There are some secrets you can’t escape…

Journeying across the Arctic, their pasts are about to catch up with them.

Erica, Molly and Noah are embarking on the challenge of a lifetime, driving Siberian huskies across the frozen wilderness of the Arctic. Cut off from the world and their loved ones and thrown together under gruelling conditions, it isn’t long before the cracks start to show.

Erica has it all. A loving husband, a successful career and the most adorable baby daughter. But Erica has been living a double life, and as she nears her fortieth birthday her lies threaten to come crashing down.

Molly was on her way to stardom. But when her brother died, so did her dreams of becoming an Olympic champion. Consumed by rage and grief, she has shut out everyone around her, but now she’s about to learn that comfort can come from the most unexpected places.

Noah has a darkness inside him and is hounded by nightmares from his past. Tortured, trapped and struggling to save his fractured relationship, he knows this journey is not going to help, but try telling his girlfriend that.

As their lives and lies become ever more entwined, it becomes clear that in the frozen wilds there is nowhere to hide.

Ours is the Winter

Laurie Ellingham

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Arctic Husky Challenge Itinerary

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Excerpt

Copyright

LAURIE ELLINGHAM

Laurie lives on the Suffolk/Essex border with her two children, husband, and cockerpoo Rodney. She has a First Class honours degree in Psychology and a background in Public relations, but her main love is writing and disappearing into the fictional world of her characters, preferably with a large coffee and a Twix (or two) to hand.

A huge thank you to Donna Adams for sharing her experience of the arctic challenge with me. To my beta-readers Cathy Oldfield and eagle-eyed Kathryn Jones - thank you.

Thank you to my lovely agent, Tanera, for believing in me, and my amazing editor, Celia, for her hard work and editing awesomeness.

A final thanks to my writing friends for keeping me going, and my family for putting up with me.

To my amazing sister-in-laws: Katherine, Anna and Bec.

Arctic Husky Challenge

Itinerary

Are you ready for the challenge of a lifetime? Drive your own team of elite Siberian huskies 260km across the frozen wilderness of the Arctic in an experience you’ll never forget!

Day 1. Arrive at Tromsø, Norway

On arrival at Tromsø airport you will meet with your fellow mushers and board a minibus to the beautiful grounds of our dog sled camp, Huskyleir, where you’ll meet your guides for the challenge and be kitted up with all the equipment you’ll need to survive in sub-zero temperatures. In the evening you’ll enjoy one of Norway’s speciality game dishes by an open fire in our traditional Lavvu tent.

Day 2. Briefing

After breakfast your guides will brief you on every aspect of the challenge ahead, and after being introduced to your huskies, you’ll have the chance to practise your skills on a short sled run.

Day 3. Tri-Nations Border

Following an early breakfast it’s back in the minibus for a short ride to the start of your Arctic challenge. Today you will sled 40km to the Tri-Nations Border between Norway, Sweden, and Finland, and spend your first night camping under the breathtaking Northern Lights.

Day 4. Swedish Mountains

Today will be the most challenging of your journey and will see you climb with your dogs up the Swedish mountains before descending to your second campground of the trek. Be prepared for some spectacular views over the Arctic! 60km.

Day 5. Rostojvri Fishing Camp

With every up, comes a down. Today you’ll enjoy an easy 50km sledding downhill to the Rostojvri Fishing Camp where you’ll enjoy a rest from tents and spend a night in traditional log cabins.

Day 6. Swedish Forests

Today you will sled 65km through the beautiful Swedish forests and enjoy an open campfire before a final night of camping.

Day 7. Icehotel, Jukkasjärvi

On your final day of the challenge you’ll continue sledding through the beautiful forests of Sweden for 45km and arrive at the Icehotel in time for an early dinner and a night’s stay in this award-winning hotel.

Day 8. Return to Huskyleir

Today you say goodbye to Sweden and board your minibus back to Norway, returning to Huskyleir where you’ll have the opportunity to say goodbye to your huskies and head into Tromsø where you’ll enjoy an evening in this popular Norwegian tourist destination and spend a night in a hotel.

Day 9. Home

Time to say goodbye to your new friends and leave this spectacular Arctic challenge.

Let’s get mushing!

