‘Since that night,’ Simon reminds her. ‘The night when you crossed paths with that idiot.’

‘Yes, but it’s not only about Mark.’ An image of her shrunken dad hijacks Beth’s thoughts suddenly, but she shakes it away. She’ll need time to process her dad’s illness, what it means, but not now, not on this special day with her family. ‘I don’t like strangers commenting on my business,’ she chooses. ‘And after Saskia put that post on MyNeighbour, it felt like everyone was gossiping about me, judging my actions.’

‘I agree she should have asked you first,’ Simon starts carefully, ‘but people are just proud of you, and I don’t think you should blame Saskia for how tough things have been when that vile Mark character has been pushing threatening notes through our letterbox and terrorising our children.’ Simon pushes his lips together so hard that they almost disappear.

‘He’s really got to you, hasn’t he?’

Simon forces air through his nose. ‘Wouldn’t it be stranger if he hadn’t? I mean, sometimes I wonder why he hasn’t got to you more.’

Beth doesn’t answer him. There’s a chocolate treat wrapped in red and green foil shining on a tree branch, and Beth tries to draw some strength from Martha and Ava’s squeals as they spot it. Simon doesn’t know about those tiny white crutches that live in her old winter boot. ‘I just thought that ignoring him would be the best way to strip the oxygen out of his anger.’

‘And now? After what he did to Ava?’

‘It’s different now,’ she says quietly.

Simon smiles with relief – kindred spirits again – and Beth lets herself be pulled closer as his arm snakes around her shoulder. They walk like that for a while until they spot Santa’s grotto, and then all four of them quicken their pace, while Beth also searches her bag for the antiseptic wipes.

Both girls choose Simon to chaperone them. It could be because they’ve missed him over the last few days, but Beth suspects it’s more to do with their feeling nervous, and wanting his reassuring presence. Children are good at picking up signals, and Martha and Ava seem to know that she’s the more anxious parent; they’re clearly harder to con than the mums at Nightingales. So Beth is left in charge of Ava’s tig-tig and the communal rucksack, complete with water bottles and snacks. There’s a small marquee next to the grotto serving stewed tea in plastic cups, so she picks one up and sinks down into a child-sized chair.