I glanced at my phone – 6.48, still no reception – and then grabbed a cardigan and padded to the window. When I drew back the curtain I almost laughed. It had snowed in the night, not heavily, but enough to transform the landscape into a Victorian picture postcard. That was the strange pattering I’d heard the night before. If I’d got up and looked outside the window, I would have known.

The sky was a blaze of pinks and blues, the clouds peach-coloured and lit from beneath, the ground a soft speckled carpet of white, criss-crossed with bird prints and fallen pine needles.

The sight made my feet itch, and I knew immediately and piercingly that I had to go for a run.

My trainers on the radiator were crusted with mud from yesterday but they were dry, and so were my leggings. I pulled on a thermal top and a hat, but I didn’t think I’d need a coat. Even running on a frosty day, I give off enough heat to keep myself warm, provided the wind doesn’t get up. The morning outside was still. Not a tree branch waved in the wind, and the only snowfalls were caused by gravity, not wind; tree branches bending beneath the weight of their load.

I could hear gentle snores from all the rooms as I padded quietly down the stairs in my socks, pulling on my trainers only when I got to the doormat, to save Flo’s aunt’s floors. The front door had an intimidating array of locks and bolts, so I tiptoed through to the kitchen, which was just the kind with a handle and a key. The key turned smoothly, and I lifted the handle. I winced as I pulled open the door, suddenly wondering if there was an alarm I should have deactivated – but no screaming siren rang out, and I slipped out into the frosty morning undetected and began my warm up.

It was maybe forty minutes later when I jogged slowly back up the forest path, my cheeks glowing with the cold and the exertion, my breath a cloud of white against the piercing blue of the sky. I felt light and calm, the frustrations and tensions left somewhere back in the forest, but it was with a slightly sinking heart that I saw the combi-boiler was emitting a cloud of steam like an express train. Someone was up, and using the hot water.

I’d been hoping to have a quiet hour to myself as the others slept, breakfast on my own terms, without awkward small talk. But as I came closer, I saw that not only was someone up, but they’d been outside. There were footsteps leading from a side entrance to the garage, and back. How odd. All the cars were parked out in front of the house, in the open. What reason could anyone have for going into the garage?

But my sweaty top was starting to make me feel cold, now that I wasn’t powering up the hill, and I wanted coffee. I headed back to the kitchen door. Whoever was up would have an explanation.

‘Hello?’ I called quietly as I opened the door, not wanting to wake the others. ‘Only me.’

Someone was sitting at the counter, bent over a mobile. She lifted up her head, and I saw it was Melanie.

‘Hey!’ She gave a smile, her deep peachy dimples coming and going in her cheek. ‘I didn’t think anyone else was up. Have you been out for a run in that snow? You nutter!’

‘It’s gorgeous.’ I stamped the snow off my trainers on the outside mat and then pulled them off, holding them by the laces. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Seven-thirty. I’ve been up for about twenty minutes. It’s bloody ironic – my one chance to get a lie-in without Ben waking me up, and here I am, I can’t sleep!’

‘You’ve been conditioned,’ I said, and she sighed.

‘Too bloody right. Want a tea?’

‘I’d rather have coffee, if there’s one going.’ Too late I remembered. ‘Oh bugger, there’s no coffee is there?’

‘Nope. I’m dying. I’m a coffee-girl too, at home. Always used to be tea at university, but Bill converted me. I’ve tried to drink enough tea to give me the equivalent caffeine but I think my bladder can’t physically take it.’

Oh well. Tea would be hot and wet, at least.

‘I’d love a tea. D’you mind if I just hop in the shower first and change my clothes? I ran in these yesterday too, I probably stink.’

‘No worries. I was making toast as well. I’ll have it ready when you come down.’

When I came downstairs ten minutes later it was to the smell of toast, and the sound of Melanie humming ‘The Wheels on the Bus’.

‘Hey,’ she said as I came into the kitchen, towelling my hair. ‘So there’s Marmite, marmalade or strawberry jam.’

‘No raspberry?’

‘Nope.’

‘Marmite then, please.’

She spread it on and shoved the plate across at me, and then looked surreptitiously down at her phone on the counter top. I took a bite and asked, ‘Still no reception?’

‘No.’ Her polite smile slipped. ‘It’s really getting to me. He’s only just six months, and he’s been a bit unsettled since we started him on solids. I just … I know it’s lame, but I hate being away from him.’

‘I can imagine,’ I said sympathetically, though I couldn’t really. But I could relate to the longing for home, and that must be several times stronger with someone small and helpless waiting for your return. ‘What’s he like?’ I said, trying to cheer her up.

‘Oh, he’s lovely!’ Her smile came back, a bit more convincing this time, and she picked up her phone and began flicking through gallery shots. ‘Look, here’s a photo of him with his first tooth.’

I saw a blurred shot of a moon-faced child with no discernible teeth at all, but she flipped past it looking for something else. We went past one that looked like an explosion in a Coleman’s mustard factory and she grimaced.

‘Oh God, sorry about that one.’

‘What was it?’

‘Ben with a massive poo that went right up to his hair! I took a pic to show Bill at work.’

‘Bill and Ben?’

‘I know,’ she gave a sheepish laugh. ‘We started calling him Ben in my tummy, as a joke, and somehow it stuck. I do feel a bit bad, but I figure, he’s not going to be paired up with his dad very often in life. Oh, look at this one – his first swim!’

This one was clearer – a shocked little face in a bright blue pool, the mouth an outraged red ‘Oh!’ of furious indignity.

‘He looks lovely,’ I said, trying not to sound wistful. God knows, I don’t want a baby, but there’s something about seeing someone else’s happy family unit that feels excluding, even when it’s not meant to be.

‘He is,’ Melanie said, her face soft. ‘I feel very blessed.’ She touched the cross at her neck, almost unconsciously, and then sighed. ‘I just wish there were reception here. I honestly thought I was ready to leave him, but now … two nights is too much. I keep thinking, what if something goes wrong and Bill can’t ring?’

‘He’s got the house phone number though, hasn’t he?’ I took a bite of toast and Marmite.

Melanie nodded. ‘Yes. In fact,’ she looked at the time on her phone again, ‘I said I’d phone him this morning. He was nervous about ringing early in case he woke everyone up. D’you mind if I …?’

‘Not at all,’ I said, and she got up, drained her cup, and put it on the counter. ‘Oh, by the way,’ I suddenly remembered as she headed towards the door, ‘I meant to ask, did you go out to the garage?’

‘No?’ She looked surprised, her voice framing the word as a question. ‘How come? Was it open?’

‘I don’t know, I didn’t try the door. But there were footsteps going out there.’

‘How odd. Wasn’t me.’

‘Bizarre.’ I took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. The footsteps were crisp, so they must have been made sometime after the snow had finished falling. ‘You don’t think …’ I said, then stopped.

‘What?’

I hadn’t thought through what I’d been about to say, and now, as I said the words, I felt an odd reluctance to voice them. ‘Well … I assumed it was someone coming from the house to the garage and back. But it could have been the other way round.’

‘What … like someone snooping round? Were there footsteps coming up to the garage?’