Amber had stomped into town, annoyed at being sent on yet another errand. But as she’d looked around the charity shops, a world of possibility opened up to her. It was like when she’d been at primary school before she’d had her fingers taken from her and she would build pieces from old plastic milk bottles and card. She ended up buying a small table and, when she brought it back, she asked her mum and aunt if she could make something with it. They’d exchanged knowing looks. Looking back, it was clear to Amber they knew exactly what they were doing, especially her aunt Viv, who always seemed so sad when she looked at Amber’s hand. By the end of the week. Amber had created a beautiful shell-encrusted table, with a layer of glass over it so cups could be placed on it. It was a job that really should have taken a couple of days but Amber’s restrictions meant it took a lot longer. But still, the satisfaction she’d felt was immense and there’d been no turning back after that.

Lumin likes that story in particular when Amber tells her, a huge smile on her face.

Their conversation dies when they reach Scotland and they both look quietly out of the windows as they pass through cities and countryside, the cities becoming less frequent the farther north they get.

‘We’re close,’ Amber says.

Lumin pulls out her sketch pad and flicks through the pictures she’s drawn. Then she looks out of the window. ‘There,’ she says, pointing towards the peak of a mountain. ‘It looks the same, doesn’t it?’

Amber glances at the drawing. It’s of the lodge Lumin’s drawn so many times, a mountain behind it. ‘It does.’

Lumin’s face lights up and Amber feels warmth spread inside.

‘Let’s go there!’ Lumin says.

‘Food first,’ Amber insists. ‘We haven’t eaten since breakfast and it’s nearly two o’clock, way past lunchtime. Let’s stop to eat.’

Lumin nods as they enter a village. It’s tiny, flanked by snowy fields and the frozen loch, just a few houses dotted here and there. They park in a tiny car park by a red phone box then walk towards a nearby pub. Amber watches Lumin as she looks around her, face pinched with concentration.

The pub is quiet when they walk in, just a young woman behind the bar and an old man with red cheeks nursing a pint on one of the stools. Amber knows men like that, propping up the bar in Winterton Chine’s pubs too, drinking so much it would probably kill them one day. Her uncle had been the same, from what she’d heard from her mother and aunt. That’s why her aunt had left him eventually.

The woman behind the bar smiles. ‘Hello.’