At the end of the alley, she turned left and passed the snowman on the green that had melted to a compacted nub of ice. Arriving at the only house still not decorated for Christmas, she found her keys in her pocket and let herself in.

The sight that greeted her made her shoulders slump. She hadn’t been expecting Stephen and Dean to welcome her home with banners and bunting but neither had she been expecting to find dirty, limp items of clothing lying on the floor where they had been dumped, or shoes and boots discarded at the bottom of the stairs where they had been kicked off. Through the open kitchen door, she could see the sink piled high with dirty crockery and the table strewn with wrappers and cartons – the rubbish of four days’ worth of kebabs and pizzas. Had her brothers been waiting for her to come back to clean up their mess? Had they even noticed she had gone?

Fighting the instinct to leave everything as it was and let her brothers fester in their own filth, Lou scooped up the bills and takeaway flyers piled up around the doormat. Amongst the brown envelopes and junk mail was a white envelope addressed to “The Arnolds.” She dumped the rest of the post on the hallstand, slid her finger under the flap, and pulled out a card decorated with a plump glittery robin.

To Maureen, Stephen, Lou & Dean,

Hope this little chap finds you all well.

Sorry not to have been in touch. Must catch up in the New Year.

Have a Happy Crimbo!

Lots of love, John, Laura, Finley & Liam xx

In the panic surrounding Mum’s funeral, they had been unable to find the new address for their old neighbours, the Barkers, who had moved up to Durham earlier in the year. As far as John and Laura were concerned, good old Maureen from next door, who had always been on hand for a spot of babysitting, was alive and well. In their world, there had been no trip to the chip shop, no police family liaison officer, no reporters, no undertakers.

Lou dropped the card on the hallstand, turned her back on the mess, and slammed the front door behind her. She hurried down the path and up the road, replaying in her mind the scene from Stephen’s favourite childhood film where Superman, driven by grief, had reversed the world on its axis to alter history and bring Lois Lane back to life. Lou had no powers – super or otherwise – to travel back just a few weeks in her own world to perform that same miracle. How then had she travelled back one hundred years? Stop it! Stop it! You're going to drive yourself mad! Pulling up her hood, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets and walked quickly away from the estate, heading for the familiarity of town.

Halfway up the High Street, the rain began to come down harder. Lou dipped into The Arc to take shelter. She entered the first abandoned boulevard, the slap of her trainers bouncing off the concrete walls and ceiling. Posters plastered to the shutters of closed shops whipped back and forth in the wind, as though yanked by unseen hands. Out in the open air of the central plaza, she cowered beneath the overhanging canopy, the drizzle dripping into her eyes. At least the centre management had made the effort to drag out their perennial decorations – a handful of plastic snowmen tied to the lampposts, their once white bellies long-since stained to a nicotine-yellow – and the remaining shopkeepers had decorated their windows with tinsel. The whole scene was reflected in the deep puddles around the courtyard, a shimmering, waving version of the world in reverse. Lou stamped in a puddle. One version of that world was one too many.