I’m vaguely aware that I’m crying now – tears spilling hotly down my cheeks, soaking into her hair as I hold her – but I can’t help it. I thought I’d never see her again. I thought I’d lost her.

‘I thought I’d …’ I try to tell her, but the words collapse under a sob.

‘All right, Ben, seriously, this is getting weird now. What is going on?’

She pulls away and holds me at arm’s length, looking even more perplexed than she did before. My God, she’s beautiful. With another rush of euphoria, I realise she is wearing the exact same shirt and jeans she was wearing on Christmas Eve 2020, before I went to meet Harv in the pub. I’m still not entirely sure whether this is all real or I’m imagining it. I feel like at any moment the whole scene might crumble and dissolve, just like that room did in the dream. I can’t bear the thought of her disappearing, and I’m about to take her in my arms again when she spots the biscuit tin next to me.

Her worried frown morphs slowly into a surprised smile. ‘Oh my God …’ She kneels down, laughing softly. ‘Why were you looking through this old stuff?’ She picks up the gun and the programme. ‘Haven’t seen these in years …’

I want to reach out for her again, so badly, but instead I hear myself say, ‘I can’t believe you kept it all …’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘Yeah, well, there’s more where that came from.’ She reaches into the box behind me to dig out another, larger tin. Then she pulls the lid off and holds it out so I can see what’s inside.

The electric charge pulses through me again as I process what I’m looking at. Among the various letters and postcards and photos, four items stand out: a fully opened advent calendar featuring twenty-four pictures of Larisa Oleynik; a chunky glass award that says RISING STAR across the bottom; a cheap snow globe depicting the Dodo Manège in Paris; and a delicate dried white lily plucked from a funeral wreath.

I try to work some moisture into my parched mouth. Daff takes the award out and turns it over slowly in her hands. ‘I don’t think I ever even told you about this …’ She looks at me and sighs. ‘So, is this really how you’ve spent the whole evening? Getting pissed and maudlin and taking a trip down memory lane? I notice the tree still hasn’t been done …’

Without thinking, I pull her towards me again, the breath exploding out of me as I take in her feel and her smell. She smells like her. She smells like home. ‘Oh my God, Daff,’ I whisper into her neck. ‘I missed you so much.’