Peter seemed to be steeling himself to face us, as he took an overly long time to wipe his hands on a tea towel, before turning around. ‘Hello, you two. Happy Christmas!’

I wished my heart didn’t still flip at the sight of him but I was powerless to stop it. I moved into his reluctant embrace and gazed up at him with a massive fake smile. ‘Happy Christmas, Peter! That mulled wine smells divine … almost makes me wish I could drink it.’

Peter flushed immediately and threw Jo a panicked look, before clearing his throat. ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that you can … I made it non-alcoholic this year, knowing you didn’t drink.’

‘Did you? You didn’t say.’ For the first time ever, I thought Jo sounded annoyed, which pleased me enormously.

Peter reached for a glass and poured a generous serving, which he handed to me with the air of someone who was giving a dog a treat, whilst half-expecting it to bite their hand.

I took it from him, making sure to brush his hand with mine as I did so. I gazed deliberately at him over the rim of the heavy pewter goblet as I drank. It was possibly the most horrible concoction I had ever tasted – a cross between clove mouthwash and corked wine. ‘How wonderful,’ I managed, trying not to gag as I swallowed each mouthful. Peter’s face was almost puce by now, as he tried to maintain his neutral expression.

‘Well,’ Jo cried, clapping her hands like a hyperactive 4-year-old child. ‘Let’s go through and make ourselves comfortable, shall we? Bella, are you sure you won’t take off your coat?’

‘No.’ I adopted a pained look. ‘I’d rather keep it on as I’m feeling a bit chilled.’ I glanced up at Peter with an overly apologetic smile.

‘Oh dear, I do hope you’re not sickening for something?’ Peter’s words were loaded with sarcasm but somehow I didn’t think anyone else would have picked up on it.

‘Pregnancy’s not an illness, is it, Bella?’ Jo said sharply, confirming my theory.

‘Um, no, I guess not,’ I said, in what I hoped was a hurt tone, giving a little shudder for good measure.

After a stilted silence, during which Ben looked at his mum with a satisfyingly accusatory stare, the four of us made our way into the sitting room. I sat down gingerly, wincing slightly as I did so, even though there was actually nothing to wince at.

‘Are you OK, darling?’ Ben’s face was full of concern.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I told him with a brave smile.

‘What time is Emma getting here?’ Ben asked Peter. I’d almost forgotten she would be here, too and I had to make a real effort to stop my lip curling.

Peter looked at his watch. ‘Any time now, I should imagine. I told her she should have hitched a lift with you two. Seems a bit crazy to bring two cars to do the same journey.’