‘So you’re friends with Mac’s son when Mac’s a teacher at your school? How does that work for you?’ She got out to join her niece in the frigid November evening, careful of her footing.

Daisy shrugged. ‘He’s my head of year, which is weird, but he’s Niall’s head of year, too, which is weirder. Kids who have teachers for parents have to put up with weirdness.’ She glanced at her aunt. ‘Why don’t you like Mac? Don’t you like Grady either?’

They began to gather the shopping from the rear seat. Laurel hooked three bags on one hand. ‘I was friends with Grady but I didn’t get on with Mac.’ She’d stopped being friends with Grady to protect him as much as herself.

She changed the subject. ‘Your mum will be pleased we’ve got all the ingredients she wanted for her Christmas baking.’

Daisy grappled with her share of the shopping bags as she tried to skid on the snow. ‘Do you think getting all the stuff for the mince pies and sausage rolls so early is part of her agoraphobia? It’s six weeks until Christmas, bet she won’t make them till Christmas week.’

Laurel didn’t know. Maybe Rea was trying to exert extra control over some parts of her life because she’d lost control in others? If so, Laurel had made the wrong choice when she persuaded Rea not to order the ingredients online and had piled Daisy into the car for a real-life shopping expedition. But she knew how it felt to be fourteen and facing horrible life events so she gave Daisy the best hug she could manage around all the shopping bags and made her voice reassuring. ‘I think she just wants us to have a really lovely Christmas so she’s getting in the spirit early.’

Laurel wouldn’t mind a good Christmas. Last year, she’d been unexpectedly miserable at the finality of her decree nisi, and so had Alex. Earlier Christmases had been blighted, too. Once, she’d miscarried a week before Christmas. Another year she’d been sure she’d been pregnant but the test had proved negative. The worst had been the year she’d been pregnant but not daring to hope she’d go full term – and losing the baby the day after Boxing Day. Bad things always seemed worse at Christmas. This year, it was time to put the past behind her and look forward.

If she could.

Grady followed his brother up the long front garden of the tall red-brick Victorian house Mac shared with his wife Tonya and their son Niall. The warmth of their home hit him as they kicked snow from their boots and stepped inside, and it was incredibly welcoming after a quarter-of-an-hour shivering at the roadside. His bones felt turned to ice. Mac must feel worse but he was all grim silence and downcast gaze.