Her lunch had gone down the slope with the quad bike, which was an inconvenience. There was little in the woodland this time of year that was edible. She watched the sun make its way across the sky as the hours drifted past her. It gave her time to think. And however hard she tried not to, her thoughts kept returning to her son, River. The memories were hazy, whittled away by time. And yet fleeting moments were concrete in her mind – him reaching for her, his giggle and those long eyelashes.

The rain picked up its pace and the wind whistled along the ridge. Maggie moved her fern bed around to the other side of the tree to try to avoid the worst of it. When the shivering started she knew she was in trouble. Having come out in a thin shirt, because she was planning on working up a sweat, she was wet through and icy cold.

From the position of the sun she knew time was creeping towards the evening and she began to worry. Perhaps Tom had gone to a friend’s after school? He’d talked about revising with Farah again but he’d seemed too shy to ask the girl. Maybe he’d plucked up the courage. Perhaps his father had come to the school and insisted he return home – that was a scenario she had played out in her mind a number of times. She tried again to get up but she feared the ankle was going to give way and she’d end up in a worse pickle. For now all she could do was wait.

She was proud of herself for fashioning a leaf into a drinking vessel and managed to catch a thimble full of rainwater to drink. It didn’t help her thirst but it briefly took her mind off the shivering. Every couple of minutes she patted herself down to keep the circulation going and to try to keep herself warm. She called out a few more times but there was no reply.

It was looking more and more likely that for whatever reason Tom wasn’t coming back. She needed to get inside. Maggie scolded herself for not trying to get to the farmhouse sooner. It was going to take an age and the light was fading. She could try crawling but her dodgy knee would complain too much instead she settled for shuffling on her bum. She reluctantly left her fern bed and began to make her way back to the path. The rain had reduced to an annoying drizzle and she was grateful for it. She got a rhythm going – moving her hands behind her, lifting herself up and then pushing back with her good foot. It took a huge effort to move a few inches at a time.

She heard something on the breeze and she paused. Someone was calling. ‘Help!’ she hollered, but the pain in her side clipped her shout.