Anya shrugs. “Mum’s room. They were under her pillow.”

My mum gasps and turns bright red. “Oh my God,” she says faintly.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus.” I sigh. The table bursts into bedlam as all three women in my family start to talk very loudly.

Over the shrieky sound of my mum talking about respect and personal privacy, I slowly lower my head to the table where I bang it against the wood gently. “Have I gone deaf yet?” I say to no one. “Please, dear Lord, let it happen soon, or at least give me amnesia.”

“Okay,” my mum says loudly. “Maybe it’s time that we move on and discuss item two on the agenda.”

“Yes,” I say faintly. “I’m all for moving on from the handcuffs. What is item two?”

“Jim asked me to marry him last week and I said yes. We want to do it in the spring.”

Anya and Teddy immediately exclaim in excitement and throw themselves on my mum, covering her with hugs, while Charlie stands up and busies himself at the stove.

I wince, hopefully unobtrusively. “Can we go back to the handcuffs?” I whisper, but luckily they don’t hear me.

A tiny corner of my mind knew this was coming. When Jim moved in with my mum, he took me out for a pint and earnestly assured me that he loved my mum and the girls and would always look after them. It doesn’t make this any easier though. I listen to them talk excitedly about dresses and flowers and honeymoon destinations and hope that my quietness goes unnoticed.

Charlie wanders over with his hands full of mugs of hot chocolate. He puts them down on the table and squeezes my shoulder. “Seems like this is the time for hot chocolate,” he says with his special warm smile that always, without fail, makes me happy. I look up at him and something in his face lets me know that he understands my quietness, that I’m not alone. And some of my ennui slides away. It never stays long when Charlie is around.

He puts my mum’s mug in front of her and hugs her, murmuring something softly into her ear. She smiles radiantly, looking at Charlie as if he hangs the moon. It’s a Lebedinsky family trait.

I squeeze his hand in thanks and pull him to sit at the table. “Don’t sit over there,” I grumble. “You belong here.” He grins and slides into the chair next to me.

An hour later we climb into the car and I suppress the urge to heave a sigh of relief. The first few minutes of the drive home is silent, but I know Charlie won’t be able to keep that up for long. Sure enough, he stirs as we pull up to some traffic lights.

“So, how do you feel?” he asks. It’s a quiet question, but I hear his expectation that I’ll answer him honestly.