‘I wouldn’t be without him,’ Annie said with a matter-of-fact tone to her voice.

‘I know, I know,’ I said.

Ben put an arm around his mum, but as I watched, I saw it was forced and uncomfortable; they didn’t seem to have an easy mother and son way about them. For two people who had spent their lives together, living in close proximity and with such intimacy, I couldn’t work out why they touched one another as though each of them were covered in prickles.

That night, as Christmas Day edged its way into Boxing day, I struggled to sleep in the unfamiliar room that Ben had slept in all his life. I thought back over the day. Annie had made a real effort. The food was good, but I wished I was able to drink more, then maybe I wouldn’t have struggled when I had to open the presents she gave me. I had to force my face into a smile when I saw that she had given me floral embroidered handkerchiefs and a coarse-looking lavender soap. Annie accepted our Yankee Candle and chocolate fondue set with grace, but there was an edge to her smile as she placed them to the side of her having barely inspected them.

I could feel an uncomfortable pulling sensation so I took one pillow from under my head and shoved it under my belly on the right side. I lay there and I listened to the old house moaning and groaning. The wind was whipping across the already battered exterior and the waves were thrashing against the low wall at the end of the garden. I felt as though I were waking every half an hour. Ben was muttering in his sleep.

‘Ben,’ I called out softly. He didn’t wake. His lips were still moving.

‘Emma,’ he mumbled.

‘Ben.’ I tried again, this time with a little more volume. Ben shot upright.

‘What, what?’ he said in a panicky voice. His breath was fast and he was grasping for something around him that wasn’t there. I leant over to the bedside table and picked up a glass of water. The bright moon brought a sliver of light into the room and illuminated the white clock face on the bedside table. I could just make out it was about 3 a.m.

‘Here, have a drink,’ I said too curtly; the name Emma rang in my ears.

It had been the same every night since we had met. I had been convinced it was a one-off the first night we spent together but every night, with or without alcohol in his system, Ben would fall into a deep sleep and the mutterings would begin. They would never escalate to more than incomprehensible murmurs, but occasionally a name would escape through the strange sounds.

‘So what was is it this time?’ It was unlikely we would wake Annie all the way down the hall with our chatting, but I whispered as though the hour suggested I should.