Will looks at me with a frown. ‘It’s just an animal or something. She can chase it away and then she’ll stop barking.’

I open my mouth to protest but Will is already unlocking the door. Before it’s even partway open Jet is shoving herself between Will’s legs and darting out into the dark.

My heart is beating rapidly, and I feel faint. I’m breathing fast, almost hyperventilating. I try to tell myself to calm down. Will’s right; it’s no doubt a fox, or maybe even a sheep, escaped from the neighbouring farm. It’s happened before. I’m being silly. It’s that old fear that happiness must always be paid for rearing its head again, and I just need to quash it back down.

Will waits at the back door, shivering in the freezing cold, hopping from bare foot to bare foot. We can hear Jet outside in the distance barking, but all of a sudden there’s a whimper and then silence. I hurry over to Will and grip his arm, peering past him into the blackness. My fingers grip the blanket around my shoulders as the frigid air pierces through to my bare skin.

‘Jet?’ Will shouts. ‘Jet, come here!’

‘Jet!’ I call, adding my voice to Will’s.

But she doesn’t respond or come running. Will exhales loudly and moves to pull on his boots, which are lying, muddy, by the back door. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘Where are you going?’ I still can’t shake the gut feeling that something is very, very wrong.

‘Outside,’ he says, as though it’s obvious. ‘See where she’s gone. She’s probably got her head stuck in a burrow.’

I frown. It’s not likely; the snow is so deep.

‘Or maybe she’s fallen in a ditch,’ he offers. ‘Silly dog.’

‘Jet!’ I shout again, hoping against hope she’ll finally come running inside, excitably shaking off snow, but she doesn’t appear. Damn dog.

Will grabs his jacket from the hook and pushes past me. I snatch for his arm and he turns to look at me with a quizzical smile, but when he sees my anxiety, he pauses and kisses my cheek. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a sec.’