A rumble of voices from below woke me from a deep sleep, and I lay in the darkness, smiling at the memory of Craig, dopey-eyed and patting his belly, simulating an ‘ice-cream high’.

As Ollie’s voice rose, I threw back the duvet and leapt out of bed, almost collapsing as the muscles in my legs seized up.

‘Ow, ow, ow, ow,’ I chanted, fumbling my dressing gown on and shuffling my feet into my slippers. I was never going running again. Not without warming up, at least.

I hobbled downstairs, panting through the discomfort, and paused on the threshold of the living room.

‘What’s going on?’ I said, blinking in the brightness of the overhead light. Craig was upright on the sofa swaddled in his sleeping bag, looking at Ollie, who was cradling Marmite in front of the fireplace, dressed for a night at the theatre – in Victorian London. Was he wearing a smoking jacket?

‘Life is what’s going on,’ Ollie said, a delighted smile spreading over his face when he saw me. He dropped Marmite, who landed on all fours and streaked past me. ‘Little Lily, Lilliput, I’ve had the time of my life,’ he sang in a tuneless baritone, crossing the room to where I was gripping the door frame. ‘Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington.’ He beamed, his eyes almost vanishing. ‘Noel Coward,’ he elaborated.

‘Yes, I know the quote,’ I said.

‘Anyway, it’s nonsense.’ He looked from Craig to me, clearly seeking a stronger reaction than tired irritation. ‘I want to put everyone’s daughter and son on the stage, and I want to direct them like they’ve never been directed before.’ His eyes blazed with a passion I suspected many women would like to see directed at them.

‘Do you know what time it is?’ I wondered how he still managed to look groomed in the middle of the night – apart from a sprinkling of stubble, which lent him a devilish air.

‘The time, madam?’ He tweaked his cuff and squinted at his watch. ‘It’s fifteen minutes past two in the morning.’

‘I meant, do you realise how late it is?’

The pad of his thumb travelled across his lips as he attempted a thoughtful look. ‘I expect it’s very late,’ he said in a ponderous tone. ‘Although… it’s also very early.’

‘He’s drunk,’ Craig said, rubbing his face with both hands. ‘I’ve told him to go to bed, but he wants to go out and look at the Christmas lights.’

‘No,’ I said, lifting a hand from the door frame. ‘You caused enough of a disturbance last night.’

‘Are woo cwoss wiv me?’ He stuck out his bottom lip and gave me a sad-eyed look.

‘Very cwoss. I mean, cross.’ I travelled slowly to the armchair, aware Craig’s eyes were following me.

‘Something aching?’ he said.

‘Just a bit.’ I lowered myself down like a pensioner with brittle bones. ‘I probably shouldn’t have run so far.’

‘You can’t be cross,’ Ollie cut in. ‘Not when I’ve had such a splendid day.’ It struck me afresh how comprehensively he dominated a room and a conversation. Even at this ungodly hour. ‘If I say so myself, I was an absolute whiz on the directing front and I loved it.’ He gave a little shake of his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. ‘What a troupe! You wouldn’t believe they were amateurs. There wasn’t a single wobbly-curtain moment and they’re all fine actors, especially your mother, Lily. She totally rocked as Letitia Blacklock.’ I felt a sweep of pride. I knew Mum was good but it was nice hearing someone else say it. ‘The show brought the house down, and I have to say I didn’t mind not being in front of the audience.’ He lifted his chin. ‘In fact, I don’t want to be an actor any more. Directing is where my heart is.’ He slapped his chest. ‘Ow! That hurt.’

Craig and I traded looks.

‘I’m pleased for you, really,’ Craig said, sounding genuine. ‘But maybe we could talk about it in the morning.’

‘How come you’re so late back?’

‘Lily, I’m delighted you asked.’ Ollie sat on the arm of the chair, so I had to crane my neck to look at him. ‘We went to this café after the matinee called The Greasy Piglet. It’s a tradition, apparently.’

I nodded. I’d been there. They did amazing bacon butties.

