‘What a lovely spread.’ Doris cast an approving eye over the table I’d brought into the living room and piled with plates of sandwiches, mince pies and scones. I’d also put out a bottle of lychee-and-guava juice, which I’d bought on my pre-Ollie shopping spree. I’d thought about putting out champagne, but had worried that my neighbours would think I had a drink problem – or was showing off. ‘And the Christmas tree looks so pretty.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, admiring it with her. I’d set the multi-coloured lights to twinkle on and off and the colours reflected along the wall, disguising the fact that I hadn’t had a chance to hang any pictures yet. Or buy any.

‘And you’ve got the fire going.’

I looked at the grate, where flames were dancing behind the fireguard. ‘I thought it made a nice touch.’

‘I noticed smoke coming out of the chimney yesterday and I thought to myself, Felicity Meadows would be delighted. She loved a nice fire. She was the original owner of Seaview Cottage,’ Doris explained. ‘Said she’d only ever leave this place in a coffin.’

‘Well, I hoped she lived a full life.’

‘Oh, she’s still alive,’ said Doris. ‘She got sick of seeing the sea and moved to the countryside.’

‘Right.’

‘Is that your family?’ Doris headed for the photo on the mantelpiece. ‘You look like your father,’ she said, studying his smiling, suntanned face. ‘Around the eyes.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, touched. It was nice to hear, though I knew I looked more like Mum, and that Chris was the one who’d inherited Dad’s dark hair and eyes. ‘He passed away a few years ago.’

‘I know.’ She turned. ‘Your mum told me.’ What? ‘He’ll always be with you, like a handprint on your heart, just like my Roger is with me.’

‘That’s… lovely,’ I said, meaning it.

‘So, where are your men?’

‘Men?’

She peered around the room. ‘Your… guests.’

‘One’s out, and one’s upstairs,’ I said, wondering where Craig had got to. He knew the meeting was due to start.

‘I wasn’t sure whether we were meant to contribute, so I brought a few things.’ Doris handed over a heavy, canvas bag. ‘Nothing much,’ she added, as I peeped inside at a heap of Tupperware containers. ‘Just a few sausage rolls and some of my birdseed muffins, a chocolate cake and my version of Viennese whirls – I use lemon curd. Oh, and I popped a few dog biscuits in.’

‘Dog biscuits?’

‘Celia Appleton said she might pop by and she’ll probably bring Chester, her dog. He’s getting on a bit and doesn’t like being left on his own.’

‘That’s fine.’ I was a bit scared of dogs, having been bitten as a child, but decided not to say so. Just like I hadn’t pointed out that Doris was fifteen minutes early. ‘This is very kind of you.’

‘No trouble,’ she said, though it was obvious she’d gone to a great deal of effort. ‘And I popped in some paper plates and plastic cups.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s very kind, thank you.’

As I made room for everything on the table, Doris said, ‘Any sightings next door?’

I looked round to see her angling her head, eyes swivelling in the direction of the Lamberts’. ‘Sightings?’

‘My friend, Ellen Partridge, says she saw Barry in the underwear department in John Lewis in Poole and he was picking out lacy bras with his other woman,’ she said.

‘I haven’t noticed anything.’ I thought for a second. ‘Maybe he was with his sister, choosing a Christmas present for Sheelagh.’

‘He hasn’t got a sister, just an older brother called Nigel,’ she said. ‘Now, shall I put the food on plates while you go and get changed?’ She looked askance at my flour-covered jeans and sweatshirt. She’d hung up her coat and was straightening her lavender twin-set over her grey woollen skirt. ‘Unless you already have?’

I felt torn, guessing she’d love an opportunity to snoop around, but knowing I looked a mess. In the end, vanity won. ‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Take your time, dear.’

Upstairs, I barged into the spare room to find Ollie still sound asleep, one hand cupping his privates. I couldn’t believe he’d slept through the doorbell chiming.

‘Ollie!’ I leaned over and shook his shoulder.

