When the wine is warm enough, I ladle some into a large, thick glass. Steam forms at the sides. Nursing it, I decide to take it into the living room and choose a film. I should examine and back up the photos I took tonight as I want to create a gift out of the best ones for Kevin and Suzanne, but right now, I feel too chill.

The back door opens. Stuart steps inside, dragging the cold in with him.

I watch him take off his coat, boots and hat. “Mulled wine?”

“Perfect,” he says. “It smells exactly the same as Nina used to make it.”

It is her recipe, but I don’t tell him that.

“I was going to watch a film, if that’s okay?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

“I know, thanks. But...it feels polite to. Fancy joining me?”

He grins. “It depends what you like watching.”

“The scarier the better,” I say.

“Let’s give it a go,” he says.

We walk through to the living room and I let Stuart faff around with the controls. When we agree on what to watch—a documentary on spies, Stuart’s choice, but I’m prepared to try it—I dim the lights. As I do so, the doorbell rings. Stuart pauses our selection. The opening credits freeze, blurring the letters on the screen.

“Carol singers,” says Stuart as he heads for the door, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

I wait.

I don’t hear any singing. Or voices. Perhaps Deborah has returned to check up on us?

Something doesn’t feel right. As I stand up to investigate, Stuart returns. He doesn’t look himself.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure, it’s odd. Nothing like this has ever happened before...”

He’s clutching a card which I prize gently from his grip. It’s not a Christmas card. It has a picture of a black heart on the cover. Inside:

Wishing you both a dreadful, shame-filled Christmas.

The words take a few moments to fully sink in.

“Very childish,” I say, handing it back to Stuart. I feel queasy.

Stuart rips it in half, then into smaller pieces. “I’d chuck it in the fire if we had one going.”

“Light one,” I suggest.

I hesitate. I don’t want to say what I’m going to out loud, but if I don’t do it now, the moment will pass. Again.

“Nina thought someone was after her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that.”

“No way! Not to my knowledge. Why would that even be the case? She would not have hidden something like that from me. Besides, everyone loved Nina.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“This ridiculous card delivery, it’s about us being under the same roof. It’s nothing to do with Nina.”

“What about the attempted break-ins?”

“I don’t think they’re relevant. These things happen. No point in dwelling.”

“When did Nina want the burglar alarm fitted?”

“Earlier this year.”

I give him a dose of therapy-type silence to mull it over himself without me having to spell it out.