The woman laughed. ‘Well. Needs must. A lot of people on their own. The hotel staff make a big effort. This is my third year, since my husband and I split up.’

Not everyone had people with whom to share Christmas but Hannah wasn’t sure how you reacted to it. Sympathy? Patronising. Questions? Rude. ‘Have a wonderful time,’ she said, eventually.

The woman’s smile wavered. ‘It’ll be OK. Merry Christmas! Must get on. Don’t want to be late for lunch.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ Hannah echoed, as the woman hurried off.

She watched her grow smaller and smaller until she disappeared around the curve of the path, her words to her parents echoing in her head: ‘… you’ll have Rob and Leesa and Nan. Everyone at The Three Fishes and The Angel, everyone you’ve known your whole life long. They’re here for you.’

Jeremy’s response rang loud in her imagination: ‘And for you, Hannah. Don’t forget that. And for you.’ Years of family Christmases flew at her. Mince pies, Christmas lunch, crackers, silly hats, wine that made Nan sleepy, carefully selected gifts. Mum cooking, Dad carving, Rob supplying drinks. Villagers dropping in. There would be turkey and tinsel in Middledip too – but a hell of a lot more. Warmth. Laughter. Love. Caring. Her people. Her place.

It was too much to give up to avoid Nico and the painful truth.

She about-faced. Instead of fighting her, now the wind supported her and made retracing her steps easy. When she reached the right spot, she turned onto the scrubby grass and saw the pea-soup green bulk of The Bus.

Just waiting.

Hannah and The Bus rumbled into Middledip at eight that evening and parked outside her parents’ house where fairy lights glowed all around the garden like a swarm of fireflies. All the windows were illuminated. Her parents were at home.

Everything about Hannah ached, from her heart, which seemed to know it might be near Nico, to her bum, on which she’d sat in endless strings of traffic as everyone headed home for Christmas. Her stomach rumbled as if it scented home cooking, then the door opened and Mo was there in fluffy slippers and an apron depicting lugubrious reindeer. Hannah clambered stiffly from The Bus.

‘We’d just about given you up.’ The tremor in Mo’s voice didn’t come from the arctic wind blasting up the garden path.

Eyes burning, Hannah dived into her mother’s arms to be hugged and hugged like nothing else mattered. Mo murmured, ‘Let’s get you upstairs. We’ve got the neighbours in.’

Hannah stumbled into the hall as Jeremy emerged from the sitting room, shutting the door on laughter and conversation, and hugged her every bit as tightly as Mo had. ‘I’ll bring your stuff in. You go with your mum.’

She was home.