I lean my head on Dad’s shoulder, my eyes growing heavy, and before long the journey catches up with us both, and we drift off to sleep.

*

Someone is knocking at the door. My eyes spring open, and I glance at my watch. It’s almost seven.

‘Dad,’ I say, pulling myself upright, and he stirs. The hammering grows louder. ‘It’s probably Maddie needing help getting Thomas over to the conservatory for dinner.’

I jump up and hurry to open the door. Maddie stubs out a cigarette on the porch, and dashes past me, bringing a flurry of snow and the smell of tobacco with her. She’s togged up against the weather in a furry deerstalker hat and a navy ski suit that I can’t believe she’s had the sense to bring with her.

‘Hey, Robert, are you ready to eat?’ She aims her question at Dad, acts as though I’m not here. ‘I think you’ll need to carry Thomas. We’ll never get his wheelchair through all this white stuff.’

‘Yes, yes of course. I’ll carry him,’ Dad says, his earlier sadness masked with a smile.

‘It’s a good thing you’re strong, Robert,’ she says.

Dad rises and flexes his muscles, and she laughs. He likes her. Mum did too. ‘She makes Thomas happy,’ Mum would say, when I tried to suggest Maddie shouldn’t vlog about us; that I didn’t want a breakdown of our lives online for everyone to hear about.

‘Are you ready, love?’ Dad says to me.

I move across the room to the mirror above the wood burner and comb my fingers through my hair, catching a tangle and yelping. I look a right state, but I don’t care.

‘Yep,’ I say, pulling on my padded jacket, and bending to pull on my fur-lined boots.

We trudge through the snow, and, as promised, Dad carries Thomas. Maddie walks along beside them. I dawdle behind, kicking snow like a sulky child.

Ruth is by the conservatory door, patting warmth into her arms. Her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, looks greyer than it did this time last year, though I’m sure she’s wearing the same button-through knee-length dress and cardigan.

‘He looks heavy,’ she says, with a smile, as Dad carries Thomas through the door and lowers him down gently onto a chair. Maddie and I file in behind them.

‘Cheers, Dad,’ Thomas says, looking dishevelled, and I wonder if he’s in any pain. He shuffles free of his jacket. ‘Although for the record, next time I’ll get a taxi.’

Dad laughs as he takes his jacket from him and hangs it up.