‘We’ve tried,’ Dad said. ‘No one thinks that spending all that money on a roof is a good use of funds.’

I didn’t even suggest they look for a more economical, robust location. Charis House was the Armstrong family home. Without the house, there would be no school. And then what would my parents do? The thought of Mum living in the Coach House while the main house stood empty was too awful to contemplate.

‘What’s going to happen?’

‘We don’t know yet,’ Jed replied. ‘We still have a couple of avenues to explore. But, well. It isn’t looking great. If it comes to it, if we can sell the house then at least it won’t fall into ruin.’

Dad rubbed Mum’s back as she stifled a sob.

‘Why did nobody tell me this?’

‘This is why,’ Mia said, gesturing at Mum and Dad. ‘Cora wanted one last, perfect Christmas to remember. Not hushed conversations and everyone feeling sad because we might never get to do this again.’

Now it all made sense. The itinerary, the compulsory participation. Every spare minute crammed with Christmas.

‘And I thought all this fuss was because I’ll be dead next year!’ Nana Joy announced, around a mouthful of toast.

‘Mother!’ Dad exclaimed, before faltering over what to say next.

‘Nothing lasts forever,’ she added, pointing the remaining chunk of toast at each of us in turn. ‘Each for its own time. We’ve lived our dreams. It’s Bea’s turn, now. Give her your blessing for this interview. Why should she stay here pretending not to be miserable, just because you lot are?’

I scanned the faces of my family, hoping that they would tell me to go and give it my best shot, even as I wrestled with wanting to stay for solidarity’s sake.

‘And if this handsome young man is driving – well! If she doesn’t take him up on the offer, I might have to instead!’

We were forty-five minutes behind schedule by the time we left. It had been all hands to the shovel to clear the end of the driveway. Thankfully, Henry’s car was parked by his flat, on the far side of the main house, leaving a much smaller area to clear than if we’d set off from the Coach House.

We dumped our suitcases in the back of his Honda along with winter-weather supplies including blankets and a torch. Mum handed me a bag with enough ‘wholesome’ snacks to get us to the North Pole, and a flask of tea. Dad gave me a hug and told me to just be ‘your wonderful self, Sweet-Bea,’ and I then found myself sitting in a car with Henry Fairfax, with the disconcerting knowledge that I was going to be in this position for a long time.

‘Ready?’ he asked, slipping on his anti-glare glasses.

‘As I’ll ever be.’