The watch is still fixed tightly around my wrist, its hands stuck at one minute to midnight.

My heart starts hammering, but as I step out of bed, I decide to worry about filling in the gaps later. The only thing that matters right now is that I’m back, and I can start making things right with Daphne.

I get dressed quickly and head downstairs, but as I pass the living room, I spot the Christmas tree through the half-open door. It’s fully decorated, with a stack of neatly wrapped presents underneath it. My heart sinks. Daff must have got up early to do the chores I was supposed to be doing last night. After everything I’ve just been through – and all my resolutions to make things better – are we right back where we were before? Am I about to walk into the kitchen and straight into another fight?

She’s sitting at the kitchen table, reading something on her iPad, one hand clasped around a steaming cup of coffee. She’s wearing pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, her curly hair piled messily into a topknot on her head. The urge to go straight across and put my arms around her is almost overpowering, but she doesn’t even look up as I walk in.

‘Hey. Merry Christmas. There’s coffee in the pot.’

‘Ah, nice one. Merry Christmas …’

‘Thanks for doing the tree. And the presents.’ She looks up at me and gives me a quick, tight smile.

‘I …’ I stare at her, trying desperately to read her face for any traces of sarcasm or passive-aggression. There don’t seem to be any. Did I do the tree and the presents? I have no memory of it. But chucking a few bits of tinsel up and not remembering certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that’s happened over the past few days.

‘No worries,’ I say tentatively.

Instead of rolling her eyes, or yelling something along the lines of ‘I was being sarcastic, you selfish knob’, Daff just smiles again and looks back down at the iPad. Something is definitely not right here. But still: I assumed an argument was on the cards, and it doesn’t appear to be. So it’s probably best to let the matter lie for now.

I pour myself a coffee and stand at the kitchen counter. She carries on reading in silence, and even though we’re not in open verbal combat, I can tell the atmosphere is still definitely on the frosty side. Is this just about the fight we had on Christmas Eve, about me not coming to her work party? Or has something else happened that I can’t remember?