‘We have to, Dad. The snow will cover every trace of what happened by morning. There could be footprints – drops of blood leading into the wood like breadcrumbs.’

We head out of the room and onto the landing. The wood burner is ablaze now, its glow lighting the open tread of the staircase as we hurry down. I’m on a mission, and I dive across the room and throw open the front door. ‘Damn,’ I whisper. The wind is deadly, the snowfall heavy, and my face stings within seconds of stepping outside. I pull my scarf high around my face. Although the sky is charcoal black, the moon is bright, reflecting off the snow. I look towards the ruins, and then scan the area. There’s no sign of anyone.

I turn to see Dad pulling on his gloves. He shrugs as though reluctant, but steps out behind me anyway. The door clicks closed behind him.

‘We should go around the back,’ I say, the wind whistling human-like as we make our way down the side of the house, towards the forest.

It’s darker behind the cottage, and as we push through the twisted hedgerow we can barely see in front of us, despite my phone torch. The wind is less fierce here, where tall trees shelter us, but the open window still bangs rhythmically against the cottage wall sending a chill down my spine. I wave my torch in the general area below the window. There’s something on the ground.

‘Oh God … no … that’s not … it can’t be,’ I cry.

Dad pushes past me. ‘Jesus.’

I take in the body lying face down in the snow, my heart thudding. I can’t move from the spot, and my teeth start to chatter. Dad crouches down, and my whole body shakes, as I hover the torch over the darkness, picking out the crumpled heap, flashes of an orange fur jacket soaked in blood. He turns the body over, and slaps both hands over his mouth. ‘It’s Ruth,’ he whispers through his fingers.

My knees buckle, and I grab a tree to stop myself falling. ‘Is she dead?’ My voice is shaky, bile rising into my throat.

‘Someone’s hit her. Hit her hard. There’s so much blood.’

‘Dad?’

He fumbles with her wrist.

‘Can you feel a pulse?’

After a beat he shakes his head, says, ‘She’s dead, Amelia.’ He turns away from her body, closes his eyes. ‘Who the hell would do this?’

I want to spin round. Run. But take a deep breath and flash the torch around me. There are no footprints. No trail of breadcrumbs. Nobody has escaped this scene. I look up at the window still banging against the wall. ‘Somebody threw her out, didn’t they?’ My words are calm, on a monotone, and I know I’m in shock.