Things in the Snow
Pack your things and get out. Today.
The voice of her husband was so unfamiliar that Anna took a moment to register whether he really meant her. She stood in the hallway in her slippers, drying her hands with a tea towel shed just used after washing up the dinner plates. Outside, snow was falling thick and heavy, the kind of wet February snowfall you get in London. Silence filled the flat. Then came those words.
What? she managed, her lips refusing to cooperate.
You heard me. Greg didnt look at herjust stood by the window, his voice flat and businesslike, as though reciting something long ago decided and desperately dull. Take Emily, pack your tat, and leave. Youve got one hour.
Anna Wilkinson, twenty-eight years old, born and bred in Ipswich, Suffolk, married three years, mother to little Emily, stood in the hallway of a rented London flat shed come to call home, and couldnt move. Only one thing echoed in her mind: an hour. So, hed already counted. Hed already made up his mind while she was scrubbing frying pans in the kitchen.
Her mother-in-law came out from the lounge. Dorothy Williamsa large woman in a silk robe, a face used only to conveying two emotions: disdain and annoyance. Today, something else glittered in her eyes, a triumphant cocktail of the two with a hint of glee for good measure.
Well now, thats what you get, country girl, she scoffed, folding her arms. Thought you could just coast along on our generosity? Three years, youve been eating us out of house and home, three years weve tolerated you.
Dorothy, please, Anna heard her own voice, meek and uncertain, and despised herself for it. Greg, please, lets talk. Whats happened? What have I done?
Nothing you did, Greg finally turned to face herhis expression blank, neither angry nor sad, just tired. Ive met someone else. A woman who suits me. You never did, Anna, and I only stayed because of Emily when she was little. But now, its over.
Anna stared at him, disoriented, her mind whirling. This was the man who had once told her he loved her. The man whod held her hand in hospital when their daughter was born. This man.
Who is she? Anna asked, astonished at her own question, when shed meant to ask something else entirely.
None of your concern, Dorothy snapped in reply, not giving her son the chance. A proper womanwith her own business, connectionsnothing like you. Not some stray, no name, no prospects.
Im not a stray, Anna said quietly.
Oh, arent you? Well, who are you then? The orphan from Ipswich? No parents, no family, not a penny to your name. Thought I didnt know what you were hoping for, clinging to my Greg?
Mum, thats enough, Greg said, wearily.
No, she needs to understand. Dorothy raised her voice. Emily stays here. Any court will say so: you have no home, no income, nothing. Where would you take her? Back to your little Suffolk town? We can give her everything.
The blow was physical. Emily. Emily, who right now was at nursery, probably making something out of playdough or listening to a bedtime story, blissfully unaware. Four years old, just four.
You have no right, Anna said, and didnt recognise her own voiceno fear, just a cold, slow dread. Im her mother. No court will just take her from me.
Well see, Dorothy smiled, a smile that made Annas stomach turn.
Greg retreated to the bedroom. Soon, her belongings began to flynot carried, thrown. He opened the window and tossed out her bag, a bin liner with her winter things, a box of bits and bobs shed brought all the way from Ipswich three years ago and never thought to lose. Down they went into the snowy courtyard below. Passers-by stopped and gawked from beneath their umbrellas. Anna simply watched, frozen, as her husband did thiscalm, workmanlike, bored as if clearing out a cupboard.
Greg, she called.
He didnt answer.
Greg!
Just go, he said, not even glancing round. Its done.
Anna leaned back against the wall. Her legs wouldnt move. Only emptiness filled her head, pierced by one question: what now? Where to go? She had no real friends in London. The girls from the café where shed worked before maternity leave had long drifted off into other lives. No mother, no father, both gone by the time she was sixteen.
But there was Granddad.
Anna closed her eyes. Five years of silence. Five, since the argument over Greg, over the wedding, over what her granddad had sensed but she, young and in love, stubbornly ignored. Shed left for London; hed stayed in Manchester. Over time, calls grew fewer then stopped. The last time shed heard his voice was a stilted New Years greeting three years ago.
She found his number in her phone: Granddad Michael. Still the old numberwhat if it wasnt even his now? What if he wouldnt answer?
She dialled.
Four rings. Anna counted. One. Two. Three. Four.
Hello, came his voice.
