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Cole gives the tiniest of nods. They both look at me.
My gut twists. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I say slowly.
Eli snorts. “Of course,youdon’t. But I seriously doubt she’s a Johanna 2.0. Unless we have literally the worst luck on the planet.”
I pull off my glasses and rub my eyes. “It’s not just that. Think about it. She’s got a job. Students. She has a life she needs to go back to. We can’t ask her to leave London and live in the fuckingArctic Circle.”
Eli sits up. He looks a mess. His t-shirt is crumpled, his hair is practically standing on end from when Daisy wrapped her fingers into it, and there’s hickeys all over his neck. “Of course we canask.”
I shake my head, my temples aching. “Even if she said yes, she’d be miserable. She’s enjoying herself now, because she’s on holiday. But she doesn’t know the language. She wouldn’t be able to work. She’d have no friends. She’d be completely isolated from society. She’d just be stuck up here with us three, all day, every day. She’d feel trapped. And she’d start to hate us.”
“But—”
“We knew from the beginning that this was only ever going to be temporary,” I say as gently as I can. “You promised her that.”
Eli looks down. A muscle tics in Cole’s jaw. Once. Twice.
He turns on his heel and leaves, letting the door slam shut behind him.
The next day, the forecast says we’re due another storm. I spend the day in town, shipping Daisy’s parcels, checking in on people, and picking up some fresh food to tide us over. By the time I’m parked back at the cabin, the snow has started up again, and it’s already getting worryingly thick. I heave the shopping out of the boot and head to the house, but I’m only halfway there when my phone buzzes in my pocket. The old stone shack is nearby, so I duck inside to take the call.
“Hello?”
“Hej,” a man says in Swedish. “This is Ulf.”
The mechanic. “Ulf,” I greet. “Why are you calling me? You’re not sick, are you?”
“No, no, I was calling about the girl’s car. I know she is staying with you, and she has not been answering her phone the last few hours.”
I’ve noticed that about Daisy. Even when we have signal, she’s terrible at answering her phone. Most of the time, she just leaves it switched off, letting all her texts and emails build up. “I think she must be busy.”
“Well, her car is ready to pick up. It will have to be after the next storm has cleared, though. Looks like it already started.”
I look out at the white sky. “It’s not so bad here.”
“It will be,” he warns. “My mother lives further north, the storm’s already hit her. She says it’s the worst one we’ve had all winter. You guys should stay safe.Get all your supplies ready now.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks. And thanks for the work on Daisy’s car.”
“No problem. Goodbye.”
“Stay safe.” I hang up, then shove the phone back in my pocket. My heart is thudding.
Her car is ready. She can go.
She’s going to leave.
I traipse back inside. I need to find her and tell her. Eli texted me a while back, saying he and Cole were going to the village to sell some skins. I assume they didn’t take Daisy in the truck. I doubt she would’ve enjoyed sharing the backseat with a bunch of animal hide.
The first room I check is her painting room, but she’s not there. I take a quick look around the room, marvelling at the amount of work she’s managed to do in just a few weeks. I don’t know much about art, but her work still takes my breath away. The painting balanced on her easel shows the mountains at dawn; big swathes of stippled blue, silver and white, with gold sunlight trickling down over the crevices in the rock and snow.
I’m about to leave, when I notice the portrait balanced against the wall in the corner of the room. My heart stops.
It’s of me.
Actually, it’s of all of us. Me, Eli, and Cole, all sitting around the table in the living room, laughing over oursnapsglasses. Our faces are lit up orange in the firelight, and the window behind our heads shows a white blizzard of snow. The detail is incredible. She’s got the colour of Eli’s eyes exactly right, and the sardonic twist of Cole’s mouth. There’s a little piece of paper pinned to the bottom of the canvas. I lean in for a closer look. In faint pencil, she’s written the wordHome,with today’s date. My throat squeezes so hard I can barely swallow.
She thinks of this place as her home?