Chapter 1

Day 1

Erica

‘Why are you doing this? You don’t even like dogs.’ Henry’s voice echoed in Erica’s head as she scooped up her rucksack and boots from the bedroom floor. In a matter of minutes the sky outside the window had turned from inky blue to light grey, picking out the bedroom furniture in dull shadow.

Anger stirred inside her. Sudden and sharp – like heartburn – a remnant of last night’s fight. Erica glanced at the sleeping form of her husband. The hump of his long lean body was cocooned inside the red covers. Only his feet and his mop of pepper grey hair were visible.

The air was thick with the smell of sleep and the lingering menthol scent of Olbas oil from Henry’s cold earlier in the week.

Erica peeled open the bedroom door and tiptoed across the hall. ‘Or cold.’ Henry’s caustic voice again, just before he’d swigged back a mouthful of red wine. ‘And you’re going to the bloody Arctic, Erica.’

So much for the romantic evening they’d planned. So much for a farewell dinner together, just the two of them for a change; without Isla distracting them; without the murmur of TV news in the background. But by the time Isla had finally settled, the steaks had lost their succulence and neither of them had had the energy to be kind.

Henry was right about the dogs and the cold, of course.

‘They’re not fun dogs,’ she’d tried to explain, tried to placate the argument he’d been gunning for by that point. ‘They’re huskies. They’ll be doing their thing, and I’ll be doing mine. Other than shout “mush” at them, I’ll be leaving them alone. And, yes, it will be cold but I’ll probably be too busy and too tired to notice.’

As for why – why was she going? She was going for Molly. She was going because she needed time away to think, to find her way out from under the lies threatening to bury her. All of a sudden the anger dissolved leaving only a twinge of regret. She had no right to be angry.

It was darker in the hallway. There were no windows, no fingers of daylight creeping in. Just four closed doors – the study, the bathroom, the master bedroom, and Isla’s room. Erica ran a finger over the smooth edges of the four colourful wooden letters stuck to their daughter’s bedroom door as she passed.

‘I don’t understand why it always has to be you who goes on these things, Erica,’ Henry had said as they’d cleared the plates from the table. ‘I get that Channel 6 like their employees to take part in charity events, but surely one of the fame-hungry presenters or a less experienced producer at the station could go?’ Even in a haze of wine and resentment Henry had chosen his words carefully, but Erica had known what he’d meant. He’d meant younger. Surely someone younger could have gone in Erica’s place?

If only he knew.

The shhh of the boiler humming into life spurred Erica to keep moving. Six a.m. She had to get out of here. Erica shifted the weight of her rucksack further onto her shoulder and, avoiding the creaks, she zigzagged silently down the stairs.

Daylight slipped through the porthole glass in the front door and the gaps in the living room curtains. The light illuminated the polished wood floor stretching across their open-plan living room – the colourful plastic toys heaped to one side, and the empty wine glasses on the coffee table.

Erica slipped her feet into the fluffy wool of her thermal socks and stuffed them into her boots. She caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled. For once it wasn’t the lines crinkling around her green eyes that Erica focused on, it was the excitement dancing inside them. She touched the brittle edges of her dark red hair where it skimmed her shoulders.

Did she really look any different than when she was twenty-nine? Her hair was a shade darker, thanks to the addition of a colour at the salon she visited every six weeks, and no thanks to the appearance of more than a few grey hairs. Her hair and skin were a little duller than she remembered. A trick of the light perhaps, or just a decade of long hours making her way up the career ladder to the Senior Producer of daytime news at Channel 6.

Erica blinked and for the smallest of seconds she saw her mother’s face staring back from the mirror. Erica shook her head and stepped close enough to see the spattering of freckles across her nose. The past ten years had disappeared in the blink of an eye. She’d got married, she’d bought her first house, she’d had a child, and yet time seemed to be perpetually on fast-forward. She was still the same person though. Twenty-nine or thirty-nine, she was still the same.

It grated her insides that not everyone could it, see her. Was she just a number now? Erica had just as much ambition as she’d had ten years ago. She was just as motivated, just as hard-working. She was just as smart; except now, she was experienced too. Erica was good at her job. One of the best. That counted for something. At least it should. More than any number counted, anyway.

Erica sighed and with a final glance in the mirror she stepped to the front door.

