Snow is Falling (Juniper Meadows #4)
Prologue
PROLOGUE
SPRING
‘Thank you for holding. Your call is important to us. We are experiencing higher than usual call volumes at the moment.’
‘Aren’t you always?’ Sadie Bingham cast a baleful look at her phone resting on the desk beside her laptop. A fresh breeze carried the scent of early honeysuckle through the open window and she closed her eyes and let the sweet scent calm her irritation. It was one of those warm spring days that made you throw open all the windows to blow away the cobwebs.
The recorded message continued. ‘To avoid the wait, did you know you can search for availability and make a booking online by visiting our website, w-w-w-dot-happyhols-dot-com? If you already have a booking, you will be able to access the most up-to-date information by logging into your account.’
‘I can’t bloody log in to my account though,’ Sadie told her phone through gritted teeth as the message ended and was replaced by an instrumental version of Kylie’s ‘I Should Be So Lucky’ that was so tinny it sounded as if it were coming from the depths of a metal dustbin. ‘I should be so lucky if you ever answer the pho-o-o-o-one,’ Sadie sang along to the tune as she tried logging into her husband Pete’s account for the umpteenth time that morning.
Password not recognised
With a groan, Sadie sent an imploring glance at her phone. How much longer, for goodness’ sake? She had so much she wanted to get sorted out today, not least tackling the ironing pile on the bed so she could start setting aside the things she wanted to pack for their holiday. She could message Pete and ask him if he’d changed the password but he was up to his eyes at work. After nearly twenty-five years at the same company they still seemed as determined to squeeze out every last hour from him. It was one of the many reasons he’d finally made the decision to take early retirement in the run-up to his sixtieth birthday. At fifty-five, Sadie wasn’t sure she was quite as ready to give up work, but Pete had wanted to kick the next phase of their lives off with a bang. If she got fed up there was no reason she couldn’t look for a part-time job in the future.
She just wished he’d left the organisation to her, especially when Sadie managed all of their other home admin. Everything was usually set up in her name, but this trip was Pete’s dream and he’d done all the research so it had made sense for him to sort out the initial booking. Cruising down Route 66 on a massive touring motorbike wasn’t Sadie’s first choice when it came to modes of transport, but he had his heart set on it and there’d be plenty of time over the coming years for the luxury cruises and country house hotel breaks that were more her style. Pete had worked hard to give them a lovely life so Sadie was determined to embrace the adventure. She figured the motorbike trip was like the BMW convertible he’d bought last year – an attempt to ward off the creeping feeling of age. Her own efforts might be less flashy and ostentatious but, as he’d pointed out, if you added up the years of expensive hair appointments and spa treatments then they probably came out about even. Sadie just wished the car seats were a little less low slung so she didn’t feel like an ungainly lump as she hauled herself up out of them. Plus she looked less like Grace Kelly and more like Hilda Ogden when she used a headscarf to protect her hair from the wind.
The recorded message started again and Sadie let out a little scream. She was going to be stuck in this loop forever.
‘Hello, Happy Hols! Debbie speaking, how may I help you? Hello?’
Sadie snatched her phone up, hoping desperately that the woman on the other end hadn’t heard her. ‘I’m here! Sorry, I… umm, I have a booking with you, well, my husband has a booking with you, and I’m trying to print off the itinerary and tickets but I can’t seem to log in.’
‘Let me see if I can help you. Do you have a booking reference?’
Sadie consulted her notebook. ‘Yes, it’s BL7448097A, in the name of Bingham.’
There was silence apart from the faint sound of a keyboard clicking and then Debbie spoke again. ‘And are you one of the passengers travelling on the booking?’
‘Yes. As I said, the booking was originally set up by my husband but he’s really busy at work so I’m just trying to get things organised.’
‘I’ll need to check what details are on the booking. Can you give me your full name, please?’
‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ Sadie rolled her eyes. She hated the way she apologised all the time. It was a habit she’d been trying to break for a while, but she fell back into it whenever she got flustered. ‘It’s Sadie Elizabeth Bingham. Do you need my date of birth as well?’
The keyboard click-clacked and then Debbie cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry, but your name doesn’t match either of the ones on the booking so I can’t continue with your enquiry.’
Not on the booking? ‘I think there must be some mistake – perhaps you’re looking at the wrong one. The lead passenger should be Peter Albert Bingham and I’m Sadie S-A-D-I-E. The reference is BL7448?—’
‘—097A,’ Debbie finished the reference before Sadie could. ‘As I said, I’m afraid I don’t have your details on the booking so I’m unable to discuss it further.’
Was that a slight hesitation in the way she’d said ‘your’? Sadie shivered as if a ghost of premonition had trailed its fingers down her spine. ‘But you have Pete’s name on there?’
The warmth in Debbie’s tone had chilled to something almost robotic. ‘If you think there’s a problem with this booking, may I suggest you get the person who gave you that reference to contact us? Under our data protection rules I’m afraid I can only speak to them. Is there anything else I can assist you with?’
