‘Right,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘How do you two fancy coming to hear some Christmas carols? There’s a children’s concert on at the church. I organize it for Dad every year and it’s lots of fun. The children get to see the baby Jesus in the crib and sing some carols, then it’s back to the church hall for a little party with Father Christmas.’

At those words Joe squeals with delight.

‘Father Christmas! Want to see Father Christmas.’

He jumps into Isobel’s arms, his face beaming with happiness.

‘Ooh,’ cries Isobel, pretending to fall backwards. ‘I think that’s my answer. Let’s get going then. It starts in twenty minutes.’

I smile politely as I follow Isobel to the car but inside I feel nervous. What if someone recognizes me from the article? If it made the Sunday Times then the story must be all over the news, TV as well as the papers. I reassure myself with the thought that the photo shows a woman with long blonde hair and now mine’s short and dark. But as I get into the passenger seat I feel a lump of panic settle into my stomach. Please let it be dark in there, I think to myself as Isobel starts the car and we head off towards the village.

Five minutes later we’re at the church and as we step inside I forget my nerves for a few moments. It looks so beautiful. The pews have been decorated with evergreens and holly berries, candles flicker all around, and up on the altar, gathered round the crib of the baby Jesus, are about a dozen children aged between three and five.

‘Where’s Father Christmas?’ says Joe, his voice echoing around the tiny space.

‘He’s coming later,’ whispers Isobel, taking his hand. ‘But first I’m going to take you to see baby Jesus. Would you like that?’

Joe nods his head and Isobel gestures to me to sit in the front pew.

‘I’ll take him up,’ she says, smiling. ‘You can get a good view from there.’

I hesitate. Might it be better to sit at the back, so I can’t be seen? But then most of the people in here are parents whose attention is solely on their kids up on the altar. Still, I make sure not to make eye contact with any of them as I slip into the pew and watch Joe and Isobel take their places alongside the crib. Isobel raises her hand to someone at the back of the church and the opening bars of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ strike up on the organ. It’s the most beautiful sound and as I watch the children sing I’m transported back to my own childhood and the tiny All Saints Church where my parents and I would go on Christmas Eve to listen to the carols. I catch Joe’s eye and wave but he looks away then nuzzles his head into Isobel’s leg. Whatever closeness we’d just achieved by the lake has been ripped away and I’m back where I started. All around me sit parents with their children; families all huddled together, getting ready for Christmas. And here I am. An outcast. A failure. I look down at the carol hymn sheet but the words dissolve in front of my eyes.