The old wood stuck in its frame for a moment as she tugged the handle. Then it opened with a shudder, blasting fresh cold air onto her face, and with it came a burst of adrenaline. She was going. Finally.

‘Hang on,’ Henry’s voice shouted from above her.

Something dropped inside Erica’s stomach. Could she pretend she hadn’t heard? Erica pulled the door open wider and made another step towards freedom. She didn’t want to leave with last night’s argument hanging between them, but she didn’t want to say goodbye either. She hated goodbyes. Besides, what difference did it make if she left now? If she stayed they’d only argue again.

Who’s fault is that? The voice came from nowhere. His voice in her head, or her own conscience, she couldn’t tell.

‘Erica, wait,’ her husband bellowed.

She sighed as Henry’s blue-check pyjama bottoms appeared at the top of the stairs. Too late now.

Erica pushed the front door shut and leaned against it for a beat before fixing a smile on her face and turning around.

Isla unleashed a squeal of delight at Henry’s jiggling run down the stairs. The wide-eyed joy of their thirteen-month-old daughter melted Erica’s heart and suddenly it didn’t matter if she argued with Henry; Erica got to see, hold, be with her daughter one last time.

Isla was wearing a bubble-gum pink Baby-gro covered with red strawberries – one of a dozen garish gifts Henry’s mother had given them in the last year. The curve of a smile poked out from either side of Isla’s orange dummy and spread across her chubby cheeks.

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’ Erica asked, allowing her rucksack to slip from her shoulder and drop to the floor with a light thud.

‘No, but you should have done. I thought your flight wasn’t until this afternoon?’ Henry replied, reaching the hallway and shifting Isla’s weight onto his other hip before using a free hand to smooth down tufts of his wayward hair.

‘It’s not, but I thought I’d pop into the office first and make sure everything is set for my week away,’ she lied, lifting Isla out of Henry’s arms and into her own. ‘Anyway, you know I hate goodbyes.’ She buried her face in the creases of Isla’s neck, as much to breathe in the precious scent of her daughter as to hide her face from Henry.

He smiled then, the tension in his face gone. ‘Have breakfast with us first. Isla will be grouchy all day if you go without a proper goodbye.’

Erica glanced down at the shining eyes of their daughter, staring across at Henry’s face with a mix of wonder and adoration, and doubted she’d be missed.

‘Erica,’ Henry said. The one word spoken just so – half pleading, half warning – in the way only her husband seemed able to do.

She nodded and wriggled out of her boots. So much for freedom. So much for escape.

***

The house – a four-bed Victorian terrace on a tree-lined street in Walthamstow – was the perfect family home, according to the estate agent who’d sold it to them eight years ago. And with the kitchen extension they’d added, it really was perfect.

Even with Isla’s toy collection growing larger, noisier, and more colourful by the week, the high ceilings and large rooms still had a spacious feel to them. Erica loved their home; loved being a tube ride away from the city during the week, and a short stroll to the park and high street at the weekend. The house didn’t fill her with the same sense of peace she got from sinking into the chair behind her desk for another long day in the studio, but it was close.

In the kitchen, spring sunshine fought through the clouds, and streamed like spotlights through the French doors that led into a long narrow garden. The bottoms of the glass doors were smeared with Isla’s handprints and the oval shape of her lips where she’d kissed the glass. Erica fought the urge to dig out the window cleaning spray and wipe them away.

Fifteen minutes, thirty max, and she was gone. The smudges would no doubt be back again when she returned. Cleaning them now would only piss Henry off, and she didn’t want that.

‘Mummy, Daddy, woof, porri,’ Isla gabbled, pointing to the high chair.

‘That’s right, honey, porridge.’ Erica smiled, placing Isla’s feet to the floor a metre away from the high chair. ‘Go on,’ she said as Isla let go of Erica’s arms and stood statue-like for a moment. ‘You can do it, baby. Go on, walk.’

Isla lifted a foot from the floor and held it in the air for a moment before her legs gave way and she dropped onto her bottom with a soft thud.

‘She’ll do it when she’s ready,’ Henry said, scooping Isla up into his arms and strapping her into her high chair.

She’ll do it when you give her the chance, Erica thought. ‘I know,’ she said instead.

