I go to the door to see them in, and Martin parks right at the porch as he always does so that Matthew doesn’t have to manoeuvre far in his chair. It’s raining lightly, so I open an umbrella and hold it outside to shelter them both on their way in. Martin normally races to the boot to get the wheelchair and bring it round to the passenger side to Matthew but as he opens the boot this time, he tells me to go inside and keep dry.

‘I can manage, honestly,’ he says to me. ‘We’ve a present for you all and it’s in the boot so I’d rather you waited inside. Don’t want to ruin the surprise so gather everyone up, will you, Charlotte?’

‘OK,’ I tell him, my face puzzled. ‘I’ll leave the door open then and gather the others into the sitting room, shall I?’

‘Perfect!’ says Martin. I lean down quickly before I go in and give my brother a wave. He has dyed his hair a blinding shade of blue, taking me back to my student days when my father used to joke that Matthew had experimented with every colour of the rainbow.

‘Martin doesn’t want us to see our Christmas present,’ I tell the rest of my family, ‘so he’s asked me to bring you all into the sitting room.’

Harry, Kevin and Jack grunt as they make their way in from the kitchen, unimpressed, I can tell, that I’ve interrupted some very important rugby chat, and Dad needs convincing that Martin doesn’t need any help with getting Matthew into his chair.

Mam, Emily and I share glances of confusion. Normally our Christmas present from Matthew is something totally impractical and his effort at a joke, which sometimes can be irritating. Like the time he bought Emily a ‘Grow a Boyfriend’ kit when she was sixteen and heartbroken, or when he thought it would be funny to present me with a ‘Hot Firemen’ calendar which ended up in his own bedroom … With hindsight I can see now how that all makes sense.

I hear them shuffling into the hallway and almost have to sit on my hands to stop myself going to their aid, and Dad just can’t control himself.

‘Let me at least get your bags!’ he calls out from his pew on the armchair by the fire.

‘In a minute,’ calls Martin. ‘Just let us get in first. We’re nearly there and don’t want to ruin the surprise.’

Mam starts to chatter, as usual unable to be quiet for long, and then Matthew calls in at her to give it a rest for just five minutes.

‘Well, that’s me told off.’

‘Ssh!’