The day before Christmas Eve I was sure I’d seen her near my flat. I’d been out to buy some last-minute presents and wrapping paper, feeling glum, willing myself to forget about Charlie and embrace the Christmas spirit. As I turned into my street, a long road with a mixture of Victorian and Edwardian semis and converted houses not far from beautiful Brockwell Park, I saw a red-haired woman turn into the alleyway opposite my building. Weighed down by shopping bags, I broke into a slow run. The alleyway led through to a new development which bordered the park. There was no sign of her. I walked down the alley and over the fence into the park. Some kids were stomping in a pile of leaves and a man was talking enthusiastically to a cocker spaniel, but there was no red-headed women.

I shook my head. Great, now I’m hallucinating her, I thought.

‘You’re definitely not with it today, are you?’ Tilly said as I pushed her along the promenade.

The sky was battleship grey and the wind whipped in from the English Channel. There were some crazy people swimming in the foamy sea, their skin tinted blue as they emerged from the water onto the pebbles. The seafront was busy with children trying out their new bikes, families taking a post-lunch stroll and couples walking arm-in-arm, unwittingly making me envious.

‘I met someone,’ I said. ‘But I think she’s got away already.’

‘Ah,’ Tilly said. ‘She must have received my warning note.’

I told my sister about Charlie and about how she hadn’t called.

‘Her loss,’ Tilly said.

I sat on a damp bench beside Tilly and we looked out to sea, silence settling over us.

‘Do you miss them?’ she asked.

My eyes filled with tears and I clenched my teeth hard, swallowing the bruise in my throat. ‘I do on days like this. They’d be happy that we’re spending the day together, though.’

‘Undoubtedly. Pleased my big brother’s here to look after me.’

‘You do all right on your own, though, don’t you?’ I needed her to say yes.

‘Oh, of course. I’m an independent woman.’ She started humming the Destiny’s Child song.

‘You should audition for X Factor.’

‘Go for the big sob story vote, you mean? There’d be a shot of me talking about the car accident. They could show photo-montages of us when Mum and Dad were alive while I sang “Tears in Heaven” in my wheelchair. There wouldn’t be a dry eye in the country.’

‘You’d win for sure.’

‘Nah, I’d get voted out in disco week.’

A couple wearing matching purple fleeces walked by, giggling like they were heading straight back to bed for some mutually satisfying sex.

‘So this girl . . . Want to talk about it?’ she asked.

I sighed. ‘No. There’s no point.’