to look at me and I couldn’t help noticing that she seemed to be sizing me up. Although she was dark, she had luminous aquamarine eyes that were as startling in their way as Jadie’s cornflower-blue ones.
‘Thawed out a bit, have you?’ she asked.
I nodded, trying not to stare at her. I swung my defrosting feet out from under the blankets to try to get up.
She put out a hand and pushed me down against the cushions. She was surprisingly strong and I fell back, looking up at her with some embarrassment.
‘You shouldn’t go getting up yet.’ It was an apology of sorts, as if realising she had overstepped the boundaries of propriety. ‘You were pretty far gone when Vince…Mr James brought you in. Give yourself a minute or two. I expect your hands and feet hurt. And that cut on your head is quite deep. It probably could have done with a stitch or two but I put a butterfly plaster on it, so hopefully it won’t leave a scar.’
My hand went to my temple and I felt the plaster gingerly before rubbing at my still tingling fingers. I nodded, totally confused. My lack of any sort
