Lumin touches her arm lightly. ‘Don’t be silly. Let’s walk to that hotel. Maybe we could hire a car to take us the rest of the way?’

‘With this?’ Amber says, waving her bad hand in the air. ‘I need a specialist car with specialist equipment. I should have thought how risky this was. Without this particular car, I’m screwed.’ She kicks the tyre in frustration and Lumin looks at her in surprise. People usually did when they caught a glimpse of the Caulfield temper in action. Jasper could see it brewing and would make himself scarce before Amber exploded. She takes some deep breaths, trying to calm herself. ‘Best thing we can do is get a taxi to the nearest station and get a train home.’

Lumin rolls her eyes. ‘You give up too easily.’

‘You sound like Jasper,’ Amber replies, laughing bitterly. ‘Easy for you to say, you don’t have a gross hand like this. It kind of restricts your options.’

‘That kid really got to you, didn’t he? Your hand’s not gross, just different, and cretins like him don’t like different. What does it matter what a twat like him thinks anyway?’

Amber crosses her arms, staring stubbornly up the road. ‘It’s not him, not really. It’s the car. I really was stupid dragging you out here.’ She goes to the boot and pulls her bag out. ‘Come on, let’s find this hotel then we can look at trains to get us back before the snow comes down really hard.’

Lumin shakes her head incredulously. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘There you go sounding like my ex again.’ Amber smiles, trying to lighten the mood. She feels a pinch of guilt. She is being ridiculous, she knows that. But something takes hold of her sometimes. This stubborn anger. Not at those around her, but at her and the foolishness that got her lumbered with a barely functioning hand in the first place. Amber wants to say that to Lumin but she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she hands her the bag she’d packed for her. Lumin pauses a moment then sighs before taking the bag and following Amber down the road.

The hotel comes into view after a while, a white farmhouse against the backdrop of one of the Lake District’s distinctive mountains. As they draw closer, Amber can just about make out a sign through the snow falling around them: Snowdrop Farm.

‘Appropriate,’ Lumin murmurs, blinking up at the icy flurries. A B&B sign hangs in the glass door, ‘Vacancies’ in print beneath it. Amber presses the buzzer and there’s the noise of a dog barking. Then the door open and a woman appears, looking just like how Amber imagines a farmer’s wife would look: ruddy-cheeked and aproned, with smiling eyes.