Erica stepped to the coffee machine, moving around Henry as he heated porridge for Isla, and she made the coffee.

‘I’m sorry about last night,’ Henry said, stopping for a moment and touching the side of Erica’s arm. ‘I didn’t mean to pick a fight. Too much wine and … we’re going to miss you, is all.’ He shrugged.

She nodded. ‘I know. I’ll miss you both too.’

‘I still don’t know why you’re going,’ Henry said, his tone light and devoid of the anger she’d heard last night.

‘Because I said I would. And anyway, it’s not for me – it’s for Molly.’

‘Seriously, Erica. After the way she treated you at the funeral, you don’t owe her anything. When was the last time you even spoke to each other?’

An image of the pale wood coffin with its ornate silver trim flashed in Erica’s mind. Sadness swept through her. It covered her thoughts like dust on a forgotten shelf. She thought of Billy’s body inside, still and lifeless, as the burgundy curtains lifted and the coffin moved out of sight. She could hear the guitar intro of the Arctic Monkeys song that had played on the speakers. The volume too low to drown out the noise of Joyce’s wrenching sobs in her ears.

‘She’s still my sister. Molly needs me. I know she does,’ Erica said, forcing the memories away and wishing she could believe the confidence in her voice. The truth was, she didn’t know what Molly needed. Erica could still feel the penetrating glare of Molly’s eyes as Erica had rested her hand on her humongous belly and gasped her way through a Hemingway poem.

Molly hadn’t replied to a single message, or answered her phone for months. The challenge was the only thing Erica could think of to reach Molly, and even now she wasn’t entirely convinced Molly would show up at the airport.

‘We need you,’ Henry said, dragging Erica’s thoughts back to the present.

For a paycheque and a womb. The thought shot through Erica’s head and landed on her lips. She bit it back. Ten minutes and she was out the door. Just get through breakfast without an argument and you’re free.

Henry opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and turned towards the fridge instead.

‘What?’ she asked over the vibrating hum of the coffee machine now dripping rich black liquid into two cups.

Henry turned, his features contorting into a sad frown. ‘Don’t hate me, OK? But have you thought about what we talked about?’

Erica swallowed back a wave of annoyance. Don’t fight, she reminded herself. ‘The baby?’

Henry nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing up then down as he swallowed.

She shook her head, killing the hope creeping onto his face. ‘I just don’t think it’s the right time. Work is crazy –’

‘It’s always crazy.’

‘Isla’s still so small.’ Erica reached over and tickled her daughter’s chin causing Isla to squirm and giggle.

‘Tiggle, Mummy,’ Isla said, waving her hand and the spoon she was gripping at Erica.

A blob of creamy porridge fell from the spoon in her hand, landing on the tiled floor with a splat.

‘She’s trying to eat her breakfast,’ Henry said, stepping between Erica and Isla, and repositioning Isla’s bowl in front of her.

Erica sighed and stepped back to the coffee machine to retrieve her mug. ‘You want me to spend more time with her, but then you hover over me, criticizing my every move.’ So much for not fighting.

‘I wasn’t criticizing. It’s just if she doesn’t eat her breakfast, she’ll end up napping this morning and this afternoon, then she’ll never go to sleep later.’

‘Right.’ Erica touched the mug to her lips. The black bitter liquid was too hot, and numbed the taste buds on her tongue, but she didn’t care.

‘About the baby,’ Henry said.

‘Please, don’t do this now. I’m about to go away for a week.’

He held up his hands in defeat. ‘All I was going to say, is that –’

‘I’m not getting any younger. You don’t have to remind me.’

Henry laughed sending another wave of annoyance shooting through Erica’s veins. What did he find so funny? Why did he get to be the one who laughed, and she the one who angered? ‘That’s not what I was going to say, but on that note, I’ve put a present in the bottom of your rucksack. Don’t open it until your birthday, promise?’

‘Did you?’ Erica’s mood softened a fraction. Maybe they could get through breakfast without a fight. ‘You didn’t need to do that. I don’t think there’ll be much time for celebrating.’

