The first flakes had started to fall as we left the city behind, the taxi now racing along the open road towards the forest. After a few miles we made the sharp turn onto a country lane and within seconds we were surrounded by trees. The only light was the glint of windows from the occasional farmhouse until Hatherstone village appeared up ahead, the yellow lamp posts competing with the reds, blues, and greens of Christmas lights spread between the cottages and adorning the oak trees lining the main road.

Just before the first house we turned off onto an even narrower, twistier lane, bumping for nearly a mile over potholes and loose stones until reaching the towering iron gates bearing the sign ‘Charis House’ in slightly wonky lettering thanks to another school project.

‘All right if I stop here?’ the taxi driver asked. ‘I want to get back before the snow settles.’

I feared he was too late for that – the headlights revealed a shimmering layer of white that already made it difficult to spot where the road ended and the forest began. While I didn’t relish the prospect of dragging my suitcase up to the house in a blizzard, I wasn’t about to force him to tackle the long driveway. Especially when I could navigate it with my eyes closed, whatever the weather.

I pulled my hood up, wound my scarf up over my nose, took a deep breath that I instantly regretted thanks to the sub-zero temperature, and headed for home.

The last time I’d been back was in May, seven months earlier, for my niece Elana’s tenth birthday. I know, it was terrible, but after Adam and I broke up, I simply couldn’t face going home. By the time I was halfway to feeling myself again, work had flipped from a dream to a constant stress. In the past few weeks I’d forfeited most of my days off as I tried to find my feet again. In between that, I’d been applying to other weather forecasting roles, wondering if a completely new start was the answer.

I trudged past the main house, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground in front of me. A large, white building that had once boasted twelve bedrooms and a ballroom, it had been my mum’s family home since 1842, and became a school after she’d inherited it on her thirtieth birthday. It had been where I’d met Adam, where we’d flirted and fallen in love and stolen our first forbidden kiss. In amongst the thousands of memories swirling alongside the snowflakes was the bittersweet pang of teenage passion that held so much hope, only to end up crushed so many years later.