Slowly, Hannah turned accusing eyes on her mother, whose round face was redder than her Christmas jumper. Mo took the bread sauce off Hannah as well, her eyes huge and apprehensive. ‘We invited them for Christmas lunch. There’s a good reason and you did say—’

Hannah didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. Panic boiled the blood in her ears. The room receded and rushed back. Nine Christmas-tree napkins had been the correct number. Nico was here and she’d have to face him. Every drop of comfort she’d been soaking up from Christmas alone with her lovely family evaporated. ‘MUM! How could you—?’ she began.

‘HANNAH!’ Josie flew down the short hall. ‘Hannah, where’ve you been? I thought we were going to make decorations and you’d help me wrap our present for Dad. Never mind,’ she ended consolingly, winding her arms around Hannah’s waist and gazing up at her with starry eyes. ‘We’re having Christmas dinner together.’

Then Maria’s short legs caught up and she hurled herself on Hannah too, demanding, ‘Up, ’Annah, up!’ and holding out her arms.

Josie, with big-sister pragmatism, scooped Maria up to join the cuddle. Hannah’s eyes burned as she clutched the children to her. She hadn’t let herself think about how much she’d missed them in the past few days. They – and Nico – were not hers to love.

Then awareness danced across her skin and he was in the room, his eyes blue and watchful. ‘God Jul,’ he said softly.

‘God Jul.’ She couldn’t read his expression because he was a tear-drenched blur. She put Maria down and freed herself from Josie. ‘Why don’t you run and see Nan Heather in the sitting room? I’m helping my mum with the meal,’ she suggested brightly.

Mo began, ‘I’m sure—’

‘I’m helping in here,’ Hannah muttered fiercely, turning her back on Nico. After a few moments, she heard his voice in the next room, telling Rob he’d fetch Maria’s high chair from the car.

It took her several minutes of straining veg and slapping it into serving dishes before she could trust herself to look at Mo, who’d been working in uncharacteristic silence. Awash with every emotion from misery to horror to anger that seeing Nico had threatened to reduce her to tears, she was tempted to strop out like a teenager. ‘You deliberately misinterpreted my wishes when I said I didn’t want to know anything about Nico,’ she muttered.

Then she saw the tears trembling on her mother’s lashes. ‘Sorry,’ Mo whispered. ‘I came over romantic when I invited him. He was so pleased. I thought he might rush in and sweep you off your feet. It seemed like a good reason. But he didn’t. Oh, the look on your face! Hannah, lovey, I’m sorry.’