‘Lucas, shouldn’t we get him down here with us?’ Esther murmured. ‘I mean, to at least eat the Christmas meal? It is, after all, his food, his home, and—’

‘Oh, I already asked,’ Dylan cut in breezily. ‘He keeps saying he is happy where he is. But that he’s also glad we’re here… just so you know…’ He tailed off, clearly losing confidence at the expressions on their faces.

The wary dread in the way Lucas removed the lid from the box made Esther’s own heart gallop. Inside was a silver napkin ring, which he examined for a moment, holding it up under the kitchen light before slowly returning it to the box. ‘My mother’s,’ he announced hoarsely, immediately excusing himself to go to the toilet. By the time he returned, hollow-eyed, Dylan was carving the turkey, and explaining how he had made the cranberry sauce.

Esther squinted at her wristwatch. Two o’ clock. She had slept a little, and it was rain that had woken her, she realised, a downpour, thwacking on the roof, thudding on the snow. If it carried on, they’d be able to pack up and go in just a few hours. She closed her eyes and then blinked them open at the sound of a gentle knock on the door.

‘Yes?’

It opened slowly with a series of creaks, and Lucas slid through the gap. ‘Hi. Sorry.’

‘Hi. It’s okay.’ Esther shifted upright, holding the sheets against her T-shirt.

‘I just can’t… sleep.’ He walked to the window, running his hands through his hair in his trademark expression of stress, and then parted the curtains to peer at the silvery deluge outside. He was wearing socks, Esther noticed, as well as tracksuit bottoms and a thick woollen jumper, which even in the dark she recognised as one she had bought for him herself.

‘I know. It’s been hard… a lot to… take in. I like Dylan’s new career plan though… lovely to see him so passionate.’ She bent her legs up, shuffling further out of the way as Lucas sat down on the end of the bed, dropping his head into his hands.

‘That fucking present.’

‘Yes… unexpected. But also… sort of… touching?’

‘The children are getting money,’ he groaned, ignoring her questioning tone. ‘Dylan told me. He talks straight, that boy, I’ll give him that. Five hundred pounds. I mean, that shouldn’t be allowed, should it? Buying grandchildren because you’ve made a fuck-up of raising your own.’

‘No, it shouldn’t, but…’ Esther studied Lucas’s hunched back. ‘Maybe he isn’t buying them. Maybe he wants a relationship with them. Maybe he wants to do better in the few years he might have left.’

‘But why should I allow it?’ Lucas hissed. ‘After what he did, after how he was… to me. It’s not fair…’ He broke off, perhaps hearing the petulance in his voice, as Esther certainly did.