Sadie shook her head, before catching herself. ‘No, no, that’s fine. I’ll speak to Pete when he gets home. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’
‘Thank you for calling Happy Hols, goodbye!’
The phone went dead. Sadie stared down at the reference number Pete had given her. She’d had to badger him for even that much, her requests for more information batted away with irritated comments that he had everything in hand and for Sadie to stop fussing.
Stop fussing.
His use of that phrase had stopped her in her tracks. She’d put it down to the stress of trying to get everything at work tied up before he retired, making an excuse for what had to be a slip of the tongue because she hadn’t been able to believe he’d say those words to her otherwise. Not when he knew full well they were part of the arsenal her mother wielded against her.
Margaret Dunlop was a bully; there was no way of sugar-coating it. She had picked and poked and undermined her husband until he’d withdrawn from the battlefield of their marriage, retreating behind a beautiful brick wall of art and literature. With her main opponent refusing to engage, Margaret had switched her attention to Sadie. Too young to understand the ugly dynamics of her childhood, Sadie had taken those bitter snipes and criticisms very much to heart. It had taken Sadie a long time to work out that it didn’t matter what or how she did something, in her mother’s eyes she would always be in the wrong. Pete had been the one who’d helped her realise the truth, encouraging her to break away from her parents. But Sadie had loved her dad as much as she had feared her mum. Even understanding his failure to protect her, Sadie had wanted his quiet presence in her life until he’d passed away a few years ago. Losing him might have softened some people, but it had seemed only to embitter Margaret further. Pete had told Sadie to cut her loose and even their children had urged her to distance herself, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The trip to America would be a welcome escape from the self-imposed obligation of hosting her mother for lunch every other Sunday. Not that she’d told her they were going away yet.
The thought of how Margaret would react to the news was enough to drive Sadie into action. She couldn’t do anything about the strange call to Happy Hols until Pete got home, but there were plenty of other things she could be getting on with, starting with that ironing pile in the spare room.
Sadie set herself up in the lounge, placing the ironing board in front of the TV and scrolling through the planner to find the next episode of the boxset she’d been watching. It was the third series and she’d given up waiting to watch it with Pete. He was always too tired these days to want to do much more than watch whatever was on Sky Sports Main Event. Honestly, the sooner he retired, the better.
She was halfway through the first episode, the same shirt she’d started with still a wrinkled sleeve short of being finished, when her mobile phone beeped. With a pang of guilt, Sadie paused the TV and picked up her phone. It was a message from Pete:
Usual bloody panic before tomorrow’s board meeting so it’s going to be a late one. Don’t wait on me for dinner. P.
Sadie blew out a frustrated breath as she tossed her phone onto the sofa. She made it halfway back towards the ironing board before she changed her mind and returned to retrieve her phone. She called Pete’s number, surprised when it went straight to voicemail. Even when he was busy he usually picked up long enough to say hello.
She waited for the beep, then spoke. ‘Hi, only me. I haven’t thought about dinner yet so just wondered if you meant I should make something for myself or if you want me to put a plate in the oven for whatever time you get back.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to mention the odd call with Happy Hols, but she decided against it. He didn’t need the distraction. ‘Anyway, give me a call or text when you get this and don’t work too hard. They’ll have to learn to manage without you soon enough!’
She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them, but it was too late to take them back. Pete was under enough pressure without her adding to it by nagging him for being dedicated to the last. Maybe she should make something special for dinner. There was some red wine left over from Sunday lunch – she could make a nice beef bourguignon. It would be easy for Pete to heat up and he’d need something substantial after a long day. Yes, she’d do that, once she’d finished the ironing, of course.
By quarter to five, the ironing was all done and the house was filled with the rich scent of the casserole but there was still no word from Pete. She’d had a shower and changed into a not-quite-pyjamas combo of yoga pants and an old T-shirt. Heading into the kitchen, Sadie lifted the heavy cast-iron Le Creuset pot out of the oven using a tea towel to protect her hands, and gave the bourguignon a stir as she thought about what to serve with it. There were roast potatoes in the freezer. She could do enough for two in the air fryer, but Pete was on a no-carbs kick and had even skipped them with his roast dinner on Sunday. That meant rice was also off the menu. She pulled open the cupboard next to the oven and surveyed the contents before closing it with a huff. If it were up to her, she’d have the potatoes and a couple of slices of bread to mop up the gravy and do a couple of extra miles on the exercise bike as penance. Rather than fretting about it, why didn’t she just ask him?
Sadie picked up her phone and dialled Pete’s number. Straight to voicemail. On a whim, she called his office number and it was answered almost immediately. ‘Pete’s phone, Oscar speaking.’
An image of a smiley young man with blond hair that flopped into his eyes sprang to Sadie’s mind. They’d met a few times over the years at company events and the summer barbeque Pete hosted for the team. ‘Hi, Oscar, it’s Sadie Bingham. Is Pete about?’
