‘How on earth do you remember that?’ I asked, as a faint memory of our parents trying to force us to dance together at a previous Christmas party flashed into my mind.

‘It’s the kind of insult that leaves a scar.’

‘Oh, shut up! You were equally repelled by the idea.’

Henry said nothing, but his chest rose and fell with a long, slow breath. His fleece smelled smoky from the evening’s fire pit, with the faintest trace of perspiration. It was the scent of a thousand childhood memories, overwhelmingly familiar and strangely comforting despite the awkward situation.

If it had been any other boy, I would have felt highly dubious about their motives, or the message I was sending by being here. But this was Henry, and, however annoying he might be, I knew he’d treat this with the detached logic he applied to every situation. I also trusted him, absolutely.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Henry asked, his quiet rumble interrupting the silence.

I waited while a few of his steady heartbeats thumped against the side of my head before answering. ‘About what?’ Honestly, I was half afraid to ask.

‘You were crying. When you came in.’

Oh.

‘No, I really don’t.’ One of the hardest things about being with Adam was that I didn’t have anyone to talk to about him, but if I did decide to talk, Henry would be the last person I confided in. My abrupt answer had stirred up some of the previous tension, however, and I needed to find something to say to settle it back down again.

‘So… halt?’

Henry froze.

‘For a second there I thought I’d stumbled across a highwayman’s secret lair.’

‘I think you must have misheard. All I said was… cough. I coughed.’ He did a strangled cross between a cough and the word ‘halt’ as if to prove it. ‘See? An understandable error, given the circumstances.’

‘Oka-a-a-ay, that explains it, then. When you said “halt”—’ I coughed this, in an exaggerated imitation ‘—I thought you said “halt”.’ The second time I repeated it in exactly the same way. ‘My bad.’

I could hear Henry rubbing his head with the hand that wasn’t resting on my arm, as if trying to fire up his brain.

‘If you could programme a robot to make your Christmas better, what would it do?’

‘What?’ I had to laugh at this totally Henry-ish change of subject. ‘I have absolutely no idea. But I’ve a funny feeling you’ve thought long and hard about it.’

‘I’d get it to wrap presents.’

‘Seriously? Not find a way to provide gifts for children in poverty or convert all the waste generated into renewable energy? All the brilliant things it could do, and you want something to wrap presents.’