And she burst out crying, immediately, for no reason except that it was him. Low and gentle, with a gravelly note hed had for the last two decades.
Anna? he asked straight away. Anna, is that you?
Granddad, she said and was surprised by her own use of the childish word. Granddad, I dont know what to do. Theyre throwing me out. Right now. Into the snow. And they say theyll take Emily.
A small pauseno more than three seconds.
Tell me the address, he said.
But Granddad, we havent spoken in
Anna. The address.
She gave it. He replied only: Wait there. Dont move. Im coming.
By the time Greg returned to the corridor, he shot her an irritated look.
Youre still here?
Im waiting.
For what?
She didnt answer. She found her coat, put it on, grabbed her phone, and headed down to the courtyard. Her belongings lay in the snowher bag open and spilling, a sleeve poking out, the edge of an old book catching the falling snow. Anna collected them, brushing off what she could and repacking hastily, her fingers numb in secondsher gloves left inside. She sat on a bench outside, waiting, alone.
The snow fell softly, steadily. By now it was about five oclock, already darkening. Yellow streetlights glowed through the swirling flakes. An old lady walked her dog past and paused, looked at Anna with her luggage in the snow, seemed about to say something, then thought better of it and trudged away.
Anna thought about Emily. At nursery now, likely dinnertime. Emily loved porridge with raisins and hated soupalways lunching out the potato chunks to eat them alone and then telling her key worker shed finished her soup. Three months ago Emily drew a picture of mummy, daddy, and herself, holding hands. It stayed on the fridge, bright and hopeful. Did Greg throw that out too?
Forty minutes passed, maybe more. Anna no longer felt her toes and told herself she ought to get up and move but somehow stayed rooted to the bench, watching the buildings entrance.
First she saw the headlights. Then the crunch of tyres over the icy snow. Then one big, dark SUV turned into the courtand then another edged in behind. Both stopped outside the flat.
Two men in dark overcoats stepped from the first car, quiet and solemn, and stood by the doors. Then the back door opened and Granddad emerged.
Anna couldnt get up. Michael Wilkinson was tall and wiry as ever, pushing seventy, hair snowy white but upright as always, giving off that old-school, ramrod dignity that made you instinctively straighten your own back. A long, dark coat, beanie pulled low; he strode towards her, unconcerned about the snow caked around his shoes.
Up you get, youll catch your death, he said by way of greeting, reaching for her arm.
Anna stood. Looked up at him. There was something in his eyes that made her nearly cry again.
Granddad she began.
Later, he cut her off. Lets sort this out first. Wheres the flat?
At that moment, Greg came out the doorwayperhaps having seen the cars arrive. He stood on the porch in joggers and a sweatshirt, staring at the cars, the strange men, the tall grandfather next to his wife. His face went visibly from bemused to wary to something very like fear.
Who are you lot? Greg demanded at Anna.
Granddad answered, not missing a beat.
Michael Wilkinson, he replied evenly. Annas grandfather. Did you know?
Greg snorted, trying for confidence. Wilkinson? Never heard of you. So what?
Nothing, Granddad said calmly. Im just here to collect my granddaughter and her things. You dont object?
She can leaveIm not stopping her, Greg huffed, folding his arms. But Emily stays.
No, Granddad replied. Not loud, not angry, just no, as if explaining a simple sum. Emily goes with her mother. Theres nothing to discuss.
Dorothy appeared, taking in the scene in a flash, her face hardening at once.
And who exactly are you to swagger in here? she demanded. This is our flat. We can call the police!
Please do, Granddad suggested politely. While we wait, Ill share what I know about certain arrangementswith that building development on Highbury Road. Or about your little flat in Croydon thats technically under your nieces name, though the taxman thinks otherwise. Or how Greg landed that council contract he was never entitled to and exactly who ensured itwithout ever knowing.
For a moment, the courtyard stilled, the snow muffling everything. Greg paled noticeably.
What are you implying? he asked.
That for three years Ive kept a very close eye on your business, Granddad replied, steady as ever, no malice or dramajust facts. Not out of affection for you, but because my granddaughter was here, and I wanted her under a roof, not out in the cold. A few favours, a few phone calls. Nothing complicated. But thats finished now. As of about ninety minutes ago.
Greg said nothing. Anna was still struggling to process.
