‘Well, that didn’t go as planned.’

‘It could have been worse,’ said Craig. ‘At least no one took a swing at him, like they did at his book-signing.’

He was helping me clear up in the kitchen, while Ollie – clearly unsettled by everyone’s hasty departure – was watching A Muppet Christmas Carol on the television, saying he’d always liked Miss Piggy’s interpretation of Emily Cratchit.

‘Were you there?’ I said. ‘At the book-signing.’

Craig shook his head. ‘He was pretty upset though. He called and asked me to take him to hospital.’

‘I suppose it’s a shock to find out someone dislikes you enough to want to hurt you.’

His gaze searched my face. ‘Speaking from experience?’

I thought of Max’s wife and gave the washing-up-liquid bottle an extra-vicious squeeze. ‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt you.’

I looked at him, surprised. He was poised, bin-bag in one hand and one of Doris’s sausage rolls in the other. ‘You don’t really know me,’ I pointed out, heat spreading over my face.

He shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m good at reading people.’

I thought again about Ollie having his jaw dislocated. ‘Have you ever been attacked?’

Craig ate the sausage roll in one quick bite and swallowed. ‘No, but I’m not in the public eye like Ollie.’

‘It’s horrible, being judged,’ I said. ‘It’s the injustice of it, when you haven’t done anything wrong.’ I thought of the parting shot Max’s wife had hurled before she stormed out of the classroom. ‘If it wasn’t for you, he’d have come back sooner.’ As if I’d single-handedly wrecked their marriage – a marriage which I’d thought was over. I’d tormented myself afterwards that I shouldn’t have got involved until Max was divorced. Before I met him, I’d been a poster girl for sensible decision-making.

‘Ollie does get it wrong sometimes,’ Craig was saying. ‘He’s not always diplomatic. He tends to say the first thing that comes into his head.’

‘I quite like that about him.’ I flushed again, remembering that Craig had caught us almost-kissing. It felt like ages ago.

‘You and I might, but not everyone will.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Anyway, as long as you like yourself, who cares what others think?’ He tied up the bin-bag and put it by the back door.

I was about to reply with a quip about him sounding like a therapist, when Ollie came into the kitchen.

‘Let’s go out on the town,’ he said, good humour seemingly restored. ‘The Mop Hill bunch might not have warmed up to me yet—’

‘Maple Hill,’ Craig and I said together.

‘That’s what I said.’ He widened his eyes, innocently. ‘They might not like me yet, but I’m sure I can win over the locals in the pub.’

‘How about we have a wander up and down Maple Hill and you make a final decision about which display you like best?’ I suggested. ‘You have to pick one, even if you hate them.’

‘I don’t hate them, that’s not what I meant,’ he said. ‘And anyway, it’ll only take me a couple of minutes to choose.’ He held out his hands to me. ‘We could go dancing. I’ll show you my moves, if you show me yours.’

He broke into a Charleston with jazz hands and twisty feet, but although I laughed, and was relieved that he seemed back on form, I felt my energy draining as though a plug had been pulled. ‘There’s nowhere to go dancing in Shipley, as far as I know.’

‘Just as well with those moves,’ Craig said drily.

‘So Shipley’s a cultural wasteland,’ Ollie said, panting lightly. ‘Maybe further afield?’ He looked at Craig, though I wasn’t sure he knew the area any better than I did.

‘Mate, I’m knackered.’ Craig sagged against the worktop to demonstrate. ‘Can’t we carry on eating in front of the TV? Elf might be on.’

‘That’s my favourite Christmas film,’ I said, pleased.

Craig grinned at me. ‘It’s a classic.’

‘Watching telly’s a bore,’ said Ollie, faking a yawn. ‘Anyway, I’ve seen Elf a hundred times.’

Craig shook his head. ‘What about an early night?’

‘Ooh, I didn’t know you felt like that.’ Lunging forward, Ollie pulled him into a bear-hug and half danced, half dragged him round the kitchen, planting noisy kisses on top of his hair. I was reminded of Chris and me, play-fighting when we were young, and felt a pang for those carefree times.

‘Gerroff,’ Craig said, pummelling Ollie’s sides. He broke free, aiming a friendly kick at Ollie’s midriff, and I could suddenly see what Mum had meant about Ollie needing someone like Craig to balance him out.

Ollie grabbed one of Doris’s Tupperware containers and stuffed a couple of biscuits into his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then spat into his hand. ‘Jesus, what are they?’ he said, while Craig and I erupted into laughter.

‘They’re dog biscuits,’ I spluttered. ‘Doris brought them for the Labrador.’

Still laughing – a surprisingly warm and hearty sound – Craig twisted his head away as Ollie tried to push some into his mouth. ‘You should try one of her birdseed muffins,’ he said. ‘Apparently, it’s cheaper to buy millet from the pet store than those fancy, overpriced sunflower seeds that you get at the supermarket.’ He did a passable impression of Doris’s Dorset twang, and I wondered when she’d told him that.