‘Sweetie.’ Reaching out, he pulled me down on top of him. ‘You smell like a tart,’ he mumbled into my hair.

‘What?’

‘Mmmm, mince tarts,’ he whispered, nuzzling my ear. ‘I was dreaming about them.’

I wriggled out of his grasp. ‘Ollie, you have to get up.’

He turned over, sliding his thumb into his mouth.

‘OLLIE!’

He shot upright, as if I’d fired a gun. ‘Lily, what is it?’

‘It’s time for the Christmas lights meeting,’ I said, noting that his hair looked immaculate. ‘Doris Day turned up early.’

‘Doris Day?’ He looked thrown.

‘You met her, briefly.’

‘Where have I heard that name?’

I suppressed a sigh. ‘Your grandmother might have watched some of her films.’

‘Your neighbour’s an actress?’

Doris was singing the chorus of ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ in a high voice and I knew it would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day. ‘Could you try and charm her, while I get changed?’

‘Oh god, yah. Absolutely.’ He leapt off the bed, smoothing his hands down his cheeks as if rubbing away the last vestiges of sleep – or checking for non-existent wrinkles.

‘You look fine,’ I observed. His shirt wasn’t even creased.

He tweaked his sleeves and collar. ‘Ollie Matheson saves the day,’ he said, striking a Superman pose. ‘The Doris Day.’

‘Ha, ha,’ I said.

‘Shall I fetch my mistletoe from the car?’

‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘It’s probably dead by now.’

He grinned, and ruffled my hair as he passed.

As I hurriedly changed into a plum-coloured dress and teamed it with a fluffy cream cardigan, I heard Doris bark, ‘Put that sausage roll down, young man. It’s bad manners to start before everyone’s here.’

I smiled as I pulled a brush through my hair and swiped some nude lipstick on. I had a feeling Doris wouldn’t be as easy to win over as most of the females Ollie met. I doubted she’d be asking for his autograph or requesting a selfie with him.

I pulled on some tights, after checking for holes, and ran downstairs as the doorbell sounded again.

It was Sheelagh this time, in a sequin-embellished V-necked dress beneath an emerald-green coat. ‘Jill Edwards is still at school and can’t make it,’ she said, as she came in. ‘But I told her you’re going to look in before the end of the week and she’s looking forward to seeing you.’

About to protest that I hadn’t made any such arrangement, I remembered my promise to Alfie the day before and stammered out my thanks.

‘The Jensens can’t make it either, on account of their high-powered jobs.’ Her smile vanished as Doris’s voice drifted out.

‘You can put your trumpet away, dear,’ she was saying to Ollie. ‘Nobody likes a show-off.’

‘I might have known she’d be early.’ Sheelagh removed her coat and thrust it at me, along with a bottle of white wine. ‘I’d better go and rescue that poor young man.’ She hurried through, her feet puffing over her pointy black velvet pumps.

‘Nice to see you too,’ I murmured, hanging her coat over Doris’s on the banister post. Before I could catch my breath, Craig slipped through the front door, bringing with him a blast of icy air.

‘Sorry,’ he said, swinging his camera to the floor. ‘I forgot the time.’ His eyes were bright in his flushed face and his hair was untidy. ‘There’s a lot of potential around here to make a decent programme,’ he said, clearly fired up as he removed his jacket and placed it on top of Sheelagh’s coat.

‘Interviewing the neighbours, by any chance?’ I sounded like the fun-police and probably looked like them, too, holding the bottle of wine as though I’d confiscated it. ‘Behind Closed Doors?’ I added, widening my eyes in a meaningful way, not sure why I was cross with him when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

He looked at me for a moment, as though weighing up how to respond. ‘I’m not getting much good stuff with Ollie,’ he said at last, smoothing a hand over his tousled hair. ‘Every time the camera’s on, he starts performing—’

A set of knuckles rapped on the door.