‘You’re turning forty, Erica. You have to have something to open.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘What I was going to say is that right now our lives are working. Tricon are happy with me being a part-timer so I can be here for Isla, and my parents are still healthy and young enough to lend a hand now and again when Isla has to miss nursery. If we leave it another year to have a baby then I’ll be back full-time, and who knows if I’ll get the chance to drop my hours again. Plus, I was close in age with Kate and we were really good friends growing up. We still are close. It’s what we’ve always talked about isn’t it? Two babies close together, then a third if we’re up for it.’

Erica sighed inwardly and fought to keep the annoyance from showing on her face. Was Henry really trying to hold her to something she’d said once a million years ago when they’d been drunk on wine and love? ‘One baby, great. Two babies, of course. Three? Why not?’ She remembered laughing.

Erica loved Isla with her whole heart. She loved her more than she knew it was possible to love anyone. Wasn’t that enough?

Erica opened her mouth to say something. Another protest, but Henry spoke first: ‘All I’m asking is for you to think about it whilst you’re away, OK? I know how busy you’ve been at work these last few months, and some time away to clear your head will do you good. So please just think about it.’

A needle of guilt pricked the inside of Erica’s gut. She turned to the sink, tipping the dregs of the coffee away and hiding her face from Henry. He knew her better than anyone, and she couldn’t allow him to see the truth blurring her vision.

‘I’ll think about,’ she whispered, before turning back to him. ‘I’d better go. I said I’d –’

‘Go into the office,’ Henry finished for her. His face was a mix of hurt and acceptance, and for one crazy moment all Erica could think about was stepping into his arms and confessing everything.

She took a step towards him. Henry’s deep brown eyes bore into her. The eyes of her husband – the man she’d chosen to marry. The man she’d fallen in love with, and had been in love with for the best part of a decade.

What was she doing?

Say it. Say it now – I never meant to hurt you. Her heart drummed in her chest as the lies she’d told him flashed through her mind. One after the other, after the other. ‘Henry, I –’

The clatter of Isla’s spoon on the tiled floor shook the sense back into Erica. After everything she’d done, now was not the time for honesty. ‘I’d better go,’ she finished over Isla’s wails.

‘Bye, baby girl,’ Erica said, dropping a kiss onto her daughter’s head and breathing in her smell one final time. ‘I love you so much. Be good for Daddy.’

‘See you next week.’

Erica stood on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on Henry’s cheek.

At the last second she felt his arms cup around her body and pull her into a tight embrace that smelt of yesterday’s aftershave and sleep. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Please be careful.’

Erica stepped into the hall, pushed her feet into her boots, scooped up her bag, and flung open the front door. The guilt she’d felt flew off with a gust of wind leaving only the flutter of excitement dancing in her stomach again. It was an effort not to run towards the station.

Chapter 2

Molly

Molly ducked her head away from the curious eyes in the airport terminal and wished she hadn’t let her mum take her to the airport. As if the four-hour lecture on being careful on their drive from Sheffield wasn’t bad enough; now this. And where the hell was Erica? This was her idea, and she couldn’t even be bothered to arrive on time to give Molly some backup.

‘Mum, it’s OK. You can stop crying. I’ll be back next week,’ Molly said, her voice low.

‘I know, ignore me.’ Joyce sniffed and wiped a disintegrating tissue across her face. A tiny piece of white caught on her mum’s cheek and another in her loose afro curls. Molly sighed and brushed her finger across Joyce’s damp skin, removing the tissue and a fresh tear along with it.

‘Are you going to be all right?’ Molly asked.

Joyce nodded. ‘Absolutely. Just promise me … promise me, Molly Jane, that you’ll be careful.’

‘Of course I will, Mum. It’s really safe, honest. There’s no way they’d let a group of strangers trek across the Arctic without all the proper equipment and precautions.’

‘You’re all I have left. I can’t lose you …’ Joyce’s reply trailed off into a croaked whisper before she dropped her head onto Molly’s shoulder.

‘Maybe you should get a hotel near the airport tonight?’ Molly said. ‘Driving back when you’re this upset isn’t a good idea.’

‘Oh.’ Joyce sniffed again and stood up straight as if just remembering that they were in the middle of Stansted Airport’s departures hall surrounded by people. ‘No, no, I’m fine. It’ll be too expensive.’

