The journey to Annie’s would take less than half an hour but it was enough time for me to probe Ben.

‘So how are you feeling about spending Christmas Day with your wife and mother,’ I said light-heartedly before looking away out of the window. Ben’s non-response was all I needed to know that he was not all right with it. The silence hung for a few minutes before he spoke.

‘I wanted to spend it with you. Just us, you know? But Mum’s asked… I’d feel a bit wrong not seeing her at Christmas.’ I squeezed Ben’s knee. ‘It’s a strange relationship, I know, but it was always just us. No one else, she never let anyone else in. She has a hard time trusting people.’

‘Well what about your mates, you must have had mates at school?’ I asked

‘Mmm, not really. I remember this one kid, Joe.’ Ben spoke with fondness. ‘One day I went round to Joe’s house after school. Mum had to go into hospital, she had a dodgy leg or something and needed an operation. I remember because she was beside herself. She didn’t want to leave me. Joe’s mum had made fish pie with fresh green cabbage and homemade brown bread to mop up all the white sauce afterwards. I had a huge glass of homemade lemonade and two helpings of homemade fruit trifle. I even got given a portion to take home with me in a little silver foil tray with a lid. I remember that meal so vividly; Mum’s food was good, but this was like, different good.’ Ben released the wheel with one hand to give my hand a quick squeeze. ‘That day I remember, I had fallen over at school and torn my trousers, so when me and Joe were tucking in, Joe’s mum sat and sewed up my trousers, whilst I sat in a pair of Joe’s old trackie-bottoms. It was nice. She sat and listened to us boys chatting, you can imagine it, can’t you? Two young lads, manic from a day at school, so much to say. Anyway, she was awesome, Joe’s mum, because she joined in our conversations every now and again and the rest of the time I felt, well, just really comfortable in her silence.

‘I got home that night and told Mum all about it. I told Mum about the food, I gave her the trifle portion and said it was for her and then showed her the place where the hole had been in my trousers. I remember her face, all screwed up, looking at the trousers and examining the perfectly neat sewing and then she just turned her nose up. I remember it. I remember that look, Daisy.

‘I wanted to say to my mum, is that what a mum should be like, is that how I should normally feel? Because it felt so good. Because usually, Daze, it feels, I don’t know how to explain it, awkward, I guess. I know she’s my mum, but sometimes she can be hard work, you know?’