‘I’d better go through,’ he said, breaking eye contact as he bent to retrieve his camera. ‘I’ll try and blend into the background,’ he added, as I opened the door to let in the Harassed Couple – minus their twins – and Jane and Dennis.

‘Ooh, it’s changed a lot since Felicity Meadows and her brood lived here,’ said Jane, divesting herself of a thickly quilted purple coat and piling it on top of Craig’s jacket. ‘She was like the old woman who lived in a shoe, wasn’t she, Dennis?’ She turned to her husband, who’d dressed in a suit and bow tie, as if attending a film premiere, and had tamed his greying beard into something almost stylish.

‘She certainly had a lot of children,’ he agreed, adjusting the knot of his tie. ‘This thing’s strangling me.’

‘Doesn’t he look gorgeous?’ Jane whispered, squeezing his bottom as she followed him into the living room.

‘You OK with dogs?’

I spun round to see an older woman in the doorway, leaning on a wooden walking stick, an ancient, but friendly looking Labrador at her side. Trying not to goggle at her patchwork leather coat and flat cap, I waved them in.

‘You’re both welcome,’ I lied, shrinking back from the dog. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

‘Celia Appleton, Marnie’s gran. She said you’d saved the day by ordering some celebrity to switch on the Christmas tree lights.’

‘Something like that.’ It came out more apologetically than I’d intended.

She nodded brusquely, seeming to take in me, the house, and the situation with a sweep of her shrewd, blue eyes. ‘I’ll go through, shall I?’

‘Please do.’

As she flung her coat on top of the others, revealing several layers of clothing all in the same shade of pale grey – like mist – Chester plonked his bottom down and lifted a front paw. ‘He’s saying hello,’ she said. ‘He’s got beautiful manners.’

Not wanting to seem rude, I obediently shook the dog’s clammy paw, trying not to meet his eyes in case I inadvertently annoyed him.

The doorbell chimed again, and Chester gave a woof that made my heart jolt.

‘Come here, boy,’ said Celia, and he returned to her side, tail wagging as they went to join the others in the living room.

Mr Flannery was outside, a sour look on his face. ‘I’ve had to leave my nephew in charge of the shop but he can’t be trusted,’ he said by way of a greeting, stamping his feet on the mat as he unfastened his black anorak. Unless it had started snowing again, he had a scattering of dandruff on his shoulders.

‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ I said, thinking, You didn’t have to come, you miserable toad. I checked that Barry wasn’t lurking outside before I closed the door. ‘Would you like a drink, Mr Flannery?’

‘Call me Clint,’ he said, tetchily. ‘I’ll have a mug of Ovaltine, please.’

Ovaltine? ‘I’m afraid the nineteen seventies wanted their Ovaltine back.’ It was a lame attempt to get him to crack a smile.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I hope there’s some orange juice then.’

‘Lychee and guava?’

‘Never heard of them.’ Still in his anorak, he loped into the living room, where the noise level had risen to mildly deafening. Following him through, I saw Sheelagh was monopolising Ollie, who seemed relieved to be playing to an appreciative audience again.

‘Doris Day is terrifying,’ he whispered, as I edged past him to where my phone was plugged into a speaker on the windowsill. I’d been downloading some Christmas music when Doris had turned up. ‘She reminds of me of Nanny,’ he added, his mock-fear tinged with deep admiration. I dreaded to think how he’d have turned out if his nanny had been like Sheelagh.

‘Ooh, we should have a little dance,’ Sheelagh squealed, as Shakin’ Stevens sang ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’, swaying her hips and clicking her fingers. Her face was suffused with colour and I feared for her blood pressure – especially if she was wearing her corset again.

‘Is Barry running late?’ I asked her, checking the time. As head of the society, I’d have expected him to arrive with Sheelagh.

A funny look flickered over her face. ‘He got held up,’ she said, thrusting a hand through her curls. Her face contorted. ‘Ow! My ring’s stuck.’

Ollie sprang to the rescue, making her giggle as he released her fingers one by one. ‘What are you like, Loretta?’ He planted a kiss on the back of her hand.