Granddad she tried, but he cut her off gently.
Anna, off you go to the car, he said, soft but with an edge that brooked no argument, nodding at one of his men. Help her with the bags, will you?
Youre not going anywhere! Dorothy squawked, but her voice cracked now. This isnt right. Its illegal
Youre correct, a lot of things arent right, Granddad agreed genially. For examplethrowing someone onto the street in the middle of winter. Threatening a mother youll take her child. Hiding assets from the government. Shall we make a list?
Dorothys mouth opened, then closed againspeechless for the first time in Annas memory.
Greg took a step, voice faltering. You cant justthis is my family, my house, I make the decisions
Youve made yours, Granddad cut in with quiet force. You tossed my granddaughter out. Fine. Your choice. Now heres mine: Im taking Anna and Emily, and were leaving. Call your solicitors if you want. Just knowthe flat is already flagged on the banks charge list. I suggest you keep an eye on the post in the next few weeks.
Greg looked visibly shaken even in the courtyards half-light.
What did you do? he spluttered.
Nothing you havent done yourself already, Granddad replied. I just made a few calls and suggested no more delays. Theyd been waiting long enough.
While Anna listened, something inside her slowly thawed, a little like coming in from the biting coldpainful at first, legs slow to respond, but unmistakably safe. She looked at Greg, at Dorothy, and felt something new: she was not afraidtruly, for the first time in three years.
The bags were packed swiftly. Granddads men entered the building, unopposed, as Greg lingered speechless and Dorothy disappeared back inside, perhaps to make calls or simply to avoid watching.
Once the last bag was loaded, Granddad offered Anna his arm and guided her to the car.
Granddad, she said, voice trembling. I should have rung before.
Yes, he accepted easily. But you called now. Thats something.
They climbed into the car. Anna peered out the window as the snowy courtyard and glowing streetlights slipped behind, the living room window flickering briefly, someone pacing. Then a corner, and it was gone.
Lets collect Emily, Granddad directed the driver.
The nursery was two streets awaya private one, complete with an English name and a price tag that made Anna wince every time Greg paid. As they pulled up to the neat red-brick building, Anna was impatient, desperate to see her daughter.
There were, naturally, questions. The nursery worker met Anna in the cloakroom, looking uncertain.
Im sorry, but we have rules, she said. Only those on the list can pick upMum is, but her father said hed fetch her today
Im here, Anna interrupted. Im taking my daughter.
Butit’s our policy
Young lady, Granddads voice sounded behind Annaauthoritative enough to make the woman blink. Youre looking at her mother. She has every right. If youre not sure, ring your manager. Well wait and Ill explain personally why you refused to hand a child to her mother.
The nursery worker glanced from Granddad to his hulking, silent companions, then back at him.
One moment, she stammered, disappearing.
Three minutes later, Emily came out, in her pink coat with the bunny on the pocket, clutching a drawing of a Christmas tree. Her face broke into a smile when she spotted Anna.
Mummy!
Anna crouched, scooped her up and squeezed her tight.
Ow, Mummy! Youre squashing me!
Sorry, love, sorry, Anna said, half-laughing, half-choked, the lump in her throat impossible to swallow. Its alright now, darling. Its alright.
Emily eyed Granddad curiously; shed never met him. Granddad regarded his great-granddaughter, and something softened in his face.
Whos that? Emily whispered.
Thats your Great-Granddad Mike, Anna said.
Emily studied him seriously.
Why is he so tall?
Granddad unexpectedly smileda kind, gentle smile that Anna hadnt seen in years.
Genetics, he replied.
Emily liked the word, even if she didnt quite get it.
Gen-et-ics, she sounded out and followed contentedly to the car, gripping Annas hand.
It was warm inside the car. Emily perched on Annas knee, clutching the drawing, quickly becoming drowsy. Granddad sat nearby, silent and watchful.
Where are we going? Anna whispered, careful not to wake her daughter.
For now, a hotel. Ive booked. Tomorrow, we take a flight up to Manchester.
You could have told me about Gregs dodgy dealings, Anna said.
I could, Granddad agreed. But you wouldnt have listened. You loved him. You didnt want to hear it.
Anna didnt reply. He was right.
You knew for three years. And said nothing.
