‘We need to buy a tree tomorrow, and a load of decorations – all the ones we have are going to look a bit lost here,’ she said.

‘Yep.’

They had previously lived in a two-bedroom terraced Victorian house in the North Laines district of central Brighton. It was tiny compared to this one and now seemed even tinier.

Jason momentarily disentangled himself from his wife, stood up, filled their glasses on top of the packing case, passed one down to her then rejoined her on the sofa. ‘God, so much to think about.’

‘Like, what we’re going to eat tonight – I’m starving,’ Emily said.

‘Me too. Ravenous.’

‘Mum brought us over a pasta dish and salad, which are in the fridge.’

‘I fancy a curry – or a Thai. Why don’t we order one in?’

‘Nice idea, except we’re not in Brighton now – we’re in the bundu. I doubt anyone’s going to deliver.’

‘Good point. Hmm. Let’s go out for dins tomorrow – or how about for Sunday lunch? Maybe check out the pub in the village? See what they do? I saw it advertises home-cooked food.’

‘We can go there in the morning and see if we can book – if we like the look of it.’

‘And ask the shop to deliver papers – the estate agent said they would.’

They lay still. Jason, exhausted, closed his eyes. Even though it was a brand-new sofa he began fretting about bugs. Panic started to set in. Shit, how had he become so carried away?

Suddenly, Emily prodded him in the chest. ‘How amazing to do that spontaneously rather than by constantly calculating the right time of every month.’

‘Totes!’ He nodded and kissed her.

‘Right, up – we’ve work to do. I’ve got to get my catering area in the garage sorted. I’ve that twenty-fifth wedding anniversary for eighty people to cater for in two weeks’ time, and you have to get your studio set up.’

Getting to his feet, in a hurry to head up to the bathroom to shower, he said, ‘Don’t you think it was a bit ambitious taking on something like that so soon after moving in?’ He shrugged. ‘Just saying.’

‘We need the money,’ she reminded him. ‘And he’s a big television personality, on that antiques show. It could open all kinds of doors for me in the county. I discussed it with Louise, and she can prep a lot of the stuff at hers.’

Louise Porter was her partner in the catering business.

She prodded him again. ‘Go on – up, work! No slacking!’

‘I know.’

He had two commissions, both portraits of clients’ dogs, one in oils and one a pencil drawing, to deliver before Christmas. He planned to do both of them over the weekend and Monday, then rush them to his framer. It was going to be tight, but they needed every penny at the moment. And he would have no let-up over the Christmas break – the gallery in London, the Northcote, which had brought him his success that had helped them to buy this house, was putting on a one-man show of his work starting on 8 February. He had promised them twenty-two paintings, the standard number for an exhibition. So far, he only had twelve that were completed and framed. He was going to have to work flat out for the next ten weeks.