Then, unaccompanied, Mary McIntyre, a young soprano, sang the first verse of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ and the choir entered, each member carrying a candle as they walked down the aisle towards the choir stalls. Tom and Lily joined in the second verse and she smiled up at him. It was a fine Yorkshire Christmas occasion, with local farmers singing alongside members of the Ragley Women’s Institute. Lessons were read and custom acknowledged: the pattern of the age-old service was woven into the tapestry of this special time.

Following messages of goodwill from the congregation, Tom drove slowly and carefully back to Kirkby Steepleton. It was a strange, eerie journey through countryside emptied of wildlife and still as stone. Eventually the car crunched to a halt a short distance from Lily’s gate and they sat there in silence. The beech tree next door to Laurel Cottage meant that the car could not be seen from Florence’s bedroom window and Lily smiled at Tom’s forethought. Steam covered the windows and it was as if they were in their own private cocoon.

‘Thanks, Tom. I appreciate the lift.’

He turned to face her. ‘Any time.’

‘My first Christmas in Yorkshire,’ she said.

Tom rubbed the steam from the windscreen and stared out. ‘I love living here.’

‘Same here,’ said Lily. ‘It’s my home now. I’ve moved on.’

‘I’m glad you did,’ said Tom softly.

‘This time of year is so special,’ said Lily and she shifted in her seat so she could look up at him. ‘You’ll be with your mother tomorrow.’

‘Yes. Her brother, my uncle Don, and his wife are coming over from Scarborough. It’s always the same – turkey, home-made crackers and paper hats. My mother loves it and slaves away all morning preparing the meal.’

‘I’ll be with my mother and Freddie, just the three of us. At times like this I miss my dad.’

He leaned towards her and stroked her hair. ‘I understand.’

They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, while outside ragged clouds drifted across the sky. The moon cast a cold pallid light and ghostly shadows danced on the walls of the cottage. It was a hunter’s moon, bright and big, when the moon was closest to Earth.

‘There’s something I want to say,’ said Lily and then there was a pause, followed by an imperceptible shake of the head. ‘Perhaps another time.’

Her face tilted up towards Tom and he wanted to kiss her, but something held him back.

He wasn’t sure.

Does she want to be kissed? he wondered.

If not now it may be never.