Esther kept talking, handing him bags, saying the children could sleep in the small room with the bunk bed, that she would take the sofa, and he could have Dylan’s – his – room. She broke off to yell at the children to stop playing and come and help.

‘No,’ Lucas croaked. ‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can. You will.’

‘To let him think that suddenly it’s all okay…’

‘He doesn’t think that. He knows nothing is okay. Come on, Lucas. We’ve got no choice.’

‘I’ll take the sofa.’

‘Fine. Now get the children loaded up, while I fish my handbag out from behind the front seat.’

The wind dropped quite suddenly as they plodded back towards the cottage, enveloping them in a silence that felt hard to break. Only Esther spoke, saying that necessity was the mother of invention and all would be well.

‘There’s loads of food, actually,’ Dylan ventured, when they reached the shelter of the porch and were kicking off their sodden footwear, Lucas’s shoes having fared the worst. Lily and Esther both had leather boots on, while Dylan was protected best of all, in the green wellingtons Esther had seen in the cloakroom. ‘And there are chickens, Boo – I’ll show you later…’

‘We are staying because we have no option,’ Lucas interjected coldly. ‘We shall not look at chickens. We shall eat our own food.’ He gestured at the bag of sandwiches and crisps dangling from Esther’s frozen fingers. ‘And just as soon as this bloody snow starts to ease, we shall leave, in the middle of the night if necessary.’

‘Well, I won’t.’ Dylan had put down his bag and planted a hand on each hip. ‘Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and Gramps and I are roasting a turkey. Tonight, there’s salmon and stuff. And how you can hold a grudge anyway, like for ever, I just don’t get it…’

‘No, Dylan, you do not get it,’ Lucas said through a clamped jaw, ‘because your own upbringing has been so bloody—’

‘Brilliant? Has it, Dad? Really?’

‘Dyl, shut up,’ Lily hissed.

‘Can we go inside?’ Esther pleaded, sharing a despairing look with Lily, who was looking equally stricken. ‘And, Dylan, you don’t know what you are saying,’ she added sternly. ‘Dad went through so much…’

‘Did he, Mum? Right. Well, I want to hear it from Dad. How are Lily and I expected to understand if he never explains?’

Father and son had squared up in front of each other, eyes inches apart in the confines of the little entrance. Dylan was the broader as well as the taller one now, by several inches, Esther observed, finding a moment to be amazed. ‘Lucas. Please. Let’s get inside.’ She had put an arm round Lily, who was looking faintly blue-lipped and chalky-faced. ‘Hot baths. Tea and cake. Bed-making…’

‘In a moment, Esther.’ Lucas held up a hand, not moving his head.