Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(12)

“It’s fine,” she says. “They won’t be back until Sunday night—that gives me plenty of time to clean up.”

She finishes off the gin and tonic and winks at Amanda.

It’s pitch dark outside the window. It’s been snowing all afternoon.

Amanda adds yet another coat of mascara.

Tonight they’re going to have such a good time. She refuses to worry or be afraid; that can wait until tomorrow.

Right now she is going to PARTY!

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12

Hanna is lying on the sofa in the living room. It’s almost seven thirty in the evening. She has crawled there with yet another bottle of wine; she’s done very little except drink and doze since yesterday afternoon, torturing herself with thoughts of what she should have said or done to make Christian stay with her.

When she got home on Monday, she thought the disaster at work was the worst thing that could happen to her.

The sound of her phone ringing makes her jump.

For a heartbeat she hopes it’s Christian, that he’s changed his mind, realized she’s the one he loves. They could turn back the clock, pretend the last week didn’t exist.

Then she remembers how she left the apartment.

She checks the display and sees her mother’s name.

She doesn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not her mother. Has Lydia told her about Christian, even though she promised not to?

“Hello?” she says in a croaky voice.

“Darling,” Ulla says in the tone that means Hanna has messed up again. Hanna immediately feels guilty as she searches her memory. What has she forgotten this time?

“When are the two of you arriving for New Year?” her mother asks. “You promised to email me your flight details.”

Hanna had totally forgotten that she and Christian were meant to be flying down on the thirtieth to celebrate New Year in Guadalmina.

Over the years she has tried to avoid Spain as much as possible; the only thing that made it bearable was when Christian started coming with her. His charm made her mother and father drop their constant nagging about how she ought to leave the police, get herself a better-paid job with higher academic status—something they could boast about to their friends, whose children are lawyers, auditors, or doctors.

“What time do you land?” her mother goes on. “I assume you’ll be renting a car—Dad and I can’t be expected to chauffeur you around.”

She laughs, as if to take the sting out of her words.

Hanna can hear cicadas in the background. Presumably Ulla is sitting on the patio, where they’ve planted lemon trees in big terracotta pots.

“You’ve no idea how many invitations we’ve had for the next few weeks—I love all these Christmas festivities!” She lowers her voice a fraction, as if she has something extraordinary to impart. She always sounds a little breathless, almost girlish, in a way that everyone except Hanna seems to find delightful. She continues with obvious pride: “Can you imagine—we’ve been invited to the mayor’s Christmas party on the twenty-third. Everyone will be there —I’m going to have to buy a new dress!”

Hanna feels slightly sick. She doesn’t know which will be worse—telling her mother that Christian has left her or going to Spain without him as a protective barrier.

She can’t possibly admit that she’s been “encouraged”

to leave her job in Stockholm. Her only consolation is that Lydia doesn’t seem to have said anything.

“I’m working,” she lies, trying to sound sober. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

Ignoring Ulla’s protests, she ends the call.

The familiar lump is there in her throat. She doesn’t want to be transported back to her childhood memories, but it happens anyway.

Her mother was forty-one and her father fifty-two when she was born. They’d never wanted more than one child, and Lydia had fulfilled all their expectations. They were the perfect family trio until Hanna ruined the idyll ten years later.

Hanna grew up with the story of her mother’s difficult pregnancy; she heard it over and over again during her childhood. How her mother put on so much weight and almost died during labor. How Hanna did nothing but scream for the first few months, leaving everyone exhausted.

After Lydia’s birth, Ulla regained her figure with ease.

The second time it was a different matter.

Hanna can still remember her mother stepping onto the bathroom scale every morning and evening. She can still hear the endless questions: Do I look slimmer in this dress?

Which color makes me look thinner? Does my tummy stick out in this new skirt?

Hanna constantly assured her that she was the most beautiful mommy in the whole wide world, but it didn’t help.

She spent her childhood consoling and admiring her mother in order to compensate for the damage she thought she’d caused.

It was her fault that Mommy had lost her beauty.

Hanna doesn’t even own a scale; she swore she’d never buy one. She doesn’t want to think about her weight—she prefers to dress in baggy sweaters and loose-fitting clothes, even though she’s naturally slender.

She buries her face in the pillow and closes her eyes. All she ever wanted to do was to make her mother happy. And for her mother to love her as much as she loved Lydia.