‘Which would make sense, seeing as I told you I wasn’t coming,’ I said, wading through the piles of wrapping paper, old photographs, and other detritus left over from the previous tournament rounds. This one, a favourite, was the Armstrong version of a festive Buckaroo.

‘Look, there’s a seat next to Henry,’ Dad cooed, when I stopped in the middle of the room, unsure of whether I could cope with sitting on the same sofa as him.

I masked my hesitation with a swift detour to kiss my grandmother, nieces, and nephew, hoping the delay would give me time to stop quaking by the time I sat down. The way Nana Joy pressed her fingers into mine as I leant down pushed a solid weight off my shoulders.

‘Bea.’ Henry nodded at me.

‘Hi.’ I offered a wavery smile back.

‘How was your evening?’

Did he know I’d spent it with Adam? If so, he must surely be wondering why at a quarter past eleven I’d turned up here, alone.

‘It was… nice. Thanks. Lovely food and the band were great.’ I paused, slightly disconcerted to see the whole room staring at me, several questioning eyebrows raised. ‘But there’s no place like home, right? After what’s happened the past few days, I wanted to be here, with all of you.’

No one said anything, instead they carried on gawping as though expecting me to keep talking, so I did. ‘I feel really, really awful about staying away this past year. There were all sorts of complicated reasons, but it wasn’t you, it was me. And I’m sorry, and I’m going to make it up to you by hanging around so much you all grow sick of me.’ I had to stop and swallow back the lump expanding in my throat.

‘Sweet-Bea, you’re a grown woman, with a life of your own. We don’t expect you to be here all the time,’ Dad said.

‘Some of the time would be nice,’ Mum added.

‘You didn’t bring Adam?’ Mia asked, never one to let tact stop her digging for information.

‘No.’ This time I wasn’t about to fill the ensuing silence with further details. ‘Is there anything left in that bottle?’

By the time I’d been handed a full glass of wine and helped myself to a scoop each of Mum’s beetroot nachos and Dad’s cheesy doughballs, Mum had wobbled, causing a carved wooden angel to fall off her shoulder and ending the penultimate round.

‘If there’s none of the usual messing about we can squeeze in the final round before midnight!’ she announced. ‘It’s two points to each team. Bea, you can join Henry and your father. Here we go. Time to play Which Armstrong Am I?’