‘He… umm, he’s not here just now, Mrs Bingham. Can I… err, can I take a message?’ The hesitancy in Oscar’s voice surprised her as he’d always struck her as possessing the kind of brash confidence that occasionally shaded into cockiness.
‘I know you’re all busy with the board-meeting prep, but can you ask Pete to give me a very quick call when he’s back at his desk, please?’
There was a long uncomfortable silence before Oscar spoke. ‘I’m just heading home, so if it’s urgent perhaps you could call him on his mobile?’
Why would he be heading home if they were all supposed to be working late? An uneasy feeling stirred in Sadie’s gut. ‘I already tried but it went to answerphone. Perhaps you could get one of the other team members to give him the message. Harry, maybe, or Gemma?’
‘I really think you should give Pete’s mobile another try, Mrs Bingham. Look, I have to go, sorry.’
Sadie found herself staring in consternation at her mobile for the second time that day. What the hell was going on? Another thought followed hard on the heels of the first. Where the hell was Pete? She scrolled through her apps and clicked on Find My Phone. She’d originally downloaded it when the children went off to university but hadn’t looked at it in ages. Her finger hesitated over the devices button. How would she feel if Pete was snooping around after her? The answer came instantly: he’d never have to because he always knew where she was. She selected his device. It would be fine. It would show the location of his office and she could get all this silly nonsense out of her head. The map zoned in on a residential property about a mile away.
Oh.
The phone slipped from her fingers and clunked on the counter. Sadie stared down at the little indicator for a moment, then tapped the screen to zoom in. She recognised the area as a new estate that had gone up in the past couple of years on the derelict ground of a long-closed factory. It was all starter homes and maisonette flats. The sort of place a young person might choose when looking for somewhere to buy or rent. Her mind flashed back to the barbeque, at Gemma’s excitement over the new house she’d found to rent at The Potteries.
Oh.
Not stopping to think about what she was doing, Sadie shoved her phone into the side pocket of her yoga pants, then plonked the lid back onto the casserole dish and picked it up with the still-rolled tea towel. She stopped by the front door only long enough to grab her car keys.
Sadie followed the map directions on autopilot until she pulled up by the kerb in a cul-de-sac. For the entirety of the short journey she’d told herself she was making a stupid mistake, jumping to conclusions. A black BMW convertible nestled on the narrow drive behind a little red Mini. The little red Mini Gemma had stood next to rolling her eyes as a slightly worse for wear Oscar and Harry had tumbled into the back seat after the barbeque.
Sadie’s gaze shifted to the anonymous little box of a house, to the lit window of the kitchen. To Gemma standing at the sink, her attention fixed on someone out of sight. She was laughing, her head thrown back to show the soft, dewy skin of a neck that didn’t need expensive creams to ward off the wrinkles, long blonde hair untouched by a hint of grey tumbling over her shoulders. A hot tear streaked down Sadie’s cheek.
Oh, Pete, you absolute bastard.
Her attention flicked back to the shiny convertible with its soft-top tucked away to display the pristine white leather of the low-slung seats that she bet Gemma and her tight little abs, unravaged by time and the rigours of carrying two babies, had no difficulty getting out of.
I’m sorry, but your name doesn’t match either of the ones on the booking so I can’t continue with your enquiry.
If it’s urgent perhaps you could call him on his mobile?
Sadie climbed out of her boring, sensible compact SUV with wide seats at just the right height and ample boot space for carting around shopping, and dry-cleaning, and all the other things a family needed to move from A to B. She marched to the front door, pausing only long enough to press the bell before returning to her car for the casserole dish.
She was halfway up the drive, thinking she’d dump the pot on the doorstep and leave with at least her dignity intact. That was until Pete answered the door. As casual as you liked, as if he had no concerns about being seen in the house of a woman young enough to be his daughter. ‘Sadie? What are you doing here?’
‘I brought your dinner, you lowlife cheating bastard.’ Sadie upended the pot and tipped the still-steaming beef bourguignon all over the shiny leather seats of the BMW.
‘Sadie! What the hell?’ Pete took a couple of steps towards her then held out a hand when she raised the heavy pot like a weapon. ‘Hey, come on, now, there’s no need to make a scene. Come inside and we can talk about it.’
Sadie glanced around. Several people were standing at their open front doors, drawn by their raised voices. A man out walking his dog had stopped on the pavement, his wide grin saying he was clearly enjoying the show.
Dignity was overrated, she decided. Sadie turned and threw the cast-iron pot at the bonnet of Pete’s car as hard as she could. It bounced, then ricocheted into the windscreen, sending a spider web of cracks across the glass. The indicators began to flash and the alarm blared. Ignoring Pete’s apoplectic face, Sadie looked past him to a wide-eyed Gemma standing on the doorstep with a hand raised to her gaping mouth. ‘He’s all yours, dear.’