‘No problem.’ Bob finishes his tea in a few gulps. ‘The ride down that hill will be worth it.’

‘What do I owe you?’

‘Nothing too terrible. I’ll pop an invoice in the post. Call me if you have any more trouble.’

She watches him descend the lane with increasing speed. It is still early, and there is a fluffy mist sitting over the lake today. The mountains beyond rise up through the froth of white, their peaks dark and sharp against the lightening sky. Thistle pads out to join her in the front garden. She wonders if the dog will be well enough for at least a walk in a couple of days.

‘Well, if either of us is going to be up to exercise, we are going to need some proper food. Come on, let’s see if I can’t magic up groceries on the Internet.’

Back in the kitchen Tilda switches on her laptop and starts to feel quite excited at the prospect of fresh fruit, meat, interesting salad, perhaps some sinful puddings, and a bottle of her favorite wine. The computer chirrups encouragingly, displaying the home page so brightly she is forced to dim the screen a little. She is just on the point of selecting a supermarket offering deliveries in the area when the screen goes blue, then gray, then, with a pathetic whirring sound, darkens completely and falls silent.

‘Damn.’ Tilda slumps back in her chair with a sigh. Before she has time to do more than shake her head there is a sharp bang and all the lights fail again. Seconds later she feels her leg being nudged and looks down to see Thistle, who has tiptoed over to stand beside her. The dog nuzzles her and wags its tail anxiously. That the animal should be so sensitive to her emotional state touches Tilda.

‘What a pair we are,’ she says, gently stroking the dog’s velvety ears. ‘You all lame and creaky, me unable to get on with the simplest things. And both of us living in a house that doesn’t seem to want to have electricity in it anymore.’ She takes a deep breath and snaps shut the lifeless laptop. ‘Okay, we can’t go on like this,’ she tells Thistle. ‘You stay here and … well, get better. I’m going for a late run that’ll take in the village shop. I promise I’ll return with food. We can have a proper meal, and then I’m going into the studio to do some work. That sound like a plan to you?’

Thistle answers by padding back to her bed and curling up, nose on paws, tail on nose, clearly settling for a nap.