It’s the middle of the afternoon and Würzburg is beautiful. Even in her slightly crumpled mood she sits up straighter in the back seat, taking in the old bridges and tall stone buildings buzzing with people in various states of winter dress: puffer jackets and big woolly scarves in reds and greens, noses pink and breath visible as people speak. Her room at the hotel isn’t ready yet, so Evie leaves her bag and decides to pass half an hour taking a walk, stretching her legs and seeing what’s what. She has no idea what time it is at home, but it’s only 3 p.m. here, so she may as well get onto local time.

The Christmas market is the biggest outdoor market she has ever seen. It’s beside the cathedral, a gothic-looking white stone building that ascends proudly into the sky, floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows marked out in red brick with a grey pointed roof and enormous red-brick bell tower. Everything is floodlit in golden orange lights, and even at 3 p.m. the sky is thick, weighted clouds making its backdrop a deep navy blue that gets darker by the minute. A Christmas tree the height of two double-decker buses drags her eye away, twinkling with an obscene number of fairy lights, expertly placed equidistantly apart, from bottom to top, where a huge gold star self-importantly sways in the light wind at the top.

There must be a hundred stalls, at least, all lined up in wooden huts and decorated in garlands that smell like Evie’s childhood, when it was happier, a more ignorant time, and there are more lights and ornaments, most of which aren’t rubbishy little plastic things but rather ornate hand-blown glass and intricate wood. She passes an obelisk festooned with lights too, all trailing down from where they’re gathered at the top like a maypole. Traditional wrought-iron lamp posts burn brightly, huge red baubles of different sizes dangling from even more garlands wrapped around, like art deco art installations placed every ten to twenty feet apart.

Almost without thinking, she approaches one of the wooden huts and buys a traditional Glühwein, not knowing what it is until the paper cup reaches her lips: hot, spiced red wine. She sips, taking it all in: the stalls with their trinkets for sale, the jewellery, teas and spices, traditional decorations and scented candles and salt lamps. It’s mesmerising, and so unlike anything she could reasonably expect to see at home. For her first time in Germany, she isn’t disappointed, and as she drains her glass and lets the liquid warm from her throat to the lower part of her belly, Evie finds herself breathing deeply and smiling at strangers as they pass.

Maybe this is going to do me good, she thinks, letting herself acknowledge the moment.