My father and I zipped up our jackets against the piercing cold and got out of the cab, heading for a patch of overgrown land that abutted the once beautiful tiered gardens of the estate. Seals sometimes basked in the cove below, but there was no sightline to their colony from the land, the cliff was too sheer. You had to rely on the reassurances of the fishermen that the animals had returned each year.

I carried the lump hammer in one hand, enjoying the weight and swing of it, and in the other I brought the tool bag, should any snares need resetting. I followed Dad’s wax-jacketed back down the funnel-through, his breath making clouds as he called over his shoulder – ‘Careful not to make any fresh paths, Leah!’ He spoke as if I hadn’t done this a hundred times before.

The two snares we’d already checked had been still standing erect, unbothered, and I prayed, if only for Dad’s mood, that this next one would have something in its loop, so he could make use of his rifle. When I heard him curse ahead of me, the kind of language he never used when Mum was around, I knew he was to be denied. This snare was empty too, but worse – the loop was flat to the ground. It had dropped or been knocked over – or, in all likelihood, not been set correctly in the first place.

‘That stupid bloody boy!’ My father kicked up a divot of soil in frustration. ‘I swear, if he fell from a great height he couldn’t be trusted to hit the ground.’

‘Let me, Dad.’ I pushed past him and knelt, spreading out the tools. I urged him to return to the cab, to wait there – he was so furious he was wheezing – but he wouldn’t go. He watched over my shoulder as I worked, my fingers numbing quickly in the cold, and he chipped in instructions that I didn’t need.

‘Put your pliers down by the ground anchor, Leah. They’re brightly coloured and they’ll make sure you don’t lose your spot.’

I bit my tongue.

We got back in the cab in time to hit Mum’s lunchtime deadline, but Dad said, ‘We need to pop in at the farmstead, let them know about the snare, so they don’t catch a foot.’

‘They won’t wander there, Dad,’ I assured him, ‘it’s too wild.’

‘That girl gets everywhere,’ he replied, taking the decision from my hands, turning up the track that led to the Reunyon Farmstead.