I was waiting for you to call me. I couldnt just show up and say leave him. Its your life. I only made sure you would never be left with nothing, if things went wrong.
They went wrong.
They did. But you called. And I came.
Annas phone vibrated. Greg. She ignored it. Again. Then a message. She put the phone away.
Good, Granddad said, not needing to look round.
The hotel was the sort Anna would never have chosen for herself. Emily fell asleep on the big bed, clutching her Christmas tree drawing. Anna sat at the window, watching the snow blanket the city, while Granddad wished her goodnight and retreated to his own room, promising an early start.
She wasnt sleepy. She lay next to Emily, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the days events over and over. That morning everything had been normalporridge for breakfast, Emily chatting about her favourite toy rabbit, mundane domesticity. The last normal morning.
It was bitter, truly bitter, coming to terms with how something ends and never quite knowing if it was ever really good at all. Three years shed triedcooking, cleaning, adapting for Dorothy, biting her tongue when she should have spoken, smiling through the tears, hoping things would right themselvesbelieving Greg was just stressed, Dorothy just tough. That things would work out. They never were going to.
Her phone vibrated againnot Greg, another number. She answered.
Anna, its MichaelI work for your grandfather. Just to confirm: flight at ten a.m., collecting you at eight. Have a good evening.
Thank you, she said and ended the call.
Flight, ten a.m. Manchester.
It felt like another life. Anna had only been to Manchester once, as a schoolgirl. She remembered chilly summer evenings, the canals, the bridges, Granddads kindly stubbornness. His home on the outer edge of the city, full of tobacco-smoke and old maps, his everlasting teapotshed not been back for nearly a decade.
Emily turned in her sleep and found Annas hand, grasping tight, warm and small. Anna squeezed gently, thinking perhaps there was no need to cry. Or maybe there was, but laterwhen Emily was safe, somewhere else, when there was the right time and place. For now, all she needed to do was feel the warmth of her daughters hand.
In the morning, Greg sent message after message. Anna flicked through them without reading. The early ones spat anger; then the tone shiftedpleading, appeals for talk, declarations of love for Emily. The last message: Anna, I was wrong. Im sorry.
She put her phone away.
Granddad waited downstairs, scarf on, coffee in hand, calm as ever.
Did you sleep? he asked.
A little, she answered.
And Emily?
She asked where were going. I said to the seaside. She was pleased.
Granddad nodded. Itll be cold by the sea in winter, you know.
In spring it wont be, Anna said.
He nodded again.
The taxi drove them through snow-touched London. Anna looked out at clogged roads, umbrellas and huddled commuters, dirty slush piled by the verges. London bustled on, oblivious, not knowing or caring that someone was passing through for the last time. The city did not say farewell, just honked and hurried along.
Anna didnt feel any real sadness. Maybe she would laterthree years, after allbut right now it was a relief, a bone-aching relief to be leaving.
Emily eyed the world out the window, naming everything she saw.
Mummy, a bus!
Yes, I see.
Mummy, a man with a dog!
Mm-hm.
Mummy, why does that flat have such a tall chimney?
Thats a boiler room, love.
Whats a boiler room?
A place where they make heat.
Emily nodded gravely, evidently satisfied.
At the airport, there was a private loungeAnna had only ever passed it in her barista days, never once imagining shed be welcomed in: soft seats, hot tea, near-empty, peace and quiet. Emily found a childrens play corner and vanished. Anna cupped her hands around her tea, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
Her phone. Greg, again.
This time, she answered.
Anna, his voice was soft, croaky, unrecognisable from the day before. Where are you?
It doesnt matter.
Anna, please, dont do anything drastic. Lets talk calmly. Iyesterday, I lost my head. Its justMum, she was pressuring me
Greg, Anna cut him off, her tone flat, surprising herself by its steadiness. You threw my things out the window. Into the snow.
Silence.
I know, but
You threw my things out the window, she repeated. In front of the whole street. Then you said youd found someone else. Then your mother threatened to take Emily from me. That was yesterday. Do you remember?
Anna
I remember, she said. So theres really nothing to discuss.
She ended the call, laid the phone on her knee, and sipped her tea. It was hot and a little too sweet, but good.
Granddad sat down beside her.
Greg again?
Mm.
And?
Nothing, Anna said, genuinely. Just nothing.
