‘Okay, great.’ I checked the time, grateful for his tact. ‘I won’t need more than fifteen minutes.’

When he arrived back, I was primped, preened, and replying to one of my social media regulars, a young man who was housebound due to ill health, but who contacted me every week or so asking about the weather for imaginary trips he’d plan from his sofa.

I quickly pressed send, shut down the myriad weather websites I’d been scouring in preparation for the day ahead, and went to find some breakfast.

‘Good morning, I hope you had a restful night.’ One of Melody’s boys bowed as he opened a gold door leading into a dining hall.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I replied, giving him a nod and a wink as I walked past.

Inside the hall was a long, dark table that must have been able to seat twenty at least. There were currently four of my fellow candidates clustered at the far end, while another two stood at a side table, helping themselves to food. All the decorations in this room were silver, including a galaxy of stars covering the high ceiling, and pots containing large, spray-painted branches lining the walls. I got a jolt when I glanced at the large wall of windows and saw several snowmen pressed up against the glass, their beady eyes and wonky smiles looking decidedly sinister.

Another boy handed me a plate, and as soon as I’d sat down with my smoked salmon and eggs, a third one offered me a hot drink.

‘I hope you boys haven’t been working all night,’ I said, sitting back to allow him to pour me a steaming mug of tea.

‘We were meant to be sledging today but then most of the actual workers phoned to say they’re too poorly to come in,’ he replied with a shrug.

‘Well, that’s very noble of you to step in at short notice.’

‘Mum said if we don’t grumble and do a good job we get to open two Christmas presents early, and have pizza for tea and chocolate for breakfast.’

‘Sounds like a great deal. Can I get a job here, too?’

He grinned. ‘There’s not enough chocolate.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll try to get the weather job instead.’

The atmosphere was cautiously friendly, with a simmering undercurrent of tension. Calvin Cotton was poring over a laptop, while a woman, Fenella, sat opposite me jabbing her half grapefruit over and over with a spoon while not actually eating any of it.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘I’d be a lot better if I wasn’t below your driver on the scoreboard.’

Ah, yes, Fenella had ended the night in bottom place.

'It’s all a bit unconventional, isn’t it?’