Molly followed Joyce’s gaze over the array of travellers with backpacks, suitcases, and luggage trolleys moving through the terminal. Why was she the only one with a distraught parent to deal with?

You know why. The voice in her head was sudden and came with a gut-twisting guilt that stole Molly’s breath.

‘Treat yourself,’ Molly pleaded. ‘You could go into London tomorrow and do some sight-seeing.’

A shadow darkened Joyce’s face.

‘Or anywhere, really,’ Molly added quickly. ‘You’ve always wanted to see Kensington Gardens.’ Molly pulled out a phone and fired a text to Erica: Where are you?!!

‘Fiona and the others will be expecting me back.’ Joyce wiped her sleeve across her face and seemed to compose herself a little.

Molly’s phone buzzed in her hand. A reply from Erica lit her screen: I got here early. I’m in the duty-free bit.

Flipping great, Erica. Thanks for the backup.

‘They’re cats,’ Molly sighed, forcing the annoyance out of her tone. None of this was her mum’s fault. ‘If you don’t feed them, they’ll go next door for grub.’

Joyce frowned but said nothing. The cats had been a source of comfort to Joyce at first. Fiona – the old grey tabby who’d been around almost as long as Molly – had given Joyce love and a purpose in the dark weeks after Billy.

But now their small three-bed terrace had become a haven for unwanted cats of varying colours, sizes, and decrepit states. The house stank of cat litter and crap, and there was cat hair on and in everything. Molly couldn’t make a cup of tea without fishing out at least three wiry hairs from the black cat with one eye who’d made a home beside the kettle.

‘I’d better go. Erica’s waiting for me.’

‘Please don’t,’ Joyce said, her voice barely a whisper over the crowd that had gathered beside them. Joyce tightened her grip on Molly’s arm.

Indecision tore through Molly. What was she doing? Why was she even going? No way could she leave her mum like this. No way. ‘OK, I’ll stay.’

The anger seethed through her blood and prickled her skin with sweat underneath her clothes.

Joyce dropped her hand as if she could feel the boiling rage burning her skin, then shook her head. ‘No. Ignore me. Of course you’re going. Erica’s relying on you. You two need to work things out and a change of scene will do you the world of good. I think we could both do with a change.’

Molly flicked a glance at the cheerful group, laughing and jostling around two blonde-haired girls – carbon copies of each other – wearing matching backpacks. A little boy and girl waved helium balloons on sticks with the words Good Luck written across them. The children craned their necks, watching the joyous farewell of the adults with wide-eyed glee. Molly looked back at the crumbling mess of her mother, the lone figure bidding her farewell. Not so much bidding, really, as begging her to stay.

‘What will you do whilst I’m away?’ Molly asked. Guilt and uncertainty battled for space alongside the anger in her thoughts.

Fresh tears pooled at the edges of Joyce’s eyes. She drew in a long breath before she spoke. ‘Well with you out the way it seems a fine time to get on with the spring-cleaning. It hasn’t been done for a few years now …’

Joyce’s voice trailed away. Molly could see her thoughts playing on the lines of her face. Spring-clean time. Every year for Molly’s entire life Joyce had spent a week in early spring cleaning the house. Not just cleaning but sorting. Every room, every drawer, every cupboard. ‘Out with the old,’ Joyce would say in between dancing to West End show tunes on the CD player.

Spring had come and gone last year with no mention of the annual clean. Every room meant Billy’s room too.

‘Wait another week. I’ll help you do it this year. It’s only nine days.’ Molly forced a cheer into her voice she didn’t feel, never felt actually. Maybe getting away, even for a short time, would be good for both of them.

Molly loved her mum so much but more and more she was starting to feel suffocated by Joyce, the house, the cats, the grief, the insomnia, the searing acidic anger that dogged her thoughts and burned her insides. Like the time when she was nine and had tried to melt the cheese for cheese on toast in the microwave, but had forgotten about the foil lining the plate. The microwave had zapped and hissed and sparked, and Billy had run in from the garden and ripped out the plug from the wall socket before the whole thing had exploded.

That zapping. That was how her insides felt. Except Billy wasn’t here to save her any more. Billy would never be there again, and if she didn’t escape now, if she didn’t find an outlet for the anger, she would be the one exploding.

