‘I’d rather not,’ I say, though the thought of it raining all the time we are there is almost as bad.

‘Only another two and a half hours,’ Dad says, wiping his hands with a serviette. ‘You’ve got a splodge of something on your cheek, love,’ he adds, and I instinctively touch my face, and get mayo over my fingers.

Back on the road, I find myself dozing once more. When I wake, the car’s heater is pumping out a dry heat, and snow tumbles from a charcoal-grey sky once more, as though someone’s tipped out a giant bag of cotton-wool balls.

Dad is crawling along at ten miles per hour and the wipers struggle to and fro – thump, thump, thump onto cushions of snow each side of the windscreen.

‘When did it start snowing again?’ I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

‘About an hour ago,’ he says. ‘We’re almost there.’

We make our way up a steep hill, skidding and sliding. ‘I think we should have turned back, Dad,’ I say. But there’s a determined look on his face. He’s desperate to get there.

As the wrought-iron gates that separate Drummondale House from the rest of the Scottish Highlands loom in front of us, my stomach flips. Memories of the last time we were here invade my thoughts, and a feeling of absolute dread rises inside me.

The gates stand open, and as Dad pulls through them onto the drive that leads to the ruin, I battle an urge to grab the steering wheel and turn the car around. We shouldn’t have come. My heartbeat quickens, banging against my chest as I catch sight of Drummondale House, shrouded in snowflakes. A few years back I would have whipped out my phone and taken a picture. Put it on Facebook or Instagram. But I’m a different person now. Broken.

I sense Maddie moving forward in her seat, her breath hot on my neck. ‘This weather is awful, Robert,’ she says. ‘I mean I love snow, but this is crazy.’ There’s tension in her voice. ‘We should have turned back an hour ago.’

I turn and glare at her. ‘Well, maybe you should have said something an hour ago.’

‘It’s too late now, Maddie, love,’ Dad says, meeting her eye in the rear-view mirror.

I snap a look at Dad, my body tense. His eyes are back on the windscreen, and he’s hunched forward over the steering wheel.

‘I’m sure it will clear up by morning,’ he says.

‘Unlikely. I’m pretty sure this snow is here to stay, Robert.’ There’s a quiver in Maddie’s voice.

‘Well we can’t go back now,’ he says, blinking. ‘It’s too late. We’re here now.’

We pull onto the snow-covered car park, and memories of twelve months ago skid into my head like a skier on a downward slope. I remember it all so well.