I nod. Greg and Stuart barely acknowledge one other apart from a brief “hi” as I swallow my mouthful, before we say our goodbyes.

“Deborah has left already,” Stuart says as he helps me into my coat. “I think she’s upset with me.”

“It’s not you she’s upset with, it’s me,” I say.

“I feel bad for her,” he says. “Let’s invite her round more or take the children over there.”

“It’s probably best if you do that alone,” I say. “For now.”

I zip up my coat and wrap my scarf around my neck as I brace myself for the cold.

Christmas lights seem to adorn nearly every house as they light up our route home. The sky is clear and there’s no wind. The village is film-set magical, and I half expect snow to complete the scene. Kevin and Suzanne walk ahead holding hands with the children. Feeling partly responsible for Deborah’s early exit, I decide to try to lift the mood.

“I think they’re looking forward to Christmas despite... Well, I know it won’t be the same but... Sorry, what I’m trying to get across is that you’ve done a great job,” I say.

Stuart looks pleased. “I’ve had a lot of help. But thank you. It’s good to hear.”

I smile.

“Why don’t I put the children to bed?” I say. “Then you can walk your parents back to the guest cottage, have some time alone with them and maybe have a nightcap? I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

“Great idea, thanks,” he says, walking ahead to catch up with them.

Felix and Em are tired and tetchy so it takes a while to persuade them to put on their pajamas and brush their teeth. I orchestrate it so they’re both snuggled on either side of me on Stuart’s bed for a joint bedtime story, to save having to do it separately. I suggested this routine to Nina many times, it’s not always practical to read two separate stories, but she wouldn’t have it.

“They need quality time,” she’d said. “I like to give each of them at least some of my undivided attention every day.”

I tuck them both in by pulling up their duvets and fitting them snugly around their shapes. I’m firm with Em when she wants to chatter.

“We can talk about the play more over breakfast tomorrow,” I say. “You were wonderful.”

I remind them both how proud we all are of their brilliant performances and switch off their lights.

I walk downstairs in my stockinged feet, which slide slightly on the wooden floor. I’m not used to wearing dresses, and it wasn’t strictly necessary to make an effort for tonight, but when Suzanne mentioned that she was wearing a dress, I felt as though I should, too.

It’s quiet without Stuart and his parents. I pour some red wine into a saucepan and add in some cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and star anise. I stir, inhaling the aroma.

I’m not normally a huge fan of Christmas tunes, but the magic of tonight has wormed its way into my mood, and it’s infectious. What Nina’s death has taught me is that you have to enjoy the rare moments of calm. I feel so at home right now. Apparently, the grass isn’t greener, but perhaps that’s meant to be interpreted as a caution against general dissatisfaction, rather than a situation such as mine.