Christmas Eve. As a kid, Christmas Eve was my favourite day of the whole year, even more so than Christmas Day. The anticipation of what would be at the foot of the bed when I woke up, the smell of ginger and cinnamon on the air as my mum stirred, and mixed, and baked in the kitchen. We didn’t have a lot of money, but it hadn’t seemed to matter; right up until I was about twelve anyway, when my mum remarried for the first time and everything became about him. Turns out my first stepfather wasn’t as keen on children as he’d made out. The first time she left me behind at Christmas – leaving me with an aunt who I don’t actually think was really my aunt, fighting for attention with kids who weren’t even related to me – she and my stepfather spent it on the beach in Lanzarote, and I cried for days. By the time I left home I didn’t celebrate Christmas anymore. Today though, some of that old magic has been recaptured and I shiver in the passenger seat of Rupert’s car, not sure if it’s the chill in the air, or excitement.

‘Cold?’ Rupert turns up the heater, and I snuggle into my scarf. ‘You’re not too nervous, are you?’

We are on our way to Rupert’s family home by the coast in Norfolk, where we will spend three nights with his whole family. I am a little nervous, a ripple of butterfly wings fluttering in my belly when I picture it, but I’m excited more than anything. Excited to get away from the house, the dead air on the end of the telephone line, the feeling of dread that sits on my shoulders every time I turn into the driveway.

‘A little. Excited, though, to spend time with your family.’ I smile at him, refusing to think about the house anymore. ‘Do you always spend Christmas together?’

‘Ahhh… we didn’t really used to,’ Rupert says, not taking his eyes off the road, ‘Caro and I just used to go for the day usually. My mother is looking forward to spending time getting to know you.’

He smoothly changes the subject and I don’t press him for further information. Caro’s parents had invited him to a church service this evening, a tradition they had held when Caro was alive apparently, and I had let out a sigh of relief when he had firmly but gently turned them down. I don’t want to spend the holidays thinking about Caro – Rupert has been working ridiculous hours, and I feel as though Christmas is the perfect time for us to get things back on track.