I slumped onto the sofa, as it suddenly hit me. I wasn’t overly precious about staying in fancy places with luxuries like running water and heating. I was as up for an adventure as the next person. But it was Christmas Eve, and the Coach House would be aglow with good cheer. Even without the extra family members it would be jam-packed with warmth and laughter and loud conversations. The dining-room table would be bulging with tasty treats alongside Mum’s tasteless ones.

There’d be the scent of cinnamon and cloves, cranberry, and onions as everyone pitched in preparing for tomorrow’s feast, Nana Joy singing along to the Christmas playlist until eventually everyone else joined in.

The tree would be lit, presents slowly accumulating beneath the boughs. There’d be candles or bowls of chocolates on every spare surface. We’d gather around the wonky advent scene that someone carved in woodworking class to place the final nativity piece in the manger.

There’d be hugs and bickering and something would get broken, but no one would mind. After dinner those who had the energy would wrap up in hats and scarves and take the dogs for a moonlit romp in the forest, coming home to mugs of extra-thick hot chocolate or mulled wine.

This house was the exact opposite of that.

I pressed my eyes shut but it was too late to prevent a tiny tear from squeezing out and trickling down my face.

‘Here.’ I opened my eyes to find Henry standing in front of me, holding out a glass of wine and a huge slice of Christmas cake. ‘Have some fat-ridden, sugar-loaded, ultra-processed cake.’

‘Thank you.’

He fetched a second glass and plate and came to sit beside me.

‘I’m okay, really. Just a mild attack of homesickness.’

‘I’m not surprised; you’ve got a first-rate home.’

When I opened my mouth to reply, he shot me a sharp look. ‘Don’t you dare apologise again for me being here, not there.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘My choice, remember?’

‘I’m not sure you had enough information to make an informed choice.’

Henry laughed. ‘No one had that information. And if we did, we wouldn’t have believed it.’

He reached his glass out to chink it against mine. ‘Merry Christmas, Bea.’

‘It’d be a lot merrier if we had a fire going.’

‘I’ll be right on it, boss.’

‘One more thing,’ I asked, as Henry started another fruitless search for the non-existent firewood. ‘Purely from a scientific perspective, no rush or anything, but how is flushing the toilet going to work?’