Clio thumps the sofa arm, refusing to be deterred. ‘I’m serious!’ she cries. ‘When are you two going to give Charlie and Fred a little cousin?’

‘All right, Mum, maybe leave it for today?’ Daff says with a smile.

Clio flaps her hand in a vague gesture of comedic frustration, and the twins take this as a cue to launch a new assault on me. Under heavy fire from Nerf ammo, I scramble up from the floor. ‘Right, you two, see if you can catch me!’

I leap over the sofa and sprint out into the corridor, the sound of little footsteps thundering behind me.

The three of us pile into the kitchen, where the twins unload their entire foam arsenal into my chest. I fall to the ground clutching my stomach as they leap on top of me.

‘AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!’ Fred screams.

‘In a minute!’ I plead. ‘Don’t you guys want pudding?’

‘YES!’ they cry at the same time.

I load up bowls with ice cream and strawberries, and we take them back through to the living room.

Charlie barges the door open with the announcement: ‘Ice cream!’ But no one reacts. It feels like everyone has stopped talking the moment we enter, and there’s a strange, stilted silence in the room.

‘Ben. What is this?’

Daff stands up and comes towards me. Her eyes are glistening and her jaw is set tightly, like she’s trying hard not to cry. I feel a sharp sting of panic in my chest. She’s holding something in her hand. My phone. I pat my empty pocket instinctively. It must have slipped out while I was rolling around under Nerf fire.

‘Ice cream!’ Charlie shouts again, holding a bowl up to Daphne. Kat pulls him gently towards her. ‘Not now, sweetheart.’

Her whole family is looking at me now, frowns plastered across their faces. My heart is thudding in my chest and my neck suddenly feels boiling hot.

‘What’s going on?’ I say, even though, deep down, I think I know.

Daff says nothing. She just hands me my phone.

There on the screen is my entire message chain with Alice.

At the bottom, there’s a new picture message, sent one minute ago. It shows the two of us in the photo booth at Marek’s wedding, our eyes closed, our lips pressed together.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I sit at a corner table in The Raven, two glasses of Guinness in front of me, trying very hard to ignore the glances I’m getting from the solo drinkers at the bar.

I’m not surprised they’re staring. I must look an absolute state: red-eyed and tear-stained, as I sip my fourth pint in three hours. But fuck it: let them stare. Things can’t be going too well for them either if they’re sitting alone in a pub on Christmas Day.