‘Ooh, you are lovely,’ she simpered. ‘Your mother must be very proud of you.’

‘Not really,’ he said, and Sheelagh let out a gasp. ‘I mean, yah, she loves me loads, obviously, but she wanted me to be a lawyer or doctor, or full-time musician like my sister.’ He made a horrified face. ‘I much prefer doing things for fun,’ he said. ‘But Ma’s never watched an episode of Players, on principle.’

‘You poor lamb,’ Sheelagh cried, as my own sympathies stirred. ‘We’re very proud of our daughter, Bryony, although she was never the brightest crayon in the box. She runs a meat-packing company in Nebraska now.’ Even Ollie seemed stumped by this nugget of information. ‘She doesn’t have time to get home very often. It’s been three years now.’

‘Skype?’ suggested Ollie.

‘She doesn’t do social media.’ Her voice held a trace of sadness I suspected ran deep. I’d assumed she and Barry didn’t have children, and it struck me I’d been judging a lot of things on appearance.

‘Well, it’s her loss, Loretta.’

Jane seemed equally taken with Ollie, hanging on his every word as she positioned her birdlike body at his side. She looked almost stylish in pair of black, wide-legged trousers and a loose, sand-coloured top. It was just a shame her trousers were a tad too short, and that she was wearing violent pink socks with crocs. ‘Have you thought about going into acting, now you’re off the show?’ she asked him, her frizzy hair vibrating, and I turned away as he started telling her about his little foray into the acting world.

Craig was over by the tree, his camera on the floor, chatting to Dennis, who didn’t seem to mind that his wife was now asking to touch Ollie’s hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked. They both had paper plates piled high with food, and Craig looked relaxed, his expression open and enthusiastic. Glancing over, he caught my eye and raised a sausage roll as if in a toast.

About to smile back, I jumped as Barry’s voice boomed out, ‘I see you’ve started without me then?’ He strode into the room, wearing his coat, his stomach straining under a tartan waistcoat. ‘Afternoon, Miss Ambrose.’

‘Please call me Lily,’ I said. He stopped directly under the overhead light, and I caught a faint scent of perfume hanging about him.

‘Sorry I’m late, I got held up at the building site.’

Hmmm. That didn’t exactly fit with the scent of perfume. Unless he’d squirted on some of Sheelagh’s to disguise the smell of brick dust. Had Doris’s instincts been right? I glanced over at where she was happily doling out food and drinks, like a seasoned waitress. Was Barry having an affair? It would explain that look I’d seen on Sheelagh’s face – as if she suspected something was up – and the real reason why Barry was late.

Perhaps he’d been with a lover.

It seemed so unlikely, but who knew what went on in people’s marriages? I was hardly an expert.

Before I could ponder any further, Barry had gone over to shake Ollie’s hand, and although he’d switched on an almost friendly smile, I had the feeling he’d rather get Ollie in a headlock. ‘So, you know what’s happening tomorrow?’ he said, getting straight to the point.

Ollie inclined his head, freeing his fingers from Barry’s grip and shaking them out. ‘I do indeed.’

‘After the switch-on and presentation, we usually decamp to The Anchor for a celebratory drink. Providing I win,’ he said, casting a black look at Mr Flannery, who picked up my snow globe and gave it a violent shake, as if wishing it was Barry.

‘Sounds grand,’ said Ollie, keenly. ‘I rather fancy sampling the local ale.’

The Harassed Couple exchanged a look that suggested they couldn’t wait to get home and send up his accent.

‘Seen all the displays yet?’ said Barry.

Celia threw him a black look. ‘Don’t bother looking at my house,’ she said. ‘I’m not taking part.’

‘Well, they’re all… spectacular.’ Ollie clearly wasn’t at ease with a man like Barry, who oozed testosterone, and not in the manner of someone who enjoyed a workout. More like a man who’d slam you against a wall and get you to spill your secrets. ‘You’ve done a splendid job.’

