‘Thought I’d lend a hand. Can’t dive until things warm up a bit out there. The dig’s on hold because of the freeze too.’

‘Well, I hadn’t planned … that is, I don’t know…’

‘If you’re going to make that thing out of bricks,’ he says, tapping the picture on the page, ‘you’ll have to go to the builder’s merchants in Brecon.’ He shrugs and smiles. ‘I’ve got the Landrover, all fueled up and ready to go.’

‘Really? I mean, will it get as far as Brecon?’

He clutches dramatically at his chest. ‘I’m wounded. Wounded! That’s my fabulous Linny the Lanny—she’s been with me years.’

‘It looks like it.’

‘They won’t deliver, not all the way up here. And I can easily get what you need in the back of Linny.’ He glances at his watch. ‘They’ll be open by now.’ He slurps his tea and looks at her, head tilted slightly to one side, waiting.

And what do I tell him? That I’m terrified of going anywhere in a car? That if he goes over forty miles per hour I’ll have a panic attack?

She knows she cannot. No bricks: no kiln. No kiln: no pots. She needs those bricks, and there doesn’t seem to be another way of getting them. She drains her mug.

‘Okay,’ she says, nodding a little too much. ‘Yes, thanks. That’d be great. I’ll … get my coat.’

As they leave, she expects Thistle to follow but the dog hangs back. She pats her gently. ‘Okay, funny old thing. You stay here and guard the valuables. That’s pretty much the kettle right now.’

She climbs into the passenger seat of the Landrover and immediately feels her stomach knot.

Steady girl. Not exactly a speed machine. Only ten miles or so, you’ll be fine.

‘Right,’ Dylan slams his door, sending a shudder through the whole vehicle. ‘Here we go.’ He turns the key, and nothing happens. He tries again. Nothing. Not even a stutter or a faint whir of battery attempting to fire internal combustion engine. He turns the key a third time. Again, nothing. He frowns. ‘Odd,’ he says.

‘Oh well, never mind…’ Tilda finds herself ridiculously relieved.

‘She’s such a good starter. Reliable as the day is long, is my lovely Linny.’

‘Well, she doesn’t seem to want to start today,’ Tilda points out.

Dylan hesitates, turning to look at her, then says gently, ‘Or perhaps you don’t want her to.’

Tilda feels herself blush. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ she blurts out, more crossly than she intended.

‘Look, I’m just saying…’

‘It’s your car.’

‘And it usually starts,’ he says. ‘Just like my boat usually starts. And my uncle’s clock usually works. Usually.’

Oh God.