I turn to look at him. ‘OK. I’ll wait.’ I’m glad he cares. And I mean it. I won’t be going out there alone, because in all honesty I haven’t got the courage.

‘I would have thought the others would have come back inside by now,’ I say. ‘How long does it take to smoke a cigarette?’ I pause for a moment. ‘We should be brainstorming. There must be something we can do. We can’t just wait around for the police, or worse the killer. In fact, maybe between us we can clear the snow enough for one of us to attempt to drive out of here.’ I rise, and begin pacing the room.

‘You know what that hill was like on the way in,’ Thomas says. ‘There’s no way anyone can drive.’

‘Well what if we walk?’

‘And leave me with a killer?’ He pulls a fake sad face, but I see by his eyes he’s worried that’s exactly what we might do.

‘Of course not – we’d never leave you alone, you idiot. But maybe two of us could attempt to get out of here.’ I know as I say the words it’s impossible. It’s too cold and already dark. ‘We must do something,’ I say, knowing I’m getting worked up, fidgety, close to tears. ‘It’s really getting to me.’

‘It’s getting to us all, sis.’

‘Yes. Yes. Sorry.’ I look at my watch, continuing to pace. ‘Maybe I ought to check on the others. Do you think Maddie’s smoking the whole box?’

‘My guess is the three of them are huddled on the porch discussing our plan of attack.’

‘I suppose so.’ I stop pacing.

‘On the plus side to all of this …’

I turn. ‘There’s a plus side?’

Thomas raises his arms above his head and stretches. ‘Yep. For once I’m not the only one who feels bloody helpless.’

I smile, but I’m sorry. Sorry my brother, who was once so full of life, will never walk again. Sorry he feels so negative and helpless. Sorry he got in that bloody sports car two years ago when he’d been drinking.

I head back to the sofa, and perch down next to him. ‘Talk to me,’ I say.

‘About what?’ He picks up a hairband and ties his hair into a ponytail.

‘Talk to me about Maddie.’

‘What about her?’

‘Are you in love with her, Thomas? Because …’

He shakes his head. ‘God, no. I depend on her; she’s my friend, but no, I’m not in love with her.’ He lowers his head. ‘Truth is, and I’m only telling you this because we’re all going to die …’

‘That’s not funny, Thomas,’ I say, feeling a shudder run down my back.

‘Truth is …’ he repeats, ‘any chance of love went when I had my accident.’