Molly didn’t care about the adventure, the Arctic, the sleds, or the Northern Lights. And she didn’t give a monkey’s about whatever bonding experience Erica thought they’d have. Erica could’ve offered her a ticket to Tinsley sewage works and she’d probably have taken it.

‘Excuse me?’ A woman in her early forties with long black hair broke free from the crowd beside them and tapped Molly on the shoulder. ‘Are you doing the husky challenge by any chance?’

Molly and Joyce nodded.

‘Right then, my lovely,’ the woman said, hooking her hand through Joyce’s arm and ignoring the fearful teary-eyed look on Joyce’s face. ‘You needn’t worry. I’m Laura Carney and my girls here are going on the same challenge. Frankie, Harry.’ She waved and the group parted, all eyes suddenly on Molly and Joyce.

Molly watched the blonde twins bounce over with the same broad smile as Laura. ‘Hi,’ they chorused.

‘This girl here is doing the challenge too. She’s a bit upset, aren’t you, love?’ Laura patted Molly’s arm with her free hand, the one that wasn’t holding Joyce’s arm and forcing her mum to remain upright and out of Molly’s reach. ‘I was just telling them that you’ll look out for …’

‘Molly,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s not me –’

‘Never mind, never mind,’ Laura said, cutting her off. ‘Let’s get you all through the gate now.’

Laura turned her eyes to Molly and winked. Up close, Molly could see the resemblance between Laura and her daughters. It wasn’t just the same bright skin and straight nose; it was the energy that seemed to radiate from them.

Molly stood for a moment, wanting to protest, wanting to tell this woman and the entire group with their patronizing smiles that she wasn’t the one upset; she was completely fine. It was her mum who needed the support. But watching Laura gripping Joyce’s arm, Molly realized this was her chance to go without a fuss.

‘Why don’t you and I go get a coffee?’ Laura said to Joyce. ‘The girls will text us when they’re through security, won’t you, girls?’

The twins nodded and grinned. One of the girls had a silver brace across her top teeth. As far as Molly could tell, that was the only difference between them. They both had natural white-blonde hair tied in a high ponytail, and curves that attracted the glances of passing men, even under combats and matching lilac fleeces.

‘Bye,’ one of the girls said, waving at the group and leaping forward to peck Laura’s cheek. ‘Bye, Mum,’ she said.

The other twin mimicked the action and a moment later Molly found herself swept along towards departures. She turned back to give her mum a reassuring wave, but Joyce was already lost in conversation with Laura and being steered towards the coffee shop.

‘Is your mum always like that?’ one of the twins asked Molly.

‘I’m all she’s got,’ Molly said. She gritted her teeth, forcing her defences down. ‘She’s probably crying on your mum’s shoulder right about now.’

‘Ah, Mum will be pleased.’ One of the girls smiled. ‘She’s always got her eye out for someone to rescue.’

‘True.’ The other twin grinned. ‘That and a karaoke bar. She can spot them a mile off.’

‘No wonder your mum was so upset though. I don’t think our family will notice we’re gone. Do you, Harry?’

Harry laughed, her brace glinting in the light. ‘They wouldn’t notice if I left, but if you went, they’d wonder where all the mess had gone.’

‘Nice of your friends and family to come see you off,’ Molly said.

‘Ha,’ Frankie said. ‘That was just family. We have an older brother, who’s married with two children – Dawson and Kayleigh – the ones with the balloons. They’re living back home whilst they save for a house of their own. Then there’s us. And when we were, like, ten our mum got pregnant again with our twin brothers. So as you can imagine our house is a madhouse, which is why we keep signing up for these charity challenges –’

‘Anything to get away.’ Harry laughed.

‘Last year we did Mount Kenya, and the year before that we climbed to Everest base camp,’ Frankie said.

‘Why don’t you tell Molly our bra size too?’ Harry said, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance.

‘I’m only being friendly. I know it’s an alien concept for you.’

‘God, you’re just like Mum. Next you’ll be opening a bottle of Prosecco and singing Lady Gaga to yourself in the kitchen.’

The girls continued batting light-hearted jibes back and forth, like a well-practised tennis rally, but Molly had stopped listening. The acidic anger was bubbling again, searing in the space under her ribs.

