Ran into your uncle Dave at the shops, he writes. He said the ‘poor scrappy mutt’ is pining for you. So, I picked her up for a play date.

It’s only been a few days since I left, but I miss Dave.

But you know she’s beautiful! I write.

On the outside?

In and out! I add a laughing face. But, seriously, thank you for taking her to the park!

No worries. She’s making progress bringing the ball back—I think the treats are helping. How’s it going over there?

Good so far, a bit weird though. We’re off camping, in the snow, but it feels like the North Pole, minus a trillion degrees. Snow camping! Am I one tough chick or what? I send a couple of emojis—a flexing arm and a little chicken.

The toughest. The cutest too. It must be intense with just the two of you. Hope you and your dad get along great.

Me too. I don’t mention Jaxon—the situation is too complicated to describe in a text.

Better hit the sack, Oliver replies. Chat tomorrow.

I won’t have coverage for a day.

Next day, then.

At traffic lights a little further on, Adam’s phone beeps. He taps back a message. I wonder if he has a girlfriend. There was no sign of one in his house. I try to peek at his phone, but the angle’s wrong.

The traffic light turns green.

‘How’s that playlist coming along?’ he asks Jaxon.

‘Still working on it.’

My father slides a CD into the stereo and I catch the name, Mozart Piano Concerto in D Minor. I would never have guessed he was a fan of classical music. Hardly matches the beard, denim and monster truck.

An entire orchestra fills the car and I stare out the window into the dark, frozen landscape.

‘Hey, Adam, what if my dad calls when we’re out of range?’ Jaxon asks.

‘I’ve got the sat phone; why don’t you text him the number, just in case? Anyway, we’ll try him again tonight.’

Mozart, strangely enough, is the perfect soundtrack as the scenery engulfs me. Concrete, parking lots and shops are quickly replaced by giant trees and snowy fields. Soon we’re in wilderness proper. The sun rises and the air is so saturated with colour, violet and lavender, it looks like it’s been put through an Instagram filter.

I see forests full of what my father tells me are hemlock, cedar and spruce trees, blanketing the landscape like an army of ghosts. Couldn’t be more different to the scraggy eucalyptus forests I’m used to.