There are two green Chesterfield sofas on either side of an oblong oak coffee table. The walls are covered in framed prints of pastoral scenes but the room is dominated by a huge open fire. It crackles and spits as Joe and I stand staring at it in wonder.

‘Sit yourselves down,’ says Isobel. ‘And I’ll go get us some drinks. You can charge your phone over there.’

She points to a rather grand-looking desk. There’s a plug socket on the wall above it.

‘Thanks, Isobel,’ I say, but when I turn to look she has already disappeared into the hall.

After I’ve plugged my phone in I lift Joe on to the sofa then take a look around. I feel uneasy in this house. There’s a feeling of dust and decay about it despite its immaculate facade, as though it’s been frozen in time. I try to repress a shiver as Isobel comes back into the room holding a blue-and-white-striped jar.

‘Now, who would like a biscuit?’ she says, holding the jar towards Joe. ‘I’ve got Jammy Dodgers or choc chip cookies.’

Joe’s face lights up as he delves his little hand into the jar and pulls out a Jammy Dodger. I look at Isobel and smile, though inside I feel wretched. How is a complete stranger able to deal with my own child so effortlessly when everything I do is wrong?

‘Now if you take your biscuit in there,’ she says, pointing to a door leading off from the living room, ‘you’ll find some books and toys from when I was a little girl. If you promise to be careful you can play with them. Would you like that?’

Joe nods his head and trots off happily, leaving me wondering if his bad behaviour is down to me.

‘Right, let’s get a drink for Mummy,’ says Isobel. ‘What would you like? Tea or coffee?’

‘A coffee would be great,’ I say wearily. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

I close my eyes as she goes to get the drinks. In my mind’s eye I see snow, thick snow getting higher and higher. It’s creeping under the doors and windows, filling the room, trapping me. I wake with a start as Isobel comes back into the room.

‘Here we are,’ she says, placing the coffee pot and assorted cups and jugs on the coffee table. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’

She sits down on the opposite sofa and pours a cup of coffee for us both. I try not to stare at her eyes as I take the cup from her. The strange thing is that she seems completely unaware of what she looks like. Part of me wants to tell her that her mascara is smudged but I feel I don’t know her well enough to do that so instead I sip my coffee and pretend not to notice.

‘You’ve got a beautiful house, Isobel,’ I say, gesturing to the room. ‘It must take some looking after.’