Page 36 of The Sisters at the Last House Before the Sea

But Isla fished in her pocket for her phone and jabbed at the screen. ‘Nope. They don’t have snow in London so the airports are still operating normally, which means he’ll miss his flight and blame me for encouraging him to stay on for an extra day.’

Caitlin shrugged. ‘Will he though? I’m sure he can re-book his flight, and it’s not your fault it snowed overnight. They didn’t forecast a dump of snow like this, as far as I’m aware.’

To Maisie’s surprise, Isla gave Caitlin a withering look. She didn’t think her sort-of aunt, who always looked as if butter wouldn’t melt, had it in her. It was a real ‘get out of my face’ glare. But there was something going on between them, something more than the usual sisterly spat that rumbled on tediously. It had started after their visit to the pub two days ago but, of course, no one had told Maisie what was going on. It was probably linked to that stupid letter and riddle that they talked about endlessly.

‘I certainly hadn’t heard of snow,’ Isla agreed, sounding tetchy. She frowned. ‘I am worried about Ben though.’

Isla was far more concerned about the American’s travel arrangements than Maisie thought she should be. Though she could imagine him being miffed if he couldn’t get out of the village. Heaven knows, she was keen to leave. Though she’d made peace with the idea that she’d be here a little longer, until Caitlin sorted out the sale of this stupid house.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Isla suddenly, staring at Maisie’s jacket.

‘Out for a walk.’

And there it was again. A slight lifting of the eyebrow, as if Maisie was completely immobile.

‘I said she can’t go out in those trainers,’ Caitlin butted in.

Isla wrinkled her nose. ‘Definitely not. You can borrow Gran’s snow boots, if you like.’

Maisie did not like. Wearing an old lady’s boots was bad enough. But a dead old lady’s footwear was beyond the pale. Yet she had to admit that the boots did look warm when Isla hauled them out from the under-stairs cupboard.

‘You’ve got small feet, like Gran,’ she said, placing them next to Maisie. ‘Why don’t you give them a try?’

‘My trainers will be fine,’ Maisie insisted.

‘Give it a go, then,’ said Caitlin, pulling open the door again and letting in a blast of frigid air.

Maisie strode to the door and glanced outside. Caitlin was right but there was no way she was going to back down with both her stepmother and Isla watching her. So she stepped outside and winced as her feet sank into the snow. It had to be at least six inches deep. Snow tumbled around her trainers and began to soak through her socks at the ankle.

‘So, how’s that working out for you?’ asked Caitlin, being ultra-annoying as usual. ‘Come on, Maisie,’ she urged in a more conciliatory tone. ‘Gran’s boots will be far more comfortable, don’t you think?’

Maisie stepped back into the hallway and closed the door with a bang. Then, she pulled off her trainers, leaving discarded snow to melt on the hall floor, and gritted her teeth as she pushed her damp socks into Jessie’s boots.

They looked horrendous. People at school would take the mick mercilessly if they ever saw her in them. But, Maisie had to admit, the fur lining was cosy and warm, they came up way past her ankles, and the fit wasn’t too bad.

‘There you go.’ Isla smiled. ‘Gran would be glad that her boots are still being used. I remember her standing in them in this hallway last winter.’

That really didn’t help, but Maisie tried not to grimace, when Isla fished in her pocket for a tissue. Honestly, even talking about her departed grandmother’s shoes set her off.

Maisie felt a sudden pang of sadness for Isla, because she knew what it was like to miss people – she hardly ever saw her mum since she’d moved to Canada for work – but she pushed it down quickly. She didn’t want to start liking Isla, because she wouldn’t be here for long.

‘Right.’ Maisie opened the door again and braced herself as the chill wind hit her. ‘See you later.’

‘Be back soon,’ shouted Caitlin. She said something else but Maisie didn’t hear because she’d already slammed the door shut.

She stood still in the garden and pulled in a deep breath of icy air that hurt when it hit her lungs. It was amazing how a coating of ice crystals could transform the world. Heaven’s Cove, usually a boring picture postcard village that felt divorced from reality, had turned into a winter wonderland. It looked like a scene from Frozen – a film she loved though she’d never admit it.

Maisie glanced up at the sky, which was blanketed in grey-white cloud, and frowned. It looked as if there was more bad weather to come. Perhaps they’d be snowed in for weeks. She shuddered and started trudging down the hill towards the centre of the village, her cosy boots leaving deep footprints.

A surprising number of people were out and about, although it was fairly early. She glanced at her watch. It was nine o’clock but that was definitely earlier than Maisie was usually out and about on a non-school day. Children ran past her, screaming with delight and throwing snowballs at their friends. And Maisie stopped for a while by the quay, watching small fishing boats going in and out of the harbour. The pale sea looked so cold, even watching it ripple and swell made her shiver.

She was walking along what villagers laughingly referred to as ‘the High Street’ – they’d obviously never been to rammed Hammersmith – when her jeans came out of her dead old lady boots.

Maisie stopped to tuck them back in and was bending over when she heard a shout.

‘Hey, you there. Could you give me a hand? Quick!’

Maisie looked up in surprise. ‘Are you talking to me?’

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