She turned to look at him. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“What?”

“I’m still shaken by the salmon. What else have you been keeping from me?”

“I’m not wild about beetroot, either.”

She laughed. “I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about other stuff. Big stuff.”

He put his arm round her and pulled her closer. “There’s not much to know.”

“Of course there is. What’s your earliest memory?”

“Trying to pull the tail off our cat and discovering it was attached.”

“Ouch.” She winced. “Did it retaliate?”

“No. She was a patient cat. What’s your earliest memory?”

She leaned against his shoulder. “Mine is weird.”

“Go on.”

“I remember shouting.”

“Shouting?”

“I told you it was weird. And my parents never shouted in their lives, so it makes no sense. I even asked my mother about it once.”

“And?”

“She said I must have imagined it.” She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck. “Maybe I did.”

“What were they shouting?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember the words, just the tone. So maybe I dreamed it.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it merged with another memory.”

“The earliest memory I recall properly was starting nursery school and being told to make a car. All they gave me was a piece of paper, so it seemed like an unreasonable request to me. Naturally, I cried.”

“Naturally. Does this story have a happy ending?”

“Yes. It turned out the woman said card, but her diction wasn’t great. So that was a lot of trauma for nothing. It took my mother two hours and a hefty bribe to persuade me to go back the next day. She was wearing a scarf, and I hung on so tightly I almost strangled her. But once I understood what they wanted I turned into a card production line. Everyone had homemade cards that Christmas.” She watched a boat cutting silently through the water. “Tell me about your Christmases when you were a child.”

“What do you want to know?”

“All of it. I want to know every single thing about you. What were your favorite traditions?”

“I don’t have any.”

“You must have at least one. Okay, I’ll go first. Ours was getting the tree. We’d wait until my dad was home from work and then all go together. And they always argued about the size. Mum wanted a small one that wouldn’t take too much room, but my dad wanted a giant one.” Thinking about it made her smile. “He always won, but it was the only thing he ever did win, so I think secretly my mother liked the big tree. Once we’d chosen one, we’d drag it home, and we’d pull out all the decorations we’d had forever, and Alix and I would have hot chocolate and dance to Christmas music while Dad did the lights.”

“That’s why you do the same with Holly.”

“Yes. Tradition, I suppose.” She felt a stab of nostalgia for that simple, carefree time. “Now it’s your turn.”