The next morning Olivia woke up, blinking fuzzily, to see big, fat snowflakes drifting down outside her window. She let out a little yelp of happy surprise, and then heard her phone ping. She grabbed it from the bedside table and saw a photo of Simon’s little garden at Willoughby Close, covered in a very thin layer of snow. White Christmas!

He’d been living there for the last few days, with nothing but a mattress on the floor and a few boxes of possessions. No wonder he was spending all his time with her...although Olivia knew it was more than that. She laughed aloud and sent back a photo of the snowflakes outside her window. See you soon?

Be there in ten.

Still smiling, she got out of bed. Tina was still sleeping and so Olivia took the opportunity to shower and prep the roast dinner they’d be having later. She also put her presents under the tree—a book of sudoku puzzles for her mum that were meant to help cognitive function, as well as a deliciously soft cashmere throw, since her flat was a bit cold. For Simon she’d bought a new Aran jumper in a deep hunter’s green, since his old one had a seriously unravelled hem. Excitement mixed with a few nerves fluttered in her stomach as she thought of him opening it.

“Good morning.” Tina emerged from the bedroom in her dressing gown, looking a lot more like herself.

“Morning, Mum. How are you feeling?”

“I’m well, thank you. Shall I make coffee?” As her mum bustled towards the kitchen, Olivia realised she had no recollection of her blank memory moment last night, and she decided that was okay. They could just go with it. Take the good moments as they came, along with the bad.

Simon arrived a short while later, and they all had coffee and croissants before opening their presents. Tina was thrilled with both the book and the throw, and Olivia held her breath while Simon opened her present, letting out a little sigh of relief when he exclaimed how delighted he was with it, and in typical Simon fashion, insisted on putting it on right then and there.

Then it was her turn, and she opened a flat, rectangular-shaped present from Simon, wondering what it was.

“It’s lovely,” she exclaimed when she saw the buttery-soft leather cover. She flipped through the pages, noting the plastic pockets for photos and the blank, lined pages.

“It’s for your recipes,” Simon explained. “Since you’ve made up so many wonderful ones for the cupcakes. I thought you could put them down for posterity.”

“I love it, truly.” She was so touched he’d got something properly thoughtful, and not just the typical perfume or scarf. “It’s perfect.”

And the rest of the day was perfect, as well—Tina was in good form, and Simon carried them along with his humour and boyish enthusiasm for everything, from being in charge of the Yorkshire pudding batter, to fashioning odd shapes from the linen napkins. He introduced them to a game from his own family—putting an After Eight mint on your forehead and trying to get it into your mouth without hands, by simply wiggling your eyebrows and mouth.