‘Of course he’s real, Martha,’ Simon says, gilding his voice with honey to hide the panic bubbling underneath. ‘What would even be the point of Christmas if Santa Claus didn’t exist?’ Beth pushes her lips together. Simon picks Church of England every time a form asks for his religious identity, and she understands he was dragged to church quite frequently as a child, but he doesn’t seem to hold any actual religious beliefs. For her part, she always ticks the non-religious box. But the ten or so years that she spent going to Mass every Sunday have left an indelible mark on her conscience, so Simon completely neglecting to mention the nativity isn’t easy to stomach.

But of course she stays silent. Simon doesn’t even know she was brought up Catholic, and revealing it is a risk she doesn’t need to take.

‘Olivia says there are two billion children in the world. And that there’s no way one man could deliver presents to all of them in one night.’

‘He has elves,’ Ava points out hopefully.

‘And Olivia is missing the point,’ Simon says, sounding more confident now, warming to his theme. ‘Father Christmas isn’t a man – not like me or Grandpa, or Olivia’s daddy. He’s a magical creature, a symbol of what Christmas represents. Family, kindness, generosity, charity …’

‘PRESENTS!’ Ava screeches, this time adding a spinning motion. Luna takes this as her cue to join in, and starts chasing her tail and barking at the frustration of not catching it. Martha drops to her knees, her suspicions cast aside for now, and dissolves into giggles as she tries to slow the manic cockapoo down.

‘And presents,’ Simon finishes, winking at Beth. She smiles in response and takes in the view. Two lovely daughters playing with their family pet. A handsome and loving husband, shrugging off his Hugo Boss overcoat and unknotting his Tom Ford tie. A beautiful home and privileged lifestyle. The perfect tableau.

So why is she struggling to breathe?

Because of a stinking teenager with a ridiculous idea in his head? Or the memory of her mum sobbing down the phone? She’s worked so hard to protect what she’s built, this perfect life; surely she’s got the strength to get through this blip too? She takes a deep breath, smiles more warmly this time. ‘Drink?’ she asks.

‘Well, it is the last Monday at school before Christmas, I suppose,’ Simon answers. ‘Let’s open a bottle of red.’

Beth retreats to the kitchen and pulls an Argentine Malbec out of the wine rack, pretending not to notice that her hands are shaking again. As she slides it inside the electric bottle opener, she hears Simon drop onto the stool in front of the island unit.

‘This is addressed to you,’ he says.

‘What is?’ she asks, her back to him as she pours wine into two glass tumblers.