‘Have we got time for a drink before our flight?’ Frankie asked, scooping up her jacket and bag from the black plastic tray and stepping away from the security area.

‘Definitely,’ Harry replied. ‘Let’s hit the bar. Last chance for a week.’ They moved forward and stopped a pace in front of Molly. ‘You coming, Molly?’

‘Umm … I’m good. I’m meeting someone.’

They hesitated, their matching blue eyes sharing a look of concern.

‘Don’t worry about me,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t need looking after. My mum was the one who was upset. I can take care of myself.’

‘We know.’ Frankie smiled and shrugged. ‘We’ll be in the bar if you change your mind.’

She wouldn’t.

The pain worsened as she moved from shop to shop, staring at everything and nothing. Molly knew she should call Erica, but she didn’t want to. What would be the point?

Molly fell into an empty row of chairs away from the central strip of shops and food outlets. She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath before exhaling, as if she could breathe the pain right out of her. The burning continued.

Molly pictured her mud-crusted running trainers, neglected and unused by the back door at home. How she craved to tighten the laces around her feet and dart out the back gate, into the fields and up to the peaks just like she’d done a thousand times with Billy, running a pace in front of her, urging her forward.

‘You’re going to be a champion runner, Mol,’ he used to call behind him whenever she’d started lagging. ‘You’re going to win gold in the Olympics.’

Anger spread through her veins. Her breath quickened. It had always been Molly and Billy and their mum. Molly saw her dad now and again, catching a lift in his taxi when she needed it, but he wasn’t part of them, not really. Even before she’d turned seven and her parents had separated, Molly couldn’t remember her dad sitting down with them at mealtimes, or playing games like her mum had always done.

Most days it seemed as though they were the only two people in the entire world now – Molly and her mum. It wasn’t fair. Billy had been the centre of their everything. He’d been their anchor. Without him, they were drifting in the dark. Molly was no champion without Billy. She was nothing without him.

Frankie and Harry had each other, and three brothers and two parents, and a niece and a nephew. All cheering them on. All healthy, all happy, all alive. And Molly had who? A mother half destroyed by grief and a half-sister she’d barely spoken to for the past year?

Molly gritted her teeth and hugged her stomach. She hated feeling this way. Hated what her life had become. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Molly tried to picture Billy’s face but her mind blanked.

‘There you are.’ Erica dropped down two seats away from Molly. ‘Excited?’

‘Not really,’ Molly said.

‘This is just what we need.’

‘Is it?’

Erica gave Molly a sideways glance, narrowing her eyes just like she’d done a thousand times over the years when Molly did or said something Erica didn’t approve of. Erica had always loved playing the all-knowing big sister role.

‘Did you remember to pack extra socks?’ Erica asked a moment later.

Molly puffed out a long breath of air before she spoke. ‘I’m not nine years old anymore.’

‘Don’t act like it then,’ Erica retorted and arched her back, stretching her arms above her head.

‘I’m not the one –’

‘Hey, Molly, our gate’s been called.’

Molly looked up to find Frankie and Harry standing at her feet.

‘We’ve been looking for you,’ Frankie said. ‘Time to go. Are you OK?’

Molly nodded and pulled herself up. Her head swam for a moment and the anger passed. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘This is Erica. She’s coming on the trip too.’

‘Hi,’ the girls chorused.

‘Hi.’ Erica smiled. ‘I’m Molly’s sister.’

Molly watched the quizzical look pass between Frankie and Harry as they took in Erica’s pale skin and dark red hair, then moved their gaze to Molly’s tight black curls springing from her head and down to her shoulders.

‘Half-sisters obviously,’ Molly mumbled. ‘We have the same waste-of-space dad.’

‘And the same freckles.’ Frankie waved a finger between Molly and Erica. Molly touched her nose, suddenly self-conscious of the dots that speckled the bridge of her nose. Billy had had them too. And just like that she saw his grinning face in her mind.

‘We’re gate five,’ Harry said.

Erica fell into step with the twins and got the same download from Frankie as Molly had received earlier, giving Molly the chance to drop back a pace.

What was she doing on this trip?

Why had she ever thought she’d be able to escape the burning anger, the pain, the memories? It was an illness, and Molly could travel ten times around the world and it still wouldn’t be far enough away to escape it.

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