Barry’s nod suggested his light display was indeed splendid. ‘Covered the whole house,’ he said. ‘You can hardly see a brick for fairy lights.’ He looked around and chuckled, his belly wobbling. ‘These lot are amateurs, but they do their best.’

Had he seen the gingerbread and Frozen houses? I sensed he was attempting to be matey, but Ollie tilted his head so he was literally looking down on Barry.

‘Ah, but have you ever heard the saying, “Less is more”?’ he said. ‘Not a concept you’re familiar with, I take it?’

‘Less is more?’ Barry looked around for support. ‘Are you kidding me? More is more, when it comes to Christmas lights.’

‘I just think there’s a tendency for them to look a bit… well, tacky.’ Ollie narrowed his gaze. ‘My mother has a saying, “There’s beauty in simplicity.” I think there’s a lot to be said for that.’ Shut up, Ollie. ‘Clearly the message hasn’t reached…’ he turned querying eyes in my direction. ‘Where am I, again?’

‘Maple Hill,’ I said, trying to warn him to be quiet with my tone.

‘That’s the one.’ He resettled his gaze on Barry, who’d gone ominously still. ‘I think if you removed some of the more common elements – the flashing Father Christmas, for instance, and those dreadful angels – it would all come together in a much classier fashion.’ He cast his gaze around the room, seemingly oblivious to the fact that everyone had frozen in unnatural poses, like children playing statues. Even the music had stopped in the middle of ‘Frosty the Snowman’. ‘I’m not that keen on themes, either,’ he continued. ‘They’re a bit too “try-hard”.

The Harassed Couple joined hands, as if what they’d heard required some support. ‘So, basically, you’re saying you hate them all?’ they said at the same time.

‘No, but I rather like that lovely Lily’ – he flung out an arm in my direction – ‘hasn’t bothered with a single light outside, which makes the effect of the candle display over there’ – he swung his arm to the windowsill, where the little golden bulbs glowed against the glass – ‘all the more effective.’

I wanted to say something about it not being planned, but Ollie had moved on.

‘I’ll tell you what you could all do to impress me even more.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘How about you all reveal a secret talent, and Craig over there can film it? I’m sure Loretta can carry a tune.’ He jiggled his eyebrows at her. ‘She’s certainly got the lungs for it.’

‘Pervert,’ muttered Mr Flannery.

‘Who the hell’s Loretta?’ said Celia, jamming a handful of Viennese whirls into her skirt pocket.

‘Why are you using my wife’s middle name?’

‘Oh, is it?’ Ollie looked at Barry, in obvious confusion. ‘I didn’t realise.’

Barry bristled. ‘I’ll show you my secret talent in a minute, you hoity-toity twat.’

Sheelagh laid a restraining hand on Barry’s arm. ‘You’re here to judge the lights,’ she said to Ollie. ‘We’re not performing monkeys.’ She looked deeply wounded at having to scold her hero, and Ollie finally seemed to register that he’d misjudged the situation.

‘It was just a bit of fun, you know that, don’t you?’ He directed his words at the Harassed Couple, perhaps hoping that because they were closer in age, they’d agree.

‘No,’ they said in tandem.

I glanced at Craig, half expecting him to have switched on his camera now that ‘reality’ had snuck in, but he was merely observing while pushing crisps into his mouth.

‘The public like our displays,’ Dennis offered. ‘They come especially to see them and then donate money to local charities.’

Jane nodded, adjusting her glasses as though to get a clearer look at Ollie. ‘My flowers in the summer, our Christmas lights in December,’ she said.

‘“Less is more” doesn’t apply to Christmas.’ Celia’s tone suggested it was a fact she’d read, rather than her opinion.

Chester sank down on the rug and sighed.

‘None of the houses will win if that’s your criteria,’ Mr Flannery pointed out. ‘Everyone’s gone to town, as it were.’

