‘I put a small Panettone for you.’ She tapped the shiny pink box on top. ‘For Christmas. Come and have a glass of Spumante with us, please, before we fly home, si, bella?’

‘I will. I promise.’

Upstairs in the flat I sat alone in the gloom, the lights from the busy street flickering across the freshly painted whiteness of the walls, the jolly sound of carol singers outside the pub making my heart ache. I opened the box tied with red satin ribbon. Inside was a stack of new sheet music, a postcard of Mozart’s piano and a small carved wooden dog. And a hand-drawn Christmas card of a snow-covered cottage with a big tree outside: Pendarlin. It made my tummy hurt.

Dearest Mag,

I hope you are okay. I wanted to come and deliver this in person, but you looked so appalled to see me in the hospital that I don’t want to add to your trauma.

I just want to apologise for being so generally rubbish. And as a token of my enormous esteem for you, here is some music you might like. That night at Pendarlin when I was outside, I heard you playing the piano for the first time and I was really glad (and impressed, despite a few duff notes!). Don’t give up again, please. I’m just sorry I didn’t come in to see you right then. I went over to the pub because I thought you were fine and I didn’t want to interrupt your creative flow. And because I thought Fay was bonkers, and making it all up. I feel pretty terrible about that now.

When you are ready, I’d really like to get you a new puppy. I know Digby wouldn’t like you to be on your own.

Sorry I let you down, dearest Maggie.

Your useless friend,

Alex xx

PS 15 days, 4 hours and 10 minutes sober.

I spent a quiet Christmas with Dad and Jenny, Gar nodding off in an armchair with a glass of sherry beside her that she never touched. I felt out of place, missing Cornwall, out of sorts and unfortunately no longer out of my head since I’d curbed my drinking.

Usually I cooked the Christmas dinner but this year Jenny did it because she was so keen, though we all lived to regret it. The sprouts were bullet-like and the turkey resembled a piece of old carpet, the bread sauce was inedible and the roast potatoes burned to a crisp. When I nearly cracked my tooth on the salt spoon in the plum pudding and Jenny looked aghast, I laughed.

‘Oh dear. I wondered where that had got to! Still, you’ve got the pound as well.’ She slipped a coin onto my plate. ‘That’s lucky, eh, Maggie?’ She didn’t say I needed it, but I imagined that’s what we all thought.