On Wednesday she toyed with checking messages but wasn’t sure she could bear to face any Nico might have left. She posted a daily don’t worry, I’m fine on the family WhatsApp and felt guilty that her hiding out in The Bus was worrying them all. But the thought of going home and perhaps seeing Nico if he hadn’t left the village flattened her. She and The Bus could spend Christmas together. It was just another day. And there would be people here on the site. They came every year and had a riotous time, someone in the shower block had told her.

Thursday was Christmas Eve. Fellow campers wished her ‘Merry Christmas!’ every time she ventured outside.

Trying to outdistance her misery, Hannah got The Bus ready to roll and paid her fees then drove towards Folkestone with a vague idea of crossing to France. But the mere idea of trying to get on a ferry or a Eurotunnel train, let alone locating a French camping ground open for the festive season, made her stop short on an isolated clifftop where she could switch off the chattering engine and watch the grey, corrugated sea. Here, it was possible to ignore Christmas. Not a single gaily decorated tree or glowing white star reminded her that there would be jolly parties in Middledip, that Carola would be leading sing-songs in The Three Fishes, Mo and Jeremy would have friends round with Nan joining in, wrinkles lifting as she laughed.

But she didn’t need the sound of party poppers to remind her that her family would be missing her. Dark clouds flew like ragged flags above white horses racing on the waves. Seagulls soared and swooped like fighting kites. Grass and gorse topped chalk cliffs curving in either direction. She could not see a single other human being.

Stiffly, she pulled on her outdoor things and got out. The wind met her with an unfriendly shove and tried to snatch her hat before slamming the camper door with a bang that would have made Jeremy faint. Hardly caring whether the gale spat her over the cliff into the booming sea Hannah coiled her hair under her hat and staggered along a path frozen to iron, almost enjoying the fight.

A smiling woman appeared suddenly beside her, well kitted out in hiking gear. ‘Blowy, isn’t it? Are you one of the Turkey and Tinsel crowd?’

Not having been aware of anyone coming from behind, Hannah jumped. ‘Turkey and Tinsel?’

The woman fell in step, pulling up her hood. ‘I thought you might be at the Fernleigh Hotel along the cliff. Their Christmas breaks are called Turkey and Tinsel. If you’re one of the solo folk we can walk back together.’

‘Oh. I’m not, sorry.’ Hannah tried not to appear terse, to adjust from solitude to company. ‘Is Turkey and Tinsel fun?’