‘I wonder if you might . . .’ he said, as he handed me the tray. It had a clear plastic cup of Coke on it and six bowl-shaped crystal glasses on stems.

He eased the cork from the bottle and it came out with a subdued pop. He poured a small amount of champagne into each of the glasses, then went around again topping them up.

‘A Coca-Cola for the young man?’ he said, lifting the Coke cup and crouching down to give it to Michael. ‘And a small sip of bubbly for the bigger young man, just for Christmas?’ He glanced towards my mother as he picked up the champagne glass with the least in it.

‘Well, I suppose . . .’ she started to say, but by then the glass was already in my hand.

The turkey came with a nutty stuffing, roast potatoes, parsnips, swede, brussels sprouts, sausages wrapped in bacon, bread sauce, cranberry sauce and gravy in a silver gravy boat with three feet shaped like tiny hooves.

‘Mmmm, bread sauce,’ my father said contentedly as he spooned a second serve onto his plate. ‘We’ve got to do more of this back home. You’ll have to pass your secrets on to Margot, Mrs Keene.’

Michael ate sausages, I ate everything. We moved from Edward Heath’s Christmas album to one of Perry Como’s, with every voice on it sounding like America in the fifties. The dining room had a fireplace too, and Michael went red in the face until my mother took his jumper off. The champagne fuzzed in my head and I felt warm all over and separate, as though I could watch the conversation going on around me, and hear it, but not synchronise the two or participate.

I wasn’t sure I liked champagne. It was less sweet than I was expecting. I topped my glass up twice with no-one noticing but, when I picked up the bottle a third time, it wobbled in my hand and my father took the base to steady it and said, ‘Go easy on that, Tiger. We might get you some water.’

Someone mentioned the weather forecast – the wind had changed direction and the rain was beating against the windows – and George said, ‘I don’t see us painting the garden shed until well into the new year. Gives me more time to think through the colour scheme, I suppose. Capability’s suggested light blue with dark blue trim.’ He raised his eyebrows as if the idea had surprised him. ‘I’m yet to be convinced.’

‘I think it could look lovely,’ my mother said, raising her glass towards Capability, who raised his in return. ‘Set it apart from all the others in the neighbourhood.’

When the time came for the pudding, George asked Mrs Keene to close the curtains while he and Capability went to the kitchen.