Outside, she steadies herself against a pillar and doubles over, arm around her own bump. A low groan escapes her lips as she straightens up, her nails scraping into the brick.

Chapter Twenty

Max: December 2011

‘I’ve found it,’ Max called from the loft. He picked up a long box with a picture of a Christmas tree on the front labelled, ‘Scandinavian Fir’ held together with Sellotape, yellowed and crispy at the edges. He’d tried to persuade Maddy to buy a new tree to celebrate their life together as husband and wife, but she said this tree was special, from her childhood.

‘I’m passing it down,’ he called through the hatch.

Maddy reached up and took one end.

‘It’s not too heavy for you, is it?’

‘I’m pregnant, not ill,’ she laughed, placing it on the ground.

‘There are more boxes here marked, “Decorations”.’

‘I’ve forgotten what we have. Shall we have a look through them?’

He heard her go down to the kitchen as he wiped the dust off an old rocking chair and sat down for a few minutes. This would be perfect for Maddy nursing the baby. He wondered if she knew it was up here. Seemed sturdy enough. It was taking some getting used to – the idea of having his first baby. But he couldn’t wait to be a dad. Maddy was almost six months gone already. When she told him she was expecting, it was like a shooting star ignited his heart. He wished he could share the news with Gran.

Downstairs, he put up the spindly looking tree in front of the window. Maddy was so excited he didn’t want to spoil it for her, so he wrapped the bushiest strips of tinsel around the middle to hide how bare it really was. He found a set of multi-coloured lights still in their original Woolworths packaging and wound them around the branches. He switched them on as Maddy was bringing in mulled wine and a plate of hot, sweet-smelling mince pies.

She let out a little whoop of delight. ‘That’s beautiful.’ Maddy gazed at the tree with the wonder of a child.

Max took a swig of the warming drink.

‘Mum wouldn’t have the tree or tinsel up the first Christmas after Dad died, or any year after that.’

‘That must have been tough for you.’

She nodded. ‘What were your Christmases like?’

‘Usually there was only me and Gran but sometimes her brother and his family invited us over. Gran made it lovely. We’d decorate the tree together and I’d help her make mince pies and a massive Christmas pud. Presents were always jumpers she’d knitted or second-hand toys she’d picked up from the charity shop. I didn’t mind though.’