‘Eggnog sounds fantastic, Annie,’ I said, realising I would need to show extra enthusiasm for both of us to get us through the day.

‘Should you be drinking in your condition, Daisy?’ Annie said and looked directly at me with those accusing eyes. I wondered when she might begin to think of the baby as her grandchild and not a condition.

‘Well, surely one drink can’t hurt anyone can it, Annie?’ I said. Her eyes remained fixed on me for a few seconds whilst Ben busied himself removing his boots. Both of us held the stare without wavering, then suddenly she spun around and headed for the lounge. She walked straight over to the tree and began fiddling with an ornament.

I pulled Ben towards the lounge but stopped in the doorway and gasped, astounded by the décor.

There was no suggestion from the outside of Annie’s beach house that it was Christmas. There were no lights or decorations anywhere outside the front door to hint that it was one of the most special times of the year, yet when we entered the lounge area it was like Annie was the Grinch and she had stolen Christmas and stuffed it in its entirety into her front room. My eyes prickled with tears. There was a huge, albeit fake, Christmas tree, decorated with gold and red bows and twinkling fairy lights and hand-painted ornaments. A gold star was planted on the top. All around the tree were presents wrapped in an array of seasonal coloured wrapping paper; golds, reds and silvers sprouted from beneath the branches. Next to the fireplace was an ornamental nativity scene and on the coffee table was a large bowl full of nuts and oranges with cloves in them. The smell hit my nostrils and I could feel my heart quicken. This was Christmas. I realised that what I was feeling was an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. Annie was by my side looking at me.

‘Do you like it, Daisy?’

‘This room… it’s… amazing.’ I gave my eyes a surreptitious wipe. Ben was smiling, but only at me. ‘I can’t believe my eyes!’ I looked at Annie who stood behind us looking like a pleased twit in all her Christmas getup.

‘Well, yes, I like to make an effort at Christmas.’ She walked over to the mantelpiece. ‘I have kept all the decorations from when Ben was a little boy and each year I buy a new ornament for the tree, don’t I, Ben? Except that year when I had to buy all new ornaments.’

‘Mum, please.’ Ben looked visibly stressed. He pulled his hand through his hair and squeezed it hard at the nape of his neck.

‘What’s all this about?’ I asked, looking back and forth between them both.

‘Well, it’s just Ben has a little fascination with Christmas trees, don’t you son? He almost burnt the house down one year. Couldn’t have been more than six or seven…’

‘I was five, Mum,’ Ben said firmly.