“You don’t think it’s too much?” Annie, swept up in the festive spirit, had added to the already bounteous decorations by interlacing more fairy lights around the café, which had begun to resemble an alpine chalet crossed with a Santa’s grotto in Las Vegas.

“Too much!” blustered Pam. “It’s Christmas; there’s no such thing as too much at Christmas.”

“I agree,” said Raye. “It feels magical in here, with all the wood and the twinkling lights, and that view. You’ve created a winter wonderland.”

“And let’s face it, it’s bloody bleak outside!” added Sam. “I dare anyone to walk past on a day like today and not be drawn in. Honestly, Annie, it’s like an oasis of cozy.”

Annie felt warm inside.

Maeve marched in. “Hello! Crikey, that smells good, what time are we eating?”

“Not till six,” said Annie.

“Good God, I’ll have withered to nothing by then. Better make me a large mocha to keep me going, and I’ll take a slice of that ginger cake. And a couple of those biscuits. And a packet of crisps.”

The folk band set up beneath a hastily erected gazebo and pretty soon their rendition of “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues was filling the café as they warmed up. Alex, Peter, and Greg arrived just before six o’clock.

“And what the fuck are they?” asked Peter, nodding to the papier-mâché giants stood like a grotesque welcome party by the steps.

“They are the ghosts of past, present, and future,” said Annie, pulling each of them in turn into a bear hug. “So, you’d better watch yourselves!”

“Mum, this is amazing,” said Alex, after they had given Greg the world’s shortest tour around the flat. They were standing in the café now. It was the first time they had seen it other than in photographs.

“He’s not wrong, Mum,” said Peter. “I’m really proud of you. Is that weird for a child to say to a parent? Fuck it, who cares, I am really proud of you!”

“Me too,” agreed Alex.

“I concur,” added Greg. “When my parents split up, my mum kept posting pictures of herself drunk, dancing on pub tables, and draping herself across men half her age.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Annie.

Greg grimaced. “This is a much bigger up-yours to Max than photos of you poking your tongue in a Greek waiter’s ear,” he said.

Annie hummed, and Alex and Peter nodded, looking as though they were glad to have dodged that particular bullet.

John came in and introduced himself. “Good to meet you at last,” he said, shaking hands with each of them. “Your mum talks about you a lot. All good things, obviously.”

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence,” said Alex. “Because she talks a lot about you too!”

Peter sniggered.