She’d reached for her mobile on the bedside table. I will call him, she decided. But as her finger hovered over his contact details, she saw the time on the screen: it was the middle of the night. Devan would be fast asleep, full of delicious samosas and too much champagne, cosy in Caitlin’s comfortable spare bed – where Connie had languished with that horrible chest infection in the summer. On Christmas morning, he’d be woken by little Bash and his cheeky grin, who’d climb in with his grandpa, all sleepy and warm and completely adorable.

Connie had put her phone down, too tired even to acknowledge the searing ache around her heart.

Now, she lay listening to the silence. No one was out and about at this time on Christmas Day. Even the persistent traffic hum from the hill had stilled. She wondered what on earth she could do with her day. There was a service at the Unitarian church at eleven. It was a bright morning: perhaps she could walk on the Heath. There was the Finemans’ kind offer of lunch, or the chicken and leek pie if she stayed in. All of which were things she might enjoy. None of which she felt she could. So, she rolled over and gradually fell back into a fitful sleep.

She was woken by her mobile blasting from the bedside table. Snatching it up, her heart pumping from the shock of being pulled abruptly from sleep, she prayed it was the family. But Neil’s cheerful voice was wishing her a happy Christmas.

‘This place is so bloody gorgeous, darling,’ he went on. ‘We’ve done rainforests and turtles on the beach and hanging bridges and howler monkeys … you wouldn’t believe.’

‘Sounds amazing.’ Connie couldn’t help laughing at his childlike enthusiasm.

After a further excitable exposition of the wonders of Costa Rica, Neil’s voice sobered. ‘How’s it going with you? Do I smell the toxic whiff of Brussels sprouts across the airwaves?’

‘Afraid not. Tessa’s up in Scotland with her daughter. It’s just me.’

She heard a sharp intake of breath. ‘You’re all alone?’

‘It’s fine. Tessa’s neighbours have asked me over for lunch. And it’s a lovely day. I’ll do a Heath walk, and there’s a service …’ She thought she sounded admirably convincing as she lied her way through her reply. But Neil wasn’t fooled.

‘Hmm. So what are you really doing?’

She tried to maintain her composure, keeping her tone light. ‘I’m lying in bed feeling sorry for myself, if you must know.’

‘Bummer. I wish you were here. We’d cheer you up.’ There was a pause. ‘Any word from the old homestead?’

‘Caty tried to call, but I missed her. Ash phoned, bless him. They’re all OK, but clearly still avoiding me like the plague.’

‘Cruel.’