CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Staring in horror at my cake - toppled on the floor, the lollipops rolling everywhere - tears start sliding down my face. Eyes turn towards me, wide with shock as they take in what’s happened.
Suddenly, it’s all too much.
I need to get out of here. Right now. Away from all those people staring at me.
I feel miserable and exhausted, and I desperately want to be back home in my bedroom at Brambleberry Manor, taking refuge from the world, like I used to do as a kid when life was cruel.
Slipping off the stool, I don’t even wait to explain to Alicia Clone. I dart out of the room and run down the stairs to the foyer as if wolves are on my trail. Then I scuttle along the road and slip into a newsagent’s doorway, just in case anyone decides to come after me.
Rob and Alicia must be fairly nearby because the car draws up only five minutes after I make the call. I hurry over with my head down, too tense about everything to want to meet their eyes. I just want to get home and forget the last twenty-four hours – with its demoralising and heart-rending shocks - ever actually happened.
Alicia starts getting out of the front seat to let me sit there, but I shake my head, open the back door and slide in. I’ve managed to keep the nightmare thoughts mostly at bay during my time at the bake-off, mainly because I was so focused on the ingredients and baking something really special. But now the feelings of shock and jealousy I experienced at Alicia’s latest revelation come rushing right back.
Remembering my beautiful party cake, lying like a big splat of a cowpat on that kitchen floor is heart-breaking enough. But picturing the two of them together in Rob’s bed is far, far worse . . .
‘So how did it go?’ asks Alicia, turning round in her seat with a bright smile.
‘It didn’t.’ I stare mutinously out of the window, a lump in my throat.
‘Oh. What happened?’
I swallow. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it just now.’
‘Of course,’ says Alicia at once. ‘That’s absolutely fine.’
I grit my teeth. Why does Alicia have to be so nice all the time? If she was some kind of a nasty witch-like person, I could cope a whole lot better . . .
We stop at some lights, and now Rob is turning round. ‘Are you okay, Fen?’
‘Yes. No thanks to you.’ I feel so hurt and wretched, I can’t even look him in the eye.
He faces forwards again, even though the lights are still at red. I sneak a look at him. He’s staring down at his hands in his lap, a tense look on his face. I guess Alicia must have confessed to him her faux pas – accidentally revealing to me that they slept together the night of the Snow Ball.
I suppose with Alicia in the car, now isn’t exactly the time to challenge him about it.
The lights change and we move off.
Rob gets a phone call from his brother saying the rescue services have retrieved his car. But after that, we sit in a tense silence all the way back to the farm.
I stare out of the window, seeing nothing, the scenery just a blur. If Rob had come clean from the beginning about sleeping with Alicia, I would have coped with the idea. I wouldn’t have liked it but after all, Rob and I weren’t together when it happened so I could have nothing to reproach him for.
What kills me is the fact that he lied to me all along, wanting me to think he barely knew Alicia. Which is quite ironic, really, because it turns out Rob ‘knows’ Alicia even better than he knows me . . .
By the time we get to the farm, I’m desperate to escape the atmosphere in the car. As soon as Rob switches off the engine, I slip out, mumbling something about needing a breath of air, which is true.
Without waiting for a reply, I start marching across the courtyard towards the rocky ridge I spotted earlier, holding my head high to let Rob know his betrayal will not destroy me. But next minute, my feet slide on the treacherously slippery cobbles and I land on my bum with an eye-watering thud.
Scrambling to my feet, my dignity in shreds, I glance back, expecting some sign of concern from Rob. But they’re not even looking in my direction. They’re laughing with Grace at the door, a slice of light and warmth spilling out into the frosty night.
The door closes behind them and I’m out here alone in the cold and the gathering gloom.
Tears stinging my eyes, I walk on, more cautiously this time. Climbing over the farm boundary fence, my feet sink into foot-deep snow and I’m glad I changed into Ellie’s wellies.
