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“Great. So while they’re all snug inside whichever boutique hotel they’ve chosen, sipping cocoa in front of a log-fire, we’ll be dying in a ditch.”

“We’re dying! Daddy said so, I heard him.” Elsie’s voice became a wail and Brooke could feel the last of her control unravelling.

“Elsie, stop it. Daddy was joking.”

“But what’s funny about dying in a ditch?” Elsie gulped, her breathing juddering. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it, either.” Brooke glanced at Matt’s profile. “Perhaps Daddy could explain it.”

“Daddy could, but right now Daddy is too busy trying to keep the car on the road.”

At that moment, Poppy woke up.

“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!”

Brooke closed her eyes. She’d have to explain to her mother that no, she wasn’t denying her heritage, but the girls went to school where “Mummy” was the norm.

Why was she worrying about that now? They had other priorities, like not dying. But her brain didn’t seem to respect a hierarchy when it came to anxiety.

“Poppy needs a wee, Daddy,” Elsie said. “She’s wriggling.”

Matt shook his head. “This gets better and better.”

“Matt! It’s hardly her fault, is it?” Brooke felt instantly remorseful for snapping. She knew that on top of everything else, Matt was stressed about visiting her parents, and after what had happened last time, she couldn’t blame him. But she wasn’t going to think about that now. They had to keep their focus on the moment and find shelter.

I can’t cope with this.

She breathed in and out slowly.

She could handle this. She could handle her parents. She and Matt would fix things between them. She’d—

There was a sudden explosion, the crash so violent and unexpected that she screamed aloud at the exact moment something punched her hard in the face and knocked the breath from her body. Her head was ringing and there was a strange smell all around her. Disoriented, it took her a moment to realise the air-bag had deployed. She couldn’t see anything. Which way up was she? Her mind was working slowly and then she heard the sound of a child crying. Dizzily, she tried to make sense of the sound. A child. Poppy! They’d had an accident, and her children were in the back of the car. Were they okay? Were they injured?

Frantically, she tried to release her seat belt so that she could get to them, but it was jammed. Panic made her fingers weak. Would the car catch fire? Were they all about to be burned alive? (Did snow put a fire out? She had no idea.)

“It’s all right, Poppy, Daddy’s here.” Next to her, Matt shifted in his seat, turning so he could see the girls. “You’re all right. You’re going to be fine. Elsie, can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Elsie’s voice was weak. “I dropped my book.”

“Don’t worry about your book. Are you injured? Does anything hurt, honey?”

“The belt thing is tight. And my book is precious. It belonged to Mummy.”

“Right. Okay.” Matt breathed. “I’m going to get you out of your belt, and I’m going to find your book. Stay where you are. Don’t move.”

“Poppy dropped Not-A-Cat.”

Not-A-Cat was Poppy’s favourite soft toy, named after the black feline who played a starring role in their favourite book series about a witch. Not-A-Cat was the unfortunate result of one of the witch’s less than perfect spells. The witch had no idea which animal her black cat used to be. All she knew was that it wasn’t a cat. Not-A-Cat had been a Christmas gift the year before and had barely left Poppy’s side since.

“We’ll find Not-A-Cat. Don’t you worry about that.” Matt’s voice was steady and strong. “Stay there. Daddy’s going to get you out.”

Brooke felt a rush of relief and gratitude that the old Matt was back. This was the calm, steady man she’d fallen in love with. If anyone could make this right, Matt could.

But she needed to act, too, and she couldn’t unfasten her seat belt. She couldn’t get to her girls.

She fumbled and tugged and then felt Matt’s hand close over hers.

“I’ve got this.” He fiddled with the seat belt and a moment later she was free. She tried to open the car door but it had been jammed shut by the impact. She was stuck.