‘OK, I get it,’ said Ollie, rallying. ‘I’m very sorry if I’ve caused any offence.’ He placed his hands on the sides of his head and said in a monotone, ‘Less isn’t more. More is more. Keep an open mind.’

‘Is he taking the piss?’ said Mr Flannery, putting down the plastic cup of lychee-and-guava juice he’d been holding.

‘Sounds like it to me.’ Barry’s chest swelled and even Celia looked like she wanted to thwack Ollie with her stick.

I cleared my throat. ‘I’m sure Mr Matheson didn’t mean to upset anyone and that he’ll judge your displays with a fair and open mind.’

Barry rounded on me. ‘Not a very good choice of judge, if you ask me.’

‘Leave her alone,’ said Sheelagh, but the look she flung me was wounded.

‘Shame you couldn’t find someone who lived on this planet.’ Mr Flannery seemed pleased when everyone agreed, and knowing I was the cause of this rare event brought me close to tears.

‘Don’t talk to her like that.’ Ollie came over and placed a protective arm around my shoulders. ‘You should be thanking Lily. I’d planned to go abroad for the season.’

‘Not helpful,’ I muttered.

‘Like that, is it?’ Jane’s smile was knowing, and slightly excited. ‘We can’t expect you to be impartial if you’re… involved.’

‘We’re not involved.’ I shrugged Ollie’s arm off. ‘Mr Matheson’s here to do a job, and he’s going to do it to the best of his ability.’ I nudged him with my elbow and he nodded.

‘Yah, absolutely.’

‘Or, his friend could do the judging.’ I swung round to see Doris pointing at Craig. ‘He seems like a very nice man.’

There were murmurs of agreement.

How did they know that Craig was a very nice man?

‘Not up himself like the posh one,’ the Harassed Wife muttered.

‘Charming,’ said Ollie, his mouth turning down. ‘What a bunch of ungrateful—’

‘Shush,’ I hissed. ‘You’ve done enough damage already.’

Craig was shaking his head. ‘Thanks, but that’s not why I’m here.’ He placed his empty plate on the arm of a chair. ‘Ollie will do a good job, I promise.’

No one looked convinced.

‘Frosty the Snowman’ burst back into life, but the mood had gone flat.

With a heavy feeling in my chest I waved the bottle I was still holding. ‘Would anyone like some wine?’

They all shook their heads without looking at me.

I tried to think what I would do if I was in the classroom, but I didn’t fancy my chances of getting them to sing a song or listen to a story. ‘Help yourselves to sandwiches,’ I said. ‘There’s plenty more.’

‘I think we’ll make a move.’ The Harassed Husband glanced at his watch. ‘The twins are due back from their gran’s any time,’ he said, as though they were catching the bus.

‘Thanks for the food,’ his wife said, not meeting my eye as they hurried past, trailing a scent of baby milk and nappies.

They didn’t even glance at Ollie, who’d slumped on the sofa with a look of bewilderment, as if nothing like this had ever happened to him before – which it probably hadn’t.

‘I’m staying with my sister tonight and need to pack a bag,’ said Sheelagh, throwing Ollie a sad look, while Barry stomped by without a word. ‘Sorry, Lily.’

One by one they all trooped out with vague, muttered goodbyes. Snapping into teacher mode, I positioned myself in the hall and made sure everyone picked the right coat off the pile.

‘Hope to see you all for the switching-on ceremony,’ I said brightly to each of them as they left. ‘And I promise your lights will be judged fairly.’

Chester nudged my hip as if in sympathy, before trotting out after Celia, and it was all I could do not to cry. Dogs might have sharp teeth, but at least they weren’t judgemental – and they didn’t give a stuff about Christmas lights.

Doris was the last to leave, her canvas bag tucked in the crook of her elbow. ‘It’ll be fine, you’ll see,’ she said, patting my arm. ‘You can return my containers any time.’ Halfway down the frost-coated path to the gate, she turned. ‘Oh, and I had a nice chat with your mother earlier. She’s invited me over after Christmas, to see one of her plays.’