As I took it in, I felt like a teenager again. After shifts at the hotel, I’d sometimes walk the streets of London at night, peering into the windows of the grand town houses nearby. I did it a lot at Christmas, imagining myself in there with my family. Remembering how it had once been, surrounded by the family I thought would for ever be devoted to me. I’d looked up the definition of ‘devotion’ once: Love, loyalty or enthusiasm for a person or activity. That summed up what being a parent is. Love, loyalty and enthusiasm … no matter what. But there had been a limit for my parents.

I noticed Dylan watching me, a slight wrinkle in his forehead. I forced a smile. ‘Very festive,’ I said, gesturing to the huge Christmas tree in the window.

‘The McCluskys don’t do anything by halves,’ he replied as we walked towards the front door. He opened it and gestured for me to step in before him. I was instantly struck by the contrast between the house’s chilly exterior and warm interior: inviting oak panelling, the smell of an open fire and Christmas spices, the delicious warmth of its air compared to the icy white setting outside. A large patterned rug lay in the middle of the hallway, and two wooden stairways swept up towards a balconied landing. Another Christmas tree stood at the back of the hall, so high the star at the top reached the top of the railing on the balcony. A stag-antler chandelier hung from the ceiling on chains, golden lights glistening.

It was just Dylan and me in the hallway, but I could hear talking in the distance, laughter, the faint trace of Christmas music tinkling from speakers. I could also hear people walking around on the floorboards above me. Perhaps they were getting ready for dinner in their rooms.

Now I felt even more like an impostor.

The sound of barking rang out and two glossy black Labradors came scooting through, nearly knocking me off my feet as they jumped up at me. ‘Down, down,’ Dylan said, shoving them out of the way. ‘Dad never trained them for anything but fetching game.’

‘I don’t mind,’ I said, fussing over them. ‘I love dogs.’

Dylan helped me shrug my wet coat off. ‘I’ll show you to the guest room,’ he said. ‘You can have a bath, shower, whatever you prefer. I’ll dig some of my sisters’ clothes out for you.’

I hesitated. ‘Are you sure this is okay?’

‘You’ve had a near-death experience. Go sort yourself out, and I’ll warn the others we have a trespasser in our home,’ he added with a faint smile. He placed the wet items on a radiator and led me up the stairs. I held onto the rail, looking around me. There were no family photos on the walls, just shelves containing beautiful wooden sculptures of trees, animals, the lodge itself.