‘No, thanks.’ Ollie wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and shuddered. ‘Well, I definitely need a drink after that and I don’t mean your sorry excuse for wine.’ He nodded at the unopened bottle Sheelagh had brought.

‘Ooh, I’ve got some good stuff,’ I said, pleased I’d bought the vintage champagne after all, my apathy lifting at the thought of us settling in front of the telly with the Christmas lights twinkling in the corner. It would be like going back in time, to when I’d shared a house with two trainee teachers and a drummer, only I wouldn’t be trying to keep the peace, or the only one who thought to lock up the house before going to bed.

Perhaps I could go and fetch some logs and get the fire burning again.

But Ollie was shaking his head before I could cross to the cupboard and get some glasses out.

‘No offence, lovely Lily, but I fancy a change of scenery.’

My insides sagged. It was clear he’d set his mind on going out and wasn’t going to be swayed. ‘Craig can bring his camera, get a bit of local colour,’ he added, as if that might swing things in his favour – as though Craig could only be happy filming Ollie.

Craig nodded with a faint air of resignation. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But no filming. Let’s just have a drink.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment Ollie looked perplexed and I thought he was going to argue, but then he said, ‘OK, well I’ll go and get my glad rags on.’ He backed out of the kitchen, swinging his hips and winding his arms above his head, giving me a fierce look from under lowered eyebrows.

I couldn’t help laughing again. ‘I’d better see if there’s somewhere nearby, if he wants to go dancing,’ I said when he’d gone upstairs. I reached for my phone and did a search. ‘It’s blues night at the Shipley Conservative Club or there’s a DJ playing at Jonny’s Bar, but the place has got terrible reviews. “Music too loud and grumpy bar staff. There was a number two on the floor in the ladies.”’ I winced. ‘“A bouncer slapped my mum.” Wow. I can’t imagine Ollie in there, can you?’ I said. ‘We might have to drive to Poole.’

Craig looked at me sideways. ‘I thought you were tired.’

‘I am,’ I said, ‘but—’

‘But nothing.’ He wrapped some cling film over a plate of leftover sandwiches and slid it into the fridge. ‘If you’re tired, you don’t have to come.’

‘But he’s my guest.’

‘That doesn’t mean you have to run around after him.’

‘I’m not, I just…’

‘Want to please him?’

‘You make me sound like a nineteen-fifties housewife.’

‘It’s not good for him to get what he wants all the time.’

‘Now you’re making him sound like a spoilt little boy.’

‘He is, in some ways.’

‘Why are you going, then?’

‘Because…’ Craig’s shoulders dropped. ‘Force of habit, I suppose.’ He fiddled with his watchstrap. ‘We go back a long way and I… I feel responsible for him.’

‘Because of the show?’

‘I guess, and because his family have been good to me.’

‘Well, maybe it doesn’t do him any good, you always being there for him,’ I said, stung by Craig’s assessment of me as a sappy people-pleaser. ‘Maybe he needs to stand on his own two feet, find out what he really wants, without you always being there to pick him up and dust him down.’ I’d got my teacher-head on and couldn’t seem to stop. ‘Perhaps if you hadn’t agreed to film this one-off show he’d have brought someone else – someone who wouldn’t pander to him so much.’

‘Like you were doing this morning?’

Just when I’d been beginning to like Craig (a bit) he went and ruined it. ‘I wasn’t pandering, it was a moment of—’

‘Insanity?’

I glared. ‘I told you, I didn’t respond,’ I said, a quaver in my voice. ‘Maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see.’

‘I didn’t want to see that,’ he shot back. ‘I’ve seen it all before anyway.’

‘Bully for you.’ I swiped some crumbs off the worktop. ‘I’m sorry to be a disappointment.’

He briefly closed his eyes. ‘Look, all I was trying to say is, you don’t owe him anything.’

‘I know that. I have free will. I’m not an imbecile.’

He gave a humourless laugh, as if he doubted it. ‘I hope you’re not actually hoping to become his girlfriend, because I can promise you that won’t happen.’

‘Psychic, are you?’

‘No. I just know him very well.’

‘Sounds like you’re secretly in love with him.’ It was the most childish thing I’d ever said, and I could hardly blame him for not responding. ‘Anyway, maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.’

‘You’ve known him for five minutes.’

‘An outsider can be more objective.’

‘Was kissing him objective?’

‘So now we’re back to that.’ I shook my head. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.’ Maddeningly, he didn’t comment. ‘Have you ever been in love, Craig?’

‘Oh, so now you’re in love with Ollie?’

‘No, of course not, I—’

‘Good, because he’s in love with Tattie,’ he said wearily, as if he’d tired of the subject. ‘He’ll be trying to make her jealous.’

‘How, when she’s goodness knows where, doing whatever she’s doing?’ I said, aware that wasn’t the argument I should be having, and that he hadn’t answered my question about being in love. ‘Unless he told her about it… but even so, nothing actually happened between us—’

‘He spoke to her?’ Craig’s brow wrinkled.

‘She called him while you were out.’

‘Shit,’ he muttered, rubbing a hand round his jaw. ‘How did he seem, afterwards?’