They sat together in silence a while.
I should have insisted, five years ago, he murmured at last. I gave in too soon when you moved.
No. You warned me. I didnt listen. Theres a difference.
Still, I should have found a way.
Granddad. You arrived yesterday. Within forty minutes of my call. Thats enough.
He said nothing, just pressed her hand with his large, familiar palm, fleeting but unforgettable.
Boarding was called. Emily marched at Annas side, still holding her hand, peppering her with questions about aeroplanes. Was it a big one? Did it have real windows? She wanted to sit by the window. Anna assured her she could.
The plane was small, quiet, the seats more armchairs than anything else. Only a handful of people: Granddad, Anna, Emily, and the two men who had helped with the luggage. Emily got her wish and sat beside the window, nose pressed to the glass as they taxied out.
Mummy, are we flying?
Soon.
Is it a long flight?
About an hour.
Will there be snow in Manchester?
Yes.
And the sea?
Its therebut more rivers. The Mersey, thats a big one.
Mersey, Emily repeated. Nice word.
The plane lifted off, Emily gasping as the world fell awayLondon shrinking beneath, city blocks made small as Lego, roads winding away beneath the snow. Anna thought she hadnt been on a plane in years, not since university trips. Back then, flying had been exhilarating, scary. Now it was only relief, tinged with an odd quiet.
Her phone buzzed again. A message from Greg: Will they repossess the flat? Is it true? Anna, please answer. She shut it down.
Emily looked at her. Mummy, are we going back?
Anna hesitated.
Where, darling?
Home.
Anna gazed into her daughters serious blue eyes, the dimple in her left cheek that always deepened when Emily was thinking hard.
Sweetheart, were going to a new home. Where Great-Granddad Mike lives. Its nice there.
Emily considered this.
Do they have a cat there?
Anna smiled. I dont know. Shall we ask?
Granddad sat in the seat opposite, reading on his tablet.
Granddad, Anna called softly.
He peered over his glasses.
Have you got a cat at yours?
He adjusted his glasses. Nobut we can get one.
Emily beamed, turning back contentedly to the view, as if her life was back on course.
The plane climbed. Beneath, the clouds smoothed into a flat white sheet, then parted to dazzling blue skythe kind of blue you only ever see from above. Anna leaned back, closed her eyes, feeling her daughters small, warm weight beside her.
Far below, in a now-mythic London, Greg was probably calling again. Dorothy was on the line to her solicitors. The flat on the third floor, with its window over the snowy yard and yellow lamps, stood silent and empty behind them.
It all belonged there now. Anna was flying somewhere else.
It still hurt; she wasnt pretending otherwise. Three years is three yearsEmilys drawing on the fridge, her first words, the way the flat used to smell in the morning. It had existed, and it was over, and no bright future would wipe that away.
But the plane soared north. Emily sat snug at her side, her breath fogging the window as she studied the clouds. Granddad leafed through papers, adjusting his glasses with a gesture so familiar it made Annas heart tightenin a good way, a way shed forgotten existed.
Her phone vibrated again, but she left it.
Emily nudged her, Mummy, look! That cloud looks like a rabbit.
Where?
There! The one with ears.
Anna smiled. So it does.
Are clouds different in Manchester?
Maybe. Probably much the same, though.
And will Toy Rabbit come along?
Anna realised she meant the little rabbit at nurserythe favourite that would have been left behind.
Well get you a new one, she promised. They sell rabbits in Manchester too.
Emily nodded, satisfied, and returned to the window. Anna resolved to remember this momentnot because it was happy, but because it was real.
Below the clouds, the story of betrayal and three lost years, of fear and being cast out into the snow, of fighting for her daughter and dignity, all remained. It was true, it happened, nothing would change that.
But the plane flew on.
Emily, warm and constant, nestled at her side.
And Granddad glanced up at them every so often, wordless, but full of a quiet, fierce pride.
Through the window, the sky was blueso blue it almost hurt to look at. Anna kept looking.
Mummy, Emily murmured, sleepy now.
Yes, pickle?
Is it all alright?
Anna breathed in, gently stroked her hair.
Yes, love, she whispered. Its all alright.
The plane soared north. Clouds drifted below, shining and white, as if there had never been anything dark beneath at all.
