Jonathan slept far better that night than I did, but in spite of that I could tell he was in a bit of a grump the next morning by the way he threw back the covers and disappeared into the bathroom. The proposal Dolly had predicted had still to materialise and I couldn’t really imagine that he was going to ask me today, not if his less-than-sunny early-morning attitude was anything to go by.

‘Are you looking forward to your massage?’ I asked when he finally reappeared, his hair damp from the shower.

‘What?’

‘Your massage,’ I said again. ‘In the spa.’

‘Oh yeah,’ he shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘I thought I might come with you.’

I didn’t particularly fancy it to be honest, but if sticking together helped alleviate his bad mood then I would give it a go. Having me glued to his side was usually just how he liked things.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked when he didn’t say anything.

‘Nothing.’

‘I daresay you’re feeling a bit jetlagged.’

‘It’s not that,’ he interrupted a little sharply.

So, it was something then. I waited for him to elaborate.

‘I just wish we had longer together, that’s all.’

‘I’m sorry about that,’ I told him.

I was still annoyed I hadn’t thought to cancel my Winter Wonderland plans but was relieved that I had had the sense to factor in some wriggle room when I told Dolly I would be back in Wynbridge in time for school the following morning.

I supposed if Jonathan really put his parts on then I could extend our stay in the hotel for another night, so long as we left first thing in the morning and I was at the school gate before the bell went.

‘I still don’t see what’s so important that it’s stopping you from coming back to the flat with me today.’

I hadn’t factored in that much wriggle room. I opened my mouth to tell him about the Wish List and Dolly’s reason behind suggesting it, but stopped. Jonathan wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t get it at all.

‘Come on,’ he said peevishly when I didn’t answer. ‘I’m starving. I want to go down to breakfast. Hurry up, will you?’

The breakfast was every bit as lavish as the rooms. One of the waiting staff ticked our room number off the list, showed us to a table and began to run through the help yourself set-up.

‘We know the drill,’ Jonathan grumbled.

I watched the young girl turn red.

‘And I used to work in a hotel,’ I told her with a supportive smile, ‘so I know how these things work.’

She nodded, her cheeks flushed pink.

‘It’s hotel policy, to explain everything,’ she mumbled, then took our drink order and scurried away.

‘What did you have to say that for?’ Jonathan demanded.

‘What?’

‘That you worked in a hotel.’