“She hasn’t said, but I get the impression it’s not amicable. She likes to keep her cards close to her chest.” I don’t elaborate. “If you feel you need to offer...” I add.

I let my words hang. I don’t want to be the one to veto her move here.

“Nina would’ve wanted me to help her.”

I knew Stuart would cave. He’s too soft.

It turns out I’m not the only non-fan of Camilla.

“It’s turning into a mini-bordello around here,” says Deborah in a low voice.

She takes another sip of prosecco. Deborah rarely drinks. Her face is flushed, her eyes look a little...demonic. It’s Christmas Eve lunchtime. Stuart’s parents, Deborah, Camilla, the three children and myself are finishing off a parsnip soup and crusty bread made by Stuart.

“It will all come out in the wash,” I say in response to Deborah’s comment. “It’s a saying of my mum’s. I haven’t said that in years.”

Today is a farewell meal because Suzanne and Kevin are heading home the day after Boxing Day. Stuart and I have agreed that I will go to my parents’ for a few days. “It’s for the best, it’s too soon,” we keep saying to each other, but I’m not really sure what that means anymore. Nothing else has happened between us, not a hug, a look or a clandestine kiss. It’s disconcerting.

We adjourn to the living room to exchange gifts and Stuart furnishes the adults with festive drinks.

My plan to adopt a dog is well under way. Apparently you can’t go wrong with a golden retriever. There are a lot of administrative and practical hoops to jump through on the route to dog-ownership (which I agree with, I can think of many people I’ve met who should never be allowed to own a pet). I’ve already planned to take Felix and Emily dog-accessory shopping in the new year so even if their pet still isn’t quite ready to be adopted, things will still be too far gone for Stuart to put the brakes on the idea.

“My main gift will be a late surprise,” I announce. “Sadly, it wasn’t able to be delivered in time for Christmas. But I do have some small things for you to unwrap now,” I say as I watch Emily rip open the wrapping paper. Felix mimics Louise by neatly opening each end.

I’ve bought them children’s cameras, plus an illustrated beginners’ guide to photography. Louise has a similar but more advanced version. For Deborah, I’ve bought gift cards—again, you can’t go wrong—and for Camilla, a memory album, not dissimilar to the one I’m creating to celebrate Nina’s life.

Sifting through the photos of us brought up a proper mixed bag of memories. There are plenty to choose from: house parties, pubs, the beach, pools, bars, but the best are the Ibizan ones. The three of us on an aqua bus to Formentera, the sister island of Ibiza, clutching a mojito in front of a wooden beach kiosk, huge grins on our faces. Hanging out at Stuart’s friend’s villa, barbecues by the pool, boating. Charlie, Camilla, Nina, Stuart, me, various other friends, all of us so innocently happy, oblivious and blissfully unaware of what lay ahead.