Page 1 of Winter With You

1

LONDON, UK

‘Sorry about the traffic, love.’

‘Not your fault.’

‘Getting nearer to Christmas.’ The taxi driver grinned ironically into the rear-view mirror. ‘Council thinks, “It’s November now, let’s get our orange cone decorations out”.’

Gabriella Felix checked her watch. She was already late and it wasn’t the taxi driver’s fault or the traffic, the blame was hers. She had cancelled her usual car, because her usual car knew who she was. And who she was shouldn’t be seen going where she had gone. It would be detrimental to her perfectly constructed image, contrary to the wellness website and the mindset-changing book she’d written. OK, it wouldn’t exactly be career-ending, but it might require explanation should she be caught and that would lead either to lies or the truth. And both were unacceptable to her. One of those she did on a daily basis, the other she’d spent a lifetime masking…

Gabriella put fingers to her throbbing temple and, from her position in the back seat of the cab, she looked out of the condensation-coated window. London, in all its grey-sky, monotone glory. It was an iconic city, the place she and her sister, Lulu, had grown up. She gazed out, trying to look beyond the line of stationary traffic – brake lights breaking the gloom – and into the heart of what had been their playground. When they were younger, Lulu had always embraced their parents’ affluence and, in turn, had accepted their influence. But as much as her sister had loved nothing more than dressing up for the parties with people of ‘status’, she was easily overwhelmed once the novelty and the anxiety medication had worn off. Gabriella, on the other hand, had always seen the Felixes’ events more like escape-room challenges – something to work out how to get released from. Looking at London now – cold, edgy, the keeper of people’s secrets – she wanted nothing more than to throw herself out of the cab and dive back into the anonymity of it…

‘So, tell me, what’s a nice lady like you doing at the greasy spoon caff I picked you up from?’

Gabriella closed her eyes and began an inner monologue of the mantra her life was now built on. You hold the power. Power is the key to success in all things. She opened her eyes, mouth stretching into a smile. ‘What’s a gentleman like you doing asking a lady to reveal her secrets?’

As he laughed heartily at her comeback, Gabriella looked at her watch again. If they didn’t get moving soon, she might have to do the unthinkable. Call her parents. Ask for help. She shuddered at the thought.

‘How long do you think?’ Gabriella asked the cabbie. ‘Until we get there.’

‘It’s London traffic, sweetheart. How long’s a piece of tinsel?’

* * *

Finally, the cab pulled up outside Huntley Grammar School and Gabriella breathed a sigh of relief. She wiped her hand over the window and looked through the smeared glass at the scene just across the street. Everything is OK. And, right there, was her reason for getting up every morning. Phoebe Felix. Her sixteen-year-old niece. Sitting neatly on the bench, uniform pristine, tawny-coloured hair immaculately scraped back into a perfect bun, glasses over her eyes that were directed into the pages of a hardback book. Gabriella suspected a tornado could whip up and blow through and Phoebe’s attention wouldn’t leave the Penguin Classic…

But then Phoebe’s attention did move from the book and Gabriella watched as a group of teenagers gathered quickly, swarming like insects, invading space, imposing, striking out…

Gabriella reached through the opening in the Perspex divide and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder. ‘May I please borrow your hat?’

Stomach bubbling like a cauldron of lava, sunglasses covering her eyes, scarf wrapped across her face and the cab driver’s beanie on her head, Gabriella left the taxi and advanced across the road like she was an undercover cop ready for a takedown.

The group of youths – four, all boys – were talking.

‘S’not your book now, fam. Chill, yeah? Share the story, blood.’

‘It’s OK. Yous just like our library, innit.’

‘Yeah, but these words are tiny, though, bruh.’

‘Mans need glasses. Loook! She got those too, fam.’

Gabriella put two fingers into her mouth and whistled. She knew the effect it would have and the youths all reached for their ears, which gave her just enough time to get beside Phoebe.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she whispered. ‘Get your book and your bag and when I say run, run.’

Phoebe nodded, pushing her glasses up her nose and gathering her things from the bench.

‘Oi, you can’t be breaking people’s ears like that, yeah?’ the tallest boy said, turning his attention to Gabriella now.

Gabriella stood firm. And then she spoke, low, menacingly. In Russian. ‘Ты такой уродливый. И внутри, и снаружи.’ You are so ugly. Inside and out.

‘What? I dunno what you’re sayin’, bro.’

Gabriella spoke again and, with each new sentence she inched closer to him and his gang, made herself bigger, wider, more of a dominating presence. ‘Твоя мама, должно быть, так гордится тобой. Ты сосунка.’ Your mother must be so proud. Egg sucker. ‘Прощайте, идиоты.’ Goodbye, morons.

Then she addressed Phoebe in Spanish. ‘Huir!’ Run.