I look from one to the other. There is a puzzle here, and some of the pieces don’t quite fit

The bang of a door echoing through the silent house makes me jump. Max, the ringleader, starts to bark in earnest. Is that him? Is that Arthur now, at this time? A logjam of furry bodies in the back doorway prevents me reaching the kitchen first. I think I can hear two voices.

“Ma?”

I meet up with Arthur in the kitchen. Lucie is just behind him, skulking in the hallway.

“Come in then. I’ll put the kettle on.” My voice comes out quite harsh.

Arthur is rubbing the dogs’ ears. He looks exhausted. I make shushing motions at the girl, as if I’m herding geese, and she emerges into the sharp kitchen light.

Her face is pinched and white. I hold the kettle under the gushing tap.

“You can have a hot chocolate,” I call out, competing with the noise of the water. “Sugar for shock.”

Yes, she’s in shock. I can see that now. She’s shaking and Arthur is guiding her to a chair at the breakfast table.

Comfort

“I just feel a bit sick,” she says, burying her head in her hands.

Her dark hair cascades on to the pine surface and I long to stroke it, to comfort her, as I would Floss or any of the others.

Maybe if I’d had a daughter I’d be softer, less afraid of contact. I busy myself with the mugs.

“Come along now, chin up. What news from the hospital?” Arthur speaks for her.

“Reuben – her sister’s boyfriend – is stable, but unconscious. He’s got internal injuries, a busted leg and a fractured skull.”

“So quite bad then?”

Arthur makes a stern cutting gesture with his hand and I shrug apologetically, placing a steaming mug of chocolate in front of the dark hair, which is all I can see of Lucie.

The hair shivers a bit and draws back.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice is squeaky. “I haven’t eaten anything. I feel a bit...”

“Sick? Is she going to be sick?” I’m looking at Arthur; I don’t know why.

I’m already seeing in my mind’s eye the old bucket under the sink, the scrubbing brush, the disinfectant. The dogs are always barfing on the carpet.

“Maybe a Rich Tea biscuit? Arthur, get the biscuit tin. Have a Rich Tea biscuit, it will settle your stomach. Or a tablespoon of brandy.

“My grandmother always swore by a tablespoon of brandy.”

The hair groans. The biscuit tin is produced and the dogs gather round, brown eyes reproachful, already anticipating a refusal.

Lucie looks up suddenly, as if she’s forgotten something important.

“Mac,” she says. “I have a favour to ask.” “Mmm?”

“Is it okay if my sister, Jane, stays with me for a few days? It won’t be any hassle, I –” She rushes the words out, as if I’m about to say no. I shake my head.

“It’s fine. Of course she may.

“She’ll want to be near the hospital and there are things to be taken care of.

“Has she spoken to the police? Where did it happen, the accident?”

Lucie looks at Arthur. Arthur looks at me and opens his mouth.

“Um... not far from here, as it happens. He was . . .” “Working in the area,” Lucie finishes.

Dynamic

I look from one to the other. There is a puzzle here, and some of the pieces don’t quite fit.

“Right. And what about your parents? I have rooms here if –”

“No!” The girl shoots up straighter, as if the very notion of having all her family here together is too terrifying.

“It’s very kind of you, but they’ve booked into a Travelodge tonight, and then they’re going home on the train and leaving Jane the car.

“She’s taking time off work. We don’t know how long... She’s staying at the hospital tonight, of course.” “Yes, of course.”

So that will add a new dynamic – two sisters together, in the Miller’s Cottage.

How strange. How fitting.

Fragments of my dream return. Two sisters. My fingers itch to start scribbling down the details, before they float away.

I turn around to retrieve my own mug from the worktop, absently fiddling in the pocket of my cardigan.

The dogs surge forward eagerly, and Jethro sits on my foot.

My fingers make contact with a folded piece of paper – Lucie’s love poem to person unknown.

Interesting.

Lucie

March

Jane has hands like a child, and like a child’s hands they are constantly in motion. No longer smeared with poster paint and glue, they are now elegant, fully qualified hands; pointed nails, a delicate gold watch draped over narrow wrist bones.

I check out my own nails, with their chipped navy polish. Mac said it looks like I have frostbite.

“No wonder, this study is like a fridge,” I’d snapped. She’d suggested I work from the cottage, to keep Jane company, but the idea fills me with dread.

My awful secret has been given a dreadful shaking. I’m terrified it will break loose and destroy us. I tell Mac that I’m fine. Work is a good distraction.

That first evening, I light the fire in the sitting room of the Miller’s Cottage. It seems like the right thing to do, under the circumstances.

Anecdote

Fires are comforting. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor, feeding the grate with bits of damp wood that stink of rot and are threatening to extinguish what little flame we’ve got.

I bought a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio from the village shop and now it sits next to me, open, in the hearth – not the best place for it, but, thanks to my efforts, there is zero heat coming from the grate and plenty of smoke.

Jane is sitting on the couch, legs curled under her, the gold bracelet of her watch shimmering in the firelight as she describes an anecdote with one hand, the other cupped around her wine glass.

The watch had been a Christmas gift from Reuben, because Jane hates to be late. I received nothing. A gift may have been taken as evidence, he’d reasoned, and used against him.

Jane’s wine is diluted with soda, in case “circumstances change” and she is called to the hospital.

“So we went to view this gorgeous little cottage. You remember the one at the junction where the Inveraray road forks to the left?”

A half-moon motion of her hand. “Mum used to take us to the woods there, to see the tadpoles in the pond. You were always scared of the water, scared of the little slimy things.”

“We have a pond,” I mutter.

She ignores me and presses on with her tale.

More tomorrow.