Laurie Ellingham - Ours is the Winter - a gripping story of love, friendship and adventure

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.’