‘I don’t know, he didn’t mention it,’ I said. ‘He fell asleep.’

Before I could say anything else, Ollie reappeared, hair brushed back and shiny, wearing the skinny trousers and leather coat he’d discarded earlier. ‘Ready?’ He scanned my appearance. ‘You’re coming like that?’

I looked at Craig out of the corner of my eye. His expression was benign, as if we’d been discussing the weather. ‘I’m not coming,’ I said. Even if I’d wanted to, there was no way I could go after everything Craig had said. ‘I think I’ll work on my novel for a bit and then turn in.’ Turn in? It was something my gran would have said.

‘Oh, Lilliput.’ Ollie pouted his bottom lip, but I had the sense he wasn’t too distressed. No doubt he was anticipating all the ladies he could charm. ‘I was relying on you to show us the Devon nightlife.’

‘Dorset,’ Craig and I said together. He caught my eye and I looked away.

‘Same thing,’ said Ollie. He slapped Craig’s shoulder, seeming oblivious to any tension in the air. ‘Put your decent trousers on and lead the way, my man.’

‘They’re in the car.’ With a barely detectable sigh, Craig rooted in his pocket for his keys. ‘Shall I bring some logs in?’ he said to me.

‘No, thanks.’ My voice was stiff. ‘I can manage.’

‘Do you have a spare key?’

‘I’ll leave the door on the latch. Just remember to drop it when you come in.’

‘We’ll be as quiet as mice,’ said Ollie, compounding the feeling that I’d morphed into my grandmother by dropping a kiss on my cheek and squeezing my shoulder. ‘Ciao, lovely Lily.’

Once they’d gone, I slumped against the sink and released a sigh.

The air seemed to settle as I ate a couple of leftover sandwiches and one of Doris’s sausage rolls. They were delicious.

Determined not to dwell on my conversation with Craig, I opened the wine and poured myself a glass, then drew the curtains in the living room and set the tree lights to static. All that flashing was giving me a headache. The Muppets had finished and Home Alone was starting as I slipped outside to fetch some logs from the shed.

The night was cold and still and a full moon had risen high in the sky. Along the street, Christmas lights flashed and twinkled and a few sightseers wandered past, exclaiming at the displays. In the distance, I could hear the pure voices of some carol-singers throwing their hearts into ‘We Three Kings of Orient Are’, and felt both Christmassy and sad. It had been Dad’s favourite carol. Whenever he’d had a few drinks on Christmas Day he would launch into song, and my grandparents would join in, while Chris and I squirmed with embarrassment and Mum went gooey-eyed.

As I came out of the shed, laden with logs, I noticed a female figure in the upstairs window of the Lamberts’, silhouetted by a soft, pink light in the room behind her. It didn’t look like Sheelagh, unless her hair had grown in the last few hours. It was long, tumbling around her shoulders, and as she reached up to close the curtains I saw she was wearing a silky, purple camisole.

Barry’s lover! He must have invited her over while Sheelagh was at her sister’s.

I watched the shadow move away, swishing her hair back, and told myself it was none of my business. Or Doris’s, for that matter.

I felt sorry for Sheelagh, though. Hopefully, she wouldn’t come home early and catch them in the act. The thought of Barry in bed with a woman – any woman – wasn’t exactly pleasant, and I hurried inside and busied myself getting the fire going.

Once it was blazing, I ran upstairs and brought down the bag containing the few Christmas gifts I’d bought before leaving London, along with some sparkly wrapping paper, sticky tape and scissors. It would be nice to pop some presents under the tree, even if there weren’t many. There was a book about cocktail making for Chris (I’d guessed it was only a matter of time before he was serving them at his café); a scarf for Mum, patterned with shuttlecocks – she and Dad used to play badminton; and a pair of silver sea-horse earrings for Erin, because I knew she’d like them.

Previously, I’d have bought something for the Secret Santa lucky dip at school, competing with my colleagues to see who could buy the silliest gift for less than ten pounds. Last year, I’d received a pair of wind-up racing grannies, which had gone down a storm, but I’d left them in my desk drawer when I resigned.

Turning my mind away from the past, as I wrapped the presents, I wondered whether it would look bad if there wasn’t a gift for Ollie and Craig beneath the tree. I ended up shoving the parcels back in the bag when I’d finished, and then into my wardrobe.

I brought my laptop downstairs and plumped myself on the sofa with my wine, wondering where Ollie and Craig had ended up. Trying not to think of them surrounded by giggling, wide-eyed girls, I opened my ‘novel’ document and swiftly typed: Jessica entered the nightclub and felt her body throb to the music. No one would know there was a body in the trunk of her car.

I sipped some more wine, feeling my shoulders relax. I thought about calling Mum, to ask why she kept ringing Doris, but remembered she’d be onstage.

I texted her.

I jumped when my phone rang in my hand.

‘Hi, Erin.’

‘You bloody snogged him!’

‘What?’ I sat up, my laptop sliding to the floor. ‘How did you know? And I didn’t!’

‘Look online,’ she said. ‘You’re famous.’