‘We’re fine. We tried to make it back down but didn’t get far before realising it was a mistake to keep going. We’ve found a little cottage to stay the night in, and will be back for Christmas dinner.’

‘Humph!’ Mum snorted. ‘Once upon a time you were going to be here for the week. Then it was back for the buffet! We don’t need any more rash promises, thank you. Jonty, you speak to her. I need to check the ham.’

‘I’m sorry, Sweet-Bea, she’s just upset about having to cancel the party, and she’s missing you. It’s not the same without you here.’

‘No, Dad, I’m sorry. I should have stayed with you like I promised. Mum’s got every right to be angry. I feel awful for not being there.’

Dad was quiet for a moment. I could picture him blinking back tears. ‘She’s not angry. She knows you made the right decision. And you’ll be here soon, that’s what matters.’

It was my turn to try not to start crying. ‘She didn’t ask how the interview went.’

‘She spent most of this morning baking you a congratulations cake.’

‘What?’ It took a few seconds to process that. ‘She made a cake? Do you mean one of those fat-and-sugar-free imposters that she used to make for my birthday?’

‘It’s chocolate and caramel. Real chocolate and real caramel. With congratulations written on it in Maltesers. She really is very proud of you, Sweet-Bea.’

‘That sounds lovely. But you might want to pick off the Maltesers. Or rejig them to say “commiserations”.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. We were so sure.’ Dad sounded devastated. ‘That Bigwood fellow is an idiot who doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it.’

‘Thanks, Dad. He actually thought I was great until I decided to pull out of the final round.’

‘Well, I’m sure you had your reasons.’

‘I did. Very good ones. I’ll tell you about it when I get back, and I promise you’ll be more proud of me than if I’d stayed and got the job.’

‘I couldn’t be more proud of you no matter what you do.’

‘Thank you. Now you need to stop crying and go and find a way to cheer Mum up. I have to get back to Henry.’

‘Ooh, yes, Henry! How are you two getting on? Is it—?’

‘Bye, Dad!’

I was so distracted by the cake that after going back in the house it took me a good few seconds to notice Henry.

‘What?’ My post-parental mood instantly dissipated. ‘Wait, don’t move. I have to get a picture.’

Before I could take a photo, the enormous parrot that had been sitting on Henry’s head shot into the air, swooping about three inches above my head as it squawked, ‘Intruder! Intruder!’