The woman sticks her bottom lip out, mock angry. ‘Phil! Please don’t call our son a little bastard.’

‘Sorry, sorry …’ The man holds his hands up. ‘I meant big bastard – if he’s anything like his old man!’

They both bray with laughter at this, and I decide that either the standard of comedy has dropped significantly in 2023, or these people are absolutely dreadful.

‘Anyway, merry Christmas, fella,’ the man says, slapping me hard on the back. ‘Good to see you.’

Alice is standing with her hands on her hips, staring at the woman in awe.

‘Honestly, Becks, you’re glowing! Isn’t she glowing, Ben?’

‘Yes, you are,’ I say. ‘You’re glowing.’

Becks gives a satisfied squeal and flaps at our compliments with both hands. As she follows Alice through to the living room, the man – Phil – leans in to me and whispers, ‘This’ll be your life in a few months, buddy. Zero sex and constantly getting your ear chewed off about swollen ankles. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

He shoots me an unpleasant grin, and I’m reminded strongly of Jonno from Thump.

In the living room, we stand in a circle beside the Anna Wintour tree, which looks on disdainfully while Alice passes round a tray of vol-au-vents.

‘Oh God, you are brilliant, Ali,’ Becky says through a mouthful of pastry flakes. ‘Did you really make these?’

Alice flushes. ‘No, they’re er … they’re Waitrose, actually.’

‘Aw.’ Becky tilts her head and smiles. ‘Oh well. Still yummy!’

We all murmur in agreement, and I swear I see Alice’s left eye twitch slightly as she takes the tray back.

‘Drop of cava?’ she asks, holding up the bottle.

‘Bubbles?’ Phil smacks his palms together. ‘Fuck yes!’

Becky places a hand on her stomach. ‘Just water for me, Ali.’

‘Oh babe, really?’ Alice frowns. ‘They say you can have one little glass, don’t they?’

Becks smiles at her kindly: a primary school teacher correcting a pupil. ‘Yes, they do say that, but it just doesn’t feel very responsible, if you know what I mean? When you guys are expecting, you’ll understand.’

‘Sure,’ says Alice, through clenched teeth.

‘Well, you can fill me up,’ Phil chuckles. ‘If the missus is eating for two, then I’m drinking for two!’

This is rewarded with another gale of laughter, and I suddenly wish Harv was here so I had someone to telekinetically cringe with. But in this reality, I haven’t spoken to Harv in years. I’ve ditched my best friend for the world’s most irritating couple.

‘Well, cheers,’ Phil says, as we all clink glasses. ‘Christmas with mates instead of family is so the way forward.’

‘Mmm,’ Becky agrees. ‘A year off from listening to Phil’s granny rattle on about how much she hates everyone at her nursing home.’

Phil rolls his eyes. ‘The old bird can talk for England, it’s true.’