I let the water run and run, and then sit on the edge of the bathtub for a bit, staring blankly at the wall, my mind too frazzled to work properly. When my eyes have finally dried and lost their puffy redness, I go back to my room and put some jeans and a T-shirt on. I have no idea how I’m going to deal with this. But I know I can’t stay up here hiding forever.

I take a deep breath, then walk downstairs with my heart hammering.

The house looks like a Santa’s grotto has exploded inside it: holly and ivy hang from pretty much every wall, and tinsel curls down the banister like an exotic silver snake. Mum always took Christmas very seriously.

With every step, the déjà vu gets more intense. Every inch of the house conjures some long-forgotten memory: the photos of me and Mum that line the staircase; the deep dent halfway down the banister rail (a result of my decision to slide down it wearing rollerblades, aged nine). And then there it is: the picture of us at Whitley Bay, hanging next to a faded photo of Mum’s dad – my grandad Jack – as a young man, a broad grin stretching out beneath his twinkling blue eyes.

I feel a strange shiver run through me – something I can’t quite define. This place was home. And back in the present – in 2020 – it’s someone else’s home. Uncle Simon and I put it up for sale a few months after Mum died. We got a fair bit less than the asking price, but I didn’t care. I just wanted the whole thing over with as quickly as possible; it was too painful to keep setting foot in this house with Mum gone.

So now another family lives here, filling it with their own memories.

I push open the kitchen door. Mum is standing with her back to me, arranging bits of smoked salmon into a neat pattern on a plate. ‘Finally,’ she says, brightly. ‘I thought I was going to have to entertain the poor girl on my own.’

She turns around and smiles, her eyes crinkling softly at the sides, and it takes everything I have not to fall apart again. There’s less grey in her hair, but aside from that, she’s exactly as I last saw her. She’s wearing black trousers and a smart button-up velvety cardigan thing, and even with my extremely limited fashion knowledge, I can tell this is one of her ‘special occasion’ outfits. I feel a powerful rush of love for her.