Evie’s face looked sad and anxious when she woke Emma the next morning with the news.

‘What is it?’ asked Emma, feeling her heart lurch in sudden fear at the look in her eyes.

‘It’s Jack. I’m so sorry, love, but there’s been an accident.’

Emma felt the air leave her lungs. There were tears in Evie’s eyes. ‘Seems he got hit by a drink driver last night, Stevie Galway, apparently he didn’t see Jack on the road, and…’

Emma gasped. ‘Is-is he…’ She couldn’t find the words.

‘He’s alive, but they’re not sure if he’s going to make it.’

Tears streamed down Emma’s face, into her neck. ‘Oh my God.’

After he’d confronted her and Sandro, the two had looked ready to kill each other. So she’d pushed Sandro back towards the Hut, and Jack in the opposite direction, and only when she was sure that they’d both walked away had she gone home. She only wished now that she’d seen Jack safely home.

---

Mrs Allen didn’t tell her to leave the hospital; she watched her approach with sad, lost eyes.

Stella Lea was sitting a little back from her, like she was an island, an island of grief and despair. Her eyes were sad, like something inside her had broken.

Emma swallowed. A tear slipped down her cheek as she neared them. ‘Mrs Allen…’ She hesitated. ‘I know we have our differences, but I care about Jack – and I just need to know how he’s—’ She took a shuddery breath. ‘How he’s doing,’ she finished.

Janet Allen’s face crumpled. For a second, Emma thought she wouldn’t speak to her, but then she took a deep breath and looked at her. Perhaps it was the first time she’d ever really looked.

‘H-he’s in a critical condition,’ she said, her eyes pooling with tears.

Behind them Stella was quietly sobbing.

Emma felt her knees wobble as she lowered herself into the seat in the waiting room next to Mrs Allen.

Her hands started to shake. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked. ‘Donate blood, get you something – tea, maybe?’

Mrs Allen blinked. ‘N-no.’ A second passed, then she said, ‘But thank you, Emma.’

She closed her eyes. ‘You know you look like him, a little – your dad. Liam… he was my brother’s best friend, I didn’t know if you knew that. He was a wonderful man.’

Emma eyes filled with tears. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

---

‘The doctors have told us to prepare ourselves,’ said Mrs Allen, dissolving into tears.

Emma felt herself go into shock. Sitting in that hard plastic chair, she watched as Mrs Allen left to be at Jack’s side, where she, as a non-family member, wasn’t allowed to be.

Sitting staring at the speckled blue and white tiles, she realised that this wasn’t helping anyone, but that there was something she could do.

Back at the cottage, she felt numb and worn out, but determined. She switched on the light and went to the dresser, scanning the shelves until she found it. An old black notebook that had once belonged to her mother.

Perhaps, deep down, somehow, she had known it was there all along. At last she found it, near the back of the notebook and folded in half, a two-hundred-year-old recipe about changing fortunes called Fortune’s Promise. She’d guessed that if Margaret had been anything like her she couldn’t have burned it.

Emma closed her eyes, prayed that it would work, then she took the notebook, one of the only things she had from her mother – her only real connection with her – and buried it beneath the frozen ground in the vegetable garden.

She’d just lit the old range and coaxed it into life when there was an insistent knock on the door. When she opened it, her mouth fell open in surprise. Janet Allen and Stella Lea were standing outside; they both shared the same, desperate, look.

Emma motioned them in, her eyes wide.

She told them to take a seat, frowning in disbelief at the same time. She knew why they were here, but still, she couldn’t believe it somehow. ‘I-well…’ began Janet, taking a deep breath. ‘You told me earlier, if there was anything I needed…’ her mouth wobbled. ‘There’s only one thing, really, and I’m at my wits’ end now, I’d do just about anything, even—’ She broke off, then looked at the floor.

‘Come to us?’

She nodded. A big fat tear rolled off the end of Stella’s nose. She didn’t have to say anything. Emma guessed she felt the same way.

‘I’m going to try something,’ she said. ‘Something that will hopefully put things right – as far as it can.’

Janet breathed out. She hadn’t asked if Emma would help; she knew, no matter their differences, Emma would do anything to help Jack.

‘S-so, um, I give up something of value, is that right?’ asked Janet.

Emma nodded.

They both handed her their tokens, a prized necklace and an heirloom watch, which Emma knew meant that they knew, that somehow the rumours of what happened here had reached them.

‘I’m going to do it with you – pay a cost too.’ She touched their hands, and her lips trembled. ‘I have to say the old words – it’s the tradition.’

Perhaps they’d heard of that too, but it still caused Janet Allen’s tears to splash onto the table as Emma said, ‘I make no promises…’, though she added one of her own in any case. ‘But I promise that I will try’ – she took a breath – ‘with everything that I have.’

‘We’ll help you make it, if you like.’

Emma nodded. ‘I think, yes, that would be best.’

Emma set them to work, peeling and chopping and folding the mixture together. As the afternoon wore on, she stirred it together as she said the words, keeping her intentions clear and firm; hoping with every last bit of hope she had that it would work.

When it was done, they ate it there, as night approached the wintry kitchen, bite by bite.

Janet and Stella left not long before dawn broke. ‘I have to go,’ said Janet. ‘Got to get back to the hospital – but Emma, even if …’ She couldn’t finish her sentence, but Emma understood.

Stella took a breath. ‘We’ll know you tried. Thank you.’

Emma nodded, and thought, it had to work, it just had to.

---

She woke up to the sound of the phone ringing. It was Christmas morning.

She dashed across the room and pressed the receiver to her ear, only to hear Janet Allen, through happy tears: ‘He’s going to be okay, he’s pulled through!’

When she went into Jack’s room in the hospital, not long after, she saw that his face was full of dark criss-crossing gashes, traced with dried blood. His leg was in a cast.

‘Oh Jack,’ she said, hand on her heart.

His eyes opened. ‘Emma.’

‘Hi.’ She took a seat next to him. ‘You gave us such a fright.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

He looked at her, his face amazed. ‘They came to you – my mum, and Stella, to Hope Cottage?’

Emma nodded.

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘Neither can I, really.’

He looked at her. ‘Emma, I’m so sorry about what happened. I should have fought for you, tried harder – I’m so sorry.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘It’s okay, Jack. You know, you were my first love, and I’ll never regret it, I could never regret you,’ she said truthfully.

He looked down. ‘So, I am too late.’ His eyes were sad.

She bit her lip, touched his arm. ‘I just think we’re both about ten years too late, Jack.’