But as Anya went off to take a shower, I started thinking about Irene Copeland. Maybe she would be eating a sad ready meal in front of the telly while we ate goose-fat roasted potatoes and drank wine that cost at least twenty quid a bottle. I hoped she wouldn’t be alone today.

Perhaps it was approaching parenthood, too, which made me think of my childhood Christmases and the inevitable path these thoughts followed.

The nature of guilt, that was what was on my mind. The burdens we have to carry around with us and how each of us does it differently.

After her shower Anya went back to bed for a morning nap, a painful sciatic twinge in her back having affected her sleep the night before.

I decided to go for a walk to clear my head, despite the rain beginning to batter the windows outside. The house suddenly felt small and dark and I craved space, even if it meant getting soaked.

The obvious thing would have been to walk along the seafront, but I found myself getting in the car and, before I almost knew what I was doing, I was driving along the coast road. Rain and wind buffeted the sides of the car as I drove to the turning into Petrel Point. There were several small car parks, rather than one big one, which was always confusing to out-of-towners. I pulled into the nearest.

What was I doing here? I couldn’t rationally explain it. A link, I suppose, with everything that was dragging me away from enjoying my Christmas Day. Maybe I felt it would be cathartic to see where Copeland died so I could put it behind me, as Anya clearly had.

No other car was here, unsurprisingly.

I parked up and sat for a moment, watching silvery rivulets of rain chase each other down the windscreen. It was oddly hypnotic and peaceful, but I made myself leave the relative comfort of the car.

I struggled to open the door against the force of the gale but then I was out, pulling up the hood on my waterproof and shoving my gloved hands into the pockets. Head down, I started to climb the path that wound up to the top.

The bitter wind snatched the breath from my lungs. I looked down at the sandy path, which was fringed by semi-frozen dune grass that crunched under my boots. It was a far steeper climb than I had anticipated, and because the air was so unforgivingly icy, I soon felt a little out of breath.