I considered how if she and her family hadn’t moved to Wynmouth then my life might have taken an entirely different course. Without Chelsea’s persistent taunting, once the business was further established and I had come to terms with Mum’s loss and accepted Dad’s decision to move us, I might well have fallen in love with Wynter’s Trees.

Without Chelsea’s influence, the few friends I’d made might have carried on admiring my unusual homelife, rather than turning it into the butt of their jokes. And that, in turn, might have meant I would have been happy to join Dad in the business and he would never have made that catastrophic final trip to visit me.

As pleased as I was that I was able to help her son, I was in danger of blaming Chelsea for Dad’s crash and that was not a good place for my head to be. I knew I had to pull back from the self-destructive brink and when I woke on the first of December, I resolved to do my utmost to set Chelsea’s revelations, along with the impact they may or may not have had on my life, aside.

‘Good morning,’ said Ned, when I joined him downstairs and found him cooking bacon and brewing coffee. ‘Can I tempt you to a coffee and a bite of breakfast?’

‘A coffee would be great,’ I said, lingering longer than perhaps I usually would to fuss Bandit. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’ve grilled enough bacon for us both,’ Ned told me.

‘It’s a bit early for me,’ I responded.

‘That’s as maybe,’ he smiled, looking a little sheepish, ‘but I’ve got a packed day planned and you’ll need some sustenance to keep you going.’

‘Oh,’ I said, stifling a yawn.

I supposed keeping busy could only help strengthen my resolve to keep my darker thoughts in check.

‘What’s on the work itinerary for today then?’ I asked.

Ned sliced a roll, filled it with bacon, set in on a plate and held it out.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘what I have in mind doesn’t have anything to do with work.’

‘I see,’ I said, accepting the plate. ‘What does it have to do with then?’

He focused on shaking the sauce bottle before adding a large dollop of ketchup to his own roll. I shuddered at the sight.

‘What?’ he smiled. ‘It’s perfectly healthy. This is locally made and so full of tomatoes, it practically counts as one of my five a day.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ I tutted.

Ketchup was all right on chips, but in my opinion, absolutely nothing, other than a little butter, was required to embellish a decent bacon roll.

‘You were saying,’ I reminded Ned, just as he took the biggest bite and covered his fingers in ketchup.