A couple of hours later, things were looking, if not great, then as good as they were going to get. After leaving a lengthy message on the owner’s phone, Henry and I had found a tiny wood store around the back of the house, and after using a breadknife to hack off some shavings for kindling, together we’d got a decent blaze crackling.

We’d trudged back and forth through the wind-whipped snow until the kettle, cistern and the two saucepans were topped up with well water, and all that exertion had warmed us up to the extent that we could take our coats off. It was now early evening, and we’d settled down on the sofa to a feast of service-station microwave lasagne, supplemented with the basket of goodies from Polina.

While Henry was clearing up, I checked my phone and found that Dad had sent me photos of the Christmas Eve back home, including messages from my nieces and nephew about how much they missed me and hoped I got home soon. I was able to smile and record a reply with only the tiniest wobble in my voice.

I had a brief message from Jed to confirm that Mum had already questioned his overly long bathroom visit, accusing him of dodging the to-do list. There was no way he’d be able to do any more research before I was back. I replied to say that he shouldn’t be thinking about that anyway. The next couple of days were a time to celebrate what we had, not worry about what we might lose.

There were a few more messages from colleagues and old friends wishing me a merry Christmas, which I quickly replied to. And then the inevitable follow-up from Adam.

I was trying to be cool and not ask, but I can’t stop wondering whether I need to start planning your welcome tour?

I took a deep breath, squishing down the ache that accompanied walking away from a possible chance for Adam and me to make things work.

Not this time

It seemed like forever until the three dots morphed into a reply.

I’m sorry. You must be gutted.

If you need cheering up, I can be free to talk

Knowing that the one Christmas Eve we weren’t together he could be free to talk did nothing to cheer me up. What annoyed me even more was how strongly I still felt the pull to say yes. Adam knew how to make me feel better. That had never been our problem. The problem had been how infrequently he’d been around to do that, and how often that made me feel worse. I was so used to gratefully accepting his crumbs of attention when they were offered, it was hard to turn him down even now I knew that there was no happy ever after waiting at the end of the conversation.

‘Is everyone okay?’