Nan took a child-like joy in every cottage garden where frost rimed leaf and twig, twinkling in pale winter sunlight. ‘Look how pretty those red berries are amongst the frosty spider webs. Everything feels quiet and peaceful.’

‘It does.’ Hannah was content to amble at Nan’s pace, enjoying the still, spun-glass world of frozen fronds and icy bird baths.

The village hall was, in contrast, a hive of industry. Carola was in the middle of everything, directing people up stepladders or to the machine that blew up balloons. Children held paper chains, a small black dog clicked his claws excitedly on the wooden floor as if happy to be involved and the Christmas tree twinkled like a star shower. People called for scissors or tape and provided critical feedback: ‘That angel’s wonky!’ or ‘The holly leaves are the wrong green.’

Every single person wore a smile.

Hannah was back in the ‘unimportant little village’ where she belonged. She made cups of tea amidst the banter and laughter and got all glittery from hanging decorations. The day sped by.

It was as they wandered home through the darkened village, past the pub festooned with lights, that Hannah realised Nan was subdued. ‘Have you tired yourself out?’ she asked, concerned.

Nan just grumbled, ‘This wind that’s got up is sharp enough to shave a gooseberry,’ and huddled into her coat.

Hannah waited till they were home, warming up over a cuppa before she asked again. ‘Tired after your busy day?’ She got out the biscuits in the old Quality Street tin with the pictures that reminded her of the buildings of Stortorget, Gamla Stan, in the hope Nan would eat one or two. Age was shrinking her too quickly.

‘Thinking,’ said Nan, blowing her tea. ‘Last year Brett helped with the decorating of the hall.’

Hannah twined her fingers with Nan’s where they protruded from the cast. ‘You miss him.’

‘We were great friends.’ The old lady turned her long-sighted gaze to the glowing bouquet of blood-red chrysanthemums and icy green eucalyptus. ‘If I hadn’t let him turn it into a romance then he’d never have wanted to marry me. He wouldn’t have pushed that agreement at me and I’d still have my best friend.’

Gently, Hannah squeezed the papery fingers, cool despite the warmth of the room. ‘Can’t you go back to being friends?’

Nan’s voice thickened. ‘It wasn’t enough for him, apparently. He said it was ridiculous not to share what time we had left, instead of being visitors in each other’s homes.’