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But even as I try to tell myself how content I was, an image of Ally and Emily dancing at their engagement party comes to me. The way they gazed at each other . . . their love was clear for all to see. I think too of how Johnny, after his initial shock at my brother’s surprise announcement, took David in his arms and kissed him.

My best friend has found her forever partner, and it seems my twin might have too. More than that, they’ve both found a new home, and just look at this place! The surrounding scenery is stunning, the town itself so full of charm. Last year, if someone had said that one of us—either Emily, David, or me—would end up living here, we’d have all guessed it would be me. I’ve no doubt about that. My personality is the most suited to rural life, isn’t it?

Yet it’s Emily and David who have moved here and found love, while I have to go back to London tomorrow.

And not only that, but . . . oh God, could I be carrying Aidan Stewart’s baby?

Out of nowhere, a wave of dizziness hits me. Trees spin around me; the woodland floor rises and falls beneath me. I lean against an oak and take deep breaths in and out. Closing my eyes, I listen to the wind whistling through the leaves and the trickling of a nearby stream. The ridges and grooves of the bark help stabilise me, grounding me to the earth.

The sensation subsides. What the hell was that? Okay, I think it’s time to head back.

I open my eyes and survey the steep slope I’ve climbed. At least the start of the return journey is downhill.

I begin my descent, but the going is harder than I expected, the terrain uneven in places, outright treacherous in others. Coming up, I didn’t once worry about slipping, maybe because I’d have just fallen on my face. Going down, though, it’s all I can think about: it’s a long way to the bottom, and unhelpfully, my legs feel wobbly, which is typical when now, more than ever, I need a steady base.

I more or less get the hang of things and am nearing the halfway mark when the dizziness hits again. Crap! I grasp at a branch for support and make the mistake of giving it my full weight. There’s a loud snap, and the next thing I know, I’m tumbling forward, my heart jolting, my right ankle twisting painfully. I crash and roll down the slope, twigs snapping, the forest blurring around me.

Finally, I come to a stop, breathless, dirty, cut, and grazed. I groan. Falling down a hill? I’m such an idiot.

With some difficulty, I twist myself onto my back, and for a while, I just lie where I am, catching my breath. Eventually, I lift my head and try to survey the damage. My quicker-than-intended descent has left me looking quite a state, but the roll hasn’t caused me any significant injury—only the odd scrape here and there. The initial trip is another matter: my ankle is throbbing. I must have gone over it badly.

I pull myself up to a seated position and cradle my injured leg. After inhaling and exhaling three times, I try to get onto my feet, but pain shoots through my ankle. Gritting my teeth, I slump back to the ground. There’s no way I can put any weight on it.

Great. I’m stranded in the middle of a forest with a twisted ankle. I’ll have to call someone for help. How do I even explain to them where I am?

I open my bag and look through it: toothbrush, pants, socks, top—all the essentials for a night away. But . . . no phone.

Shit. I was playing with it on the drive up. I can visualise exactly where it is: in the pocket of the passenger door. When David got me my bag, I didn’t think to grab it.

Unease creeps over me.

Remember your breathing exercises, Grace. Find your centre.

I don’t panic but instead give myself ample time to calm my thumping heart. Then, once I’ve relaxed, I try to get up again.

Nope! It’s agony. I settle back onto the forest floor.

Right, what are my options?

One: scream for help. I give that a go. There’s a commotion in the treetops as several birds take flight, but otherwise, there is no response to my cry.

Okay, what else can I try?

There are sticks about. Lots of them. If I can find one big enough, maybe I can use it for support and hop and hobble my way back to Bannock.

Rather inelegantly, I crawl through the woods, searching for something more significant than a twig, but even moving on my hands and knees is painful. This is a disaster! If only I’d gone straight to see Emily like David told me to. Then I wouldn’t be in this predicament.

I try calling out again, just in case, but my second attempt is no more successful than my first.

Angry, panicked tears sting my eyes, but I hold them back. Self-pity won’t get me out of this.

As I continue my hunt for the perfect walking stick, low sounds reach me from somewhere nearby. Something is moving fast through the woods with a steady, purposeful gait.

No, not something, someone—those are human footsteps. A jogger?

“Help!” I yell. “Over here! I’ve fallen.”

The footsteps start coming my way. I keep calling out, guiding the person to my location, and soon a tall, broad-shouldered man in shorts and a T-shirt appears. Relief washes over me—until I look up at his face.