Stacking plates and cutlery on one hand and putting the lid on the butter with the other, Abby tidied the breakfast table in near-darkness and started an inventory. We're running out of butter. And that nice pasta mix from what we had last night. And we're low on fish, if Henry seriously wants to go fishing again in these temperatures. Why won't he just pick up meat from the mainland? Do we eat so much fish because he wants to justify the constant fishing or does he enjoy making me pick small bones out of my dinner most nights? And some fruit would be lovely. And wine, if he'd let me have any alcohol. He'd asked her to make a list of things they needed food-wise; he was going to the mainland either today or tomorrow to pick up a turkey and everything else they needed for what he called their "perfect Christmas together". At least the meal will be fine. We are not having fish for Christmas dinner.
There were four full days left until Christmas morning and Abby had low expectations for this year. The tree was up and decorated, at least, and tinsel and paper-chains were tacked around the living room ceiling. The room looked far better in good light, when it wasn't so cold neither of them wanted to open the curtains. He'd seemed to enjoy sitting on the carpet in front of the fire with her, the furniture pushed back and paper-chains growing between them. Some days he'd scare her breathless and others he was no more than a child who wanted to spend a year with his best friend. A year. That was forever to a nine-year-old girl. And now it really will be forever. He's far too far gone to take pity on me. And I'm far too far gone to finish this another way. Her hand lowered to her abdomen and wondered for the thousandth time what was growing inside her. Immediately after all three tests had shown positive, Henry had decided they were having a son. She wasn't so sure. She wasn't even sure she wanted this child. Sometimes she'd wish that, if she had no choice about living here, she could remain in stasis until she finally got the courage to fly off the cliffs on one of her walks. Other times it would be a heavy guilt for bring a child into the hell in which she now lived. And sometimes she'd cry in the shower for some sane company so maybe a daughter of her own would be nice.
The plates now in a pile by the sink and butter and milk back in the fridge, she went back for the coffee cups. Looking up, she saw Henry standing just inside the door, arms devoid of the firewood he'd gone out for. Automatically she smiled at him. He wouldn't get angry if she didn't; he'd just ask what was the matter and attempt to cheer her up. So she smiled. He smiled back and she watched as his eyes travelled downwards through her robe and up again. At first she'd thought he was sick for lusting after her when he knew perfectly well she was his sister and tried calling him "brother". He'd laughed and called her "sister" for the rest of the day. She never did it again. Now she just wondered when he'd stop looking at her as if she was naked.
As she was about to ask if someone had stolen their firewood, he first moved quickly past her to the hallway, then came back to cup her face and press his lips to hers a few times.
"Wait here. Don't move," he demanded, before disappearing. She obeyed. She heard his footsteps as he sprinted across upstairs and wondered what he was doing and why she had to stay there. Usually if he was going up to their bedroom, he'd been dragging her with him. So why am I standing here? Don't take me over the breakfast table again, please Henry, it's uncomfortable. Her expectations were confirmed when something was pulled tight over her eyes and he held her wrists either side of her body. Pushing her forward, she moved blindly and cautiously up the stairs and into what she knew was their bedroom. She tried not to shiver as he let go of her and moved away. She heard the sounds of drawers opening, then the wardrobe.
"Put these on," he insisted, throwing what were obviously clothes at her. Underwear. Socks. Trainers. A top. A jumper. Jeans. A coat. Gloves. A scarf. A hat. "No, don't take the blindfold off. Put the clothes on."
You're leading me to bed and telling me to put clothes on? She did exactly what he'd told her to do, of course. Whatever it was he was planning, it involved being dressed. Maybe we're going fishing in the cold. Well, this day can't really get worse. Feeling her way, she put the larger items down on the bed until she was ready for them and kicked off her slippers. She had to bite her tongue to stop from sobbing as she untied the robe and let it fall to the floor. It was the only part that never got any easier. Willingly taking her clothes off for Henry and pretending that she enjoyed his touch. Now she was desperate to dress quickly before he changed his mind. After a few minutes in which he chuckled as she pulled her jumper on back-to-front and she felt herself go red, he led her, still blind but now with clothes and shoes on, back downstairs.
The cold was a horrible shock as she stood outside, wondering what her captor had in mind and why the ground felt different beneath her. The answer came as something hard collided with the side of her face, nearly knocking her off her feet.
He hit me. He hit me. He said he wouldn't hit me again. He promised. No, he promised he wouldn't hit me as long as I didn't do anything to make him hit me. What did I do? I didn't say anything wrong, did I? I didn't bring up anything that I shouldn't talk about anymore. I haven't refused him anything. Was it – No, he knows I wasn't saying "no" to him this morning. He knows it was "no" to the concept of moving the blankets because it would let the cold air in. What did I do? Henry, don't hit me, please. I'm pregnant. You shouldn't be hitting me.
Her thoughts cut off as she realised that, whatever it was that had hit her, it wasn't a fist and was now sliding wetly down her neck. Tears threatening to break through stopped in their progress, feeling a bit silly now.
"Take the blindfold off," his voice came from several feet away. She lifted it away from her eyes and gasped as she saw what lay in front of her. She looked to Henry, to his glowing face with his red nose and ears and cold white cheeks. He was laughing. "It snowed!"
"Oh," was all she could say as she looked around in disbelief. There was white even snow everywhere, glimmering as her eyes took it all in. The weak sunlight made the snow in the treetops glisten and the blanket on the ground came up at least a few inches around her feet. Aside from Henry's footsteps, it was undisturbed as far as she could see. The island looked magical and a small part of her mind could understand her captor's love for it.
"Come on! We're gonna build snowmen!" he said, taking her by the hand and leading her carefully through the trees. "It'll be like when you were a kid. You built snowmen, didn't you? I always wanted to do that with you. We'll make two. A couple. And we can put scarves on them and find little stones for eyes and mouths. It'll be fun!"
She couldn't speak as she walked under the leaves, the snow crunching underfoot and the cold breeze whipping around her face. Yes, she'd seen snow on Harper's Island before plenty of times but never in such a contrast to her normal life. The run up to Christmas was normally joyful. And Henry couldn't stop smiling and kissing her as they walked. His mood was infectious and she couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He even stopped and waited as she wandered off to have a look at some deer tracks.
The afternoon was probably the happiest she'd had since September. Yes, he kissed her out in the fields as their snowmen took shape, long deep kisses with his hands up inside her top, but he was warm and it was cold and, if she closed her eyes and shut down her mind, she could imagine that she loved him. She told herself that he was simply a little boy who wanted to play in the snow. For a few hours they were children again and she was a girl spending all year alone on the island with her best friend.