It takes no time at all to plough through the snow to the foot of the ridge, then I start to climb up the shallow slope to the top. The exercise makes my heart thump loudly in my ears but the view from the top, over the snow-blanketed Surrey countryside, is well worth the effort. In the gathering darkness of the late afternoon, I can see the cosy lights of the village down in the dip. I wonder briefly what the inhabitants are doing tonight; how they’re coping with having their lives temporarily disrupted by the weather. Are they enjoying the snow? Making dinner and planning a cosy winter’s night in front of the TV?
The snow has always held a truly magical quality for me, I suppose from way back in my childhood. But right now, the only magic I desire is to be transported back to Brambleberry Manor in the blink of an eye, without having to face the awkward onward journey with Rob and Alicia.
Walking to the edge of the ridge, I glance down and my heart leaps into my throat. The drop must be at least the height of a three-storey building. That’s a long way to fall!
I retreat swiftly. But in my panic to get away, my foot slips and suddenly I’m skidding right to the very edge.
Trying to stop the slide, I hurl myself to the ground, grabbing at some rocks that are poking through the snow. But it’s too late. My fingers slip over the hard, icy surface and now I’m sliding on my side over the edge of the precipice. My scream is terrifyingly loud in the silent night air.
I manage to grab hold of a protruding rock at the top, but for a horrifying moment, my feet are dangling in nothing but air.
I kick around in a panic, wondering how long I can hold onto this rock before I go plummeting the thirty feet onto the rocks at the bottom. Then my foot finds a crevice in the side of the rock. It’s small; barely large enough for both feet. But at least it means the drag on my arms lessens a fraction.
I start shouting, calling out ‘hello?’ and ‘help me!’ so many times, my voice begins to grow hoarse. And all the time, I’m terrified to move even a millimetre in case the ice beneath my feet - on what I imagine is the tiniest of ledges – proves too slippery to support me. My hands gripping the rock above are growing numb with the cold and I’m not sure how long I’m going to be able to hang on.
My right foot suddenly slides from its mooring and for a terrifying second, I’m left dangling again from the rock hand-hold, thinking, This is it! I’m going to fall!
The relief when my foot finds the ledge again is so overwhelming, I start to sob, frightened tears tracing an icy path down my cheeks.
What will I do if no one finds me? I can’t hang on here much longer!
And then I hear a shout.
At first I think I must be imagining it. Then I hear it again. It’s Rob calling out my name.
I try to call back, but my throat is so dry and sore from shouting earlier, I can only manage a croak. Swallowing hard, I summon up all the strength I have left for one high-pitched shout.
‘Rob! Help! I’m over here!’
There’s an agonising silence as I wonder if he heard me. And then I hear sounds above me and Rob is there, looking over the ridge. His eyes meet my terrified gaze and he lets out a long, low expletive.
Next second, he’s calling down to me in rapid sentences.
‘You’re okay. You’re going to be fine. Just keep hanging on. I’m coming to get you.’
‘Okay,’ I manage to squeak.
Relief that Rob is here floods through me, but the danger that I’m going to slip and fall is growing more likely by the second because my hands are almost completely numb by now. Only sheer will power is keeping me from letting go and plunging onto the rocks below.
How will Rob reach me without plummeting down from the snowy ridge himself?
‘Okay, Fen, I’m going to ask you to let go with your right hand and I’m going to haul you up.’ I glance up in horror. He’s lying on his stomach, reaching his hand down to me.
‘Rob, I can’t. If I let go with one hand, I’ll fall. Honestly, I will.’ I’m starting to really panic now. I’m just out of reach of Rob’s hand. If I were to let go, it would take a miracle for him to lean perilously over and grab me.
‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ I cry out helplessly.
Even if Rob were to call the emergency services, it would be too late by the time they got here. I couldn’t hang on that long.
And then my heart gives a painful lurch as I realise Rob is lowering himself down from the ridge . . .