Amber wakes with a start. She opens her eyes, pulling herself from her slumped position on the chair. A shard of sunlight slices through the blinds. She follows it towards the girl, who’s sitting up in her hospital bed, eyes wide. She looks even younger, pale lashes against her cheeks, which are flushed from sleep. Amber feels her heart contract at the sight of her. She’s such a bloody softie, even when she tries not to be. A total sucker. That’s why she’d ended up staying with the girl all night in hospital, unable to bear the thought of her being here alone.

‘What’s this about a lake?’ Amber asks, rubbing her eyes.

‘It was dream I had, of a lake,’ the girl replies. Her eyes drift towards the window and the sea outside. ‘It was frozen. There – there was a house too. Made of wood. It was huge, with massive windows.’

Amber leans forward. ‘That’s good. Might be a memory. Anything else?’ The girl shakes her head and Amber pats her pale hand. ‘It’ll come.’

She stands up and stretches, the notepad that had been found with the girl slipping off her lap. She’d gone through it the night before, just as the hospital staff had, hoping to find some clues they might have missed. There was nothing of use though, just notes written about various wildlife by whoever owned it and some sketches too, delicate and detailed.

Amber leans down, picks the notepad up from the floor and lays it back on the table. She sniffs at her armpits. ‘I think I better go home for a shower.’

‘Don’t go yet,’ the girl says. She looks so lost, so scared.

‘Okay, as long as you can put up with my stinky pits,’ Amber replies.

‘You don’t smell.’

A trolley stops at the cubicle and a tired-looking porter peers in. ‘Breakfast, love.’

‘My head hurts,’ the girl says as the trolleys rolls in. ‘Can I have something for it?’

‘Don’t worry,’ the porter replies, ‘your painkillers are here.’

Amber helps the girl to sit up and pulls the makeshift table over the bed. The porter lays the breakfast on it: scrambled eggs, some streaky bacon and a sausage with a cup of tea and plastic tumbler of orange juice.

The girl wrinkles her nose at the smell, pushing the plate away. ‘Yuck. That meat smells awful.’

‘Smells fine to me. Maybe you’re a vegetarian?’

The girl nods. ‘Maybe I am!’

Amber turns to the porter. ‘Can we have a vegetarian breakfast, please?’

‘What about you?’ the girls asks Amber.

‘No food for visitors,’ the porter says. ‘There’s a café downstairs.’

‘She’s just spent the night looking after one of your patients,’ the girl says. ‘I think a coffee and a croissant or something is a small ask, right?’