She flicks her eyes up to the kitchen counter and I turn around to look. The bottle of red wine I near-emptied before heading up to the attic sits there staring guiltily back at me.

Crap. I completely forgot about that.

‘God, Daff, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I had a couple of glasses when I came in. I don’t know what I was thinking.’

She breathes out through her nose, irritably. ‘You knew that was supposed to be for today.’

‘I’ll go out and get another one this morning, I promise.’

She just sighs and keeps swiping. So even though it turns out I did do the presents and tree, I still also necked that forty quid’s worth of Haut-Médoc. I’m guessing one cancels the other out in Daphne’s head. Which is fair enough, really.

And then I remember something. If I drank that bottle of wine, then I also surely sent that message to Alice. Which means I still have to cancel our meeting.

‘Back in a sec,’ I say.

I walk out of the kitchen and open Facebook on my phone. There it is: the message chain with Alice, ending with my most recent one arranging to meet up in four days’ time. Cancelling on Christmas morning looks a bit weird, but there’s no other option.

I start tapping out a message.

Hey, Alice – happy Christmas! I’m really sorry but something’s come up for the 29th that I can’t get out of, so I’ll have to cancel our drink, I’m afraid. I’m not sure I’ll be around much after that either to be honest. Sorry. Ben x

I reread the message and imagine Alice receiving it. There’s no two ways about it: it looks pretty horrible. No actual explanation or reason for why I can’t make our date. But I’m too frazzled to come up with a proper excuse, and the only thing that matters right now is getting out of it.

Without thinking any more about it, I hit send and slip the phone back in my pocket. Then I head back to the kitchen, fully intent on showing Daphne the best Christmas Day ever.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

‘Right, I think I’ve got everything here: crisps, dips, beer, and orange squash for the kids. Plus a new bottle of wine that’s one whole pound more expensive than the other one.’

I waggle the plastic bags triumphantly as I step back into the kitchen.

It’s two hours later, and I’ve just been dispatched to the corner shop to pick up the last few things we need. Daff’s family are currently en route, and all six of them should be arriving any minute: her mum, Clio, and dad, Michael, plus her sister Kat with her husband Joe and their twin sons Charlie and Fred.