Returning to the sofa, where Monty was once more installed, the sharp ring of the bell made her start. Immediately she was on guard, her heartbeat sky-rocketing. Who would call so late on Christmas Eve? Holding her breath as she listened, she knew exactly what she was afraid of. I’m imagining things, she tried to tell herself. But she tiptoed as quietly as possible to the front door, gingerly sliding the cover of the peephole across and peering through.

Connie smiled and gave a huge sigh of relief. Turning the key for the double lock, she pulled open the door to the cold wetness of the night and greeted Tessa’s American neighbour, Melanie, whom Connie had met a couple of times, coming and going in the street.

‘Don’t mean to disturb you, Connie,’ she said, smiling, as she hovered on the slick steps, hands clutching her thick cardigan round her body, her dark hair glistening with drizzle. ‘But Noah and I wondered if you’d care to join us for Christmas lunch? We’ve got a couple of friends coming by. Otherwise it’s just us and the kids.’

Connie knew Tessa must have put her up to this. How else would Melanie have known I was on my own? She hesitated, acutely embarrassed by her situation and wondering what Tessa had told her.

‘Wow, that’s really kind. I’d love that … but I’ve not been feeling that great today. I’m worried I might be coming down with something.’ Which was no word of a lie. And she was sure she looked a wreck.

Melanie frowned. ‘Sorry to hear that. There’s a ton of stuff doing the rounds. But if you feel better and change your mind, just come over around one. No need to call first.’

They wished each other a happy Christmas, and Connie closed the door gratefully. The Finemans seemed a lovely couple, but she couldn’t face witnessing someone else’s family engaged in what she would normally be enjoying.

She leaned her back against the door for a moment, closing her eyes, then was jerked upright by another brief ding of the bell. Melanie again, she thought, and composed her features into a smile as she swung the heavy door open once more.

But the person she found herself face to face with was not Melanie this time. Jared, dressed in a heavy tweed coat, collar turned up, a striped scarf draped casually around his neck, stood, breathing hard, on the top step. His face was pink with cold. In his right hand he carried a small white-paper carrier bag. ‘Happy Christmas, Connie,’ he said, with a broad smile.

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