‘We had an absolute wheeze. They’re such fascinating people.’ He sounded awestruck, as though he’d encountered a rare, uncivilised tribe that spoke perfect English. ‘Anyway, upshot is, I decided to stay for the evening performance, and then we went for drinkies in the pub next door to the theatre.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Annie, who works in that hilariously named shop with your mother was there and started getting frisky, so after I’d given everyone a bit of a show with the trumpet—’

‘You took your trumpet?’

‘I always take my trumpet.’

‘He always takes his trumpet,’ Craig said at the same time, and I noticed the case flung down next to the sofa.

‘—I decided it was time to weave my way back to Sibley-by-the-sea, or whatever this place is called…’

‘Shipley,’ Craig and I murmured.

‘…so I got a cab.’

‘All the way from London?’

‘For a price.’ Ollie lurched into my lap, radiating alcohol fumes, and began fiddling with the belt of my dressing gown. ‘I might have had a little tipple of whisky in the car,’ he said. ‘It’s a very dull journey and the driver wasn’t keen on me playing my trumpet. He said it was distracting.’

‘I don’t blame him.’ The weight of him on my legs was unbearable, and I shoved him away. Unprepared, he toppled to the floor, turning the fall into a breakdance move, before reaching for Craig’s camera on the sofa (had he been cuddling it in his sleep?).

‘Hey, why don’t you film me and Lily doing the lift from Dirty Dancing?’ He was on his knees, panning the camera around.

‘I can barely move,’ I said, raising my legs a centimetre to prove it.

Craig untangled himself from his sleeping bag and yawned into his hands. ‘Ollie, I’m shattered.’

‘Look at you two.’ Ollie swung the camera past our faces. ‘It’s like the aftermath of a gas explosion and someone’s taken you in, but you know you’ve got to go back to your burnt-out homes in the morning.’

‘Great,’ I said.

Craig covered his eyes with his palms. ‘What we look like is tired.’

‘It’s a big day tomorrow,’ I reminded Ollie. He was fiddling with the buttons on the camera, not really listening. ‘Switching on the tree lights?’ I added. ‘You should get some sleep so you’re nice and fresh.’

‘’M always nice and fresh,’ he muttered, staring at the viewfinder. ‘Where am I?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Seaview Cottage, Maple Hill.’ Craig spoke with exaggerated patience. ‘Maybe we should write it on your hand.’

‘No, I mean, where am I?’ Ollie waggled the camera. ‘On here.’

I looked at Craig, my heartbeat speeding up.

‘Let me have it.’ He held out his arms, as though waiting to be delivered a baby.

‘Where’ve I gone?’ Ollie was hitting the buttons again and squinting at the screen. ‘Can’t find me.’

‘I think it’s time for bed,’ I said, bracingly. It was too late for a showdown and we needed Ollie in a good mood for the next twenty-four hours.

I attempted to stand up, but Ollie had thrust the camera at Craig and was scrambling onto the sofa beside him. ‘C’mon, show me,’ he said, putting a brotherly arm around Craig’s shoulders. ‘Why are you wearing this?’ His fingers plucked the material of Craig’s running top. ‘You need some proper PJs, bro. I can lend you a pair of mine, if you like.’ He gave a winsome smile. ‘We had a matching pair when we were kids, remember, Craggers? Ma bought them for our birthdays.’ He gave me a fuzzy look. ‘We both have birthdays in June, would you believe?’ He ruffled Craig’s hair. ‘This little chap could be my twin, if he wasn’t a year older.’

It was hardly the best time to be reminiscing about his ‘brother from another mother’ – not when he was about to discover there was no footage of him and there wouldn’t be a ‘one-off’ show.

Craig was looking a bit queasy, twisting the camera around in his hands, as if unsure what to say.

‘I wiped it all by mistake,’ I blurted out.

Craig’s head whipped up and I widened my eyes, signalling him not to argue. ‘But there’ll be plenty of opportunities for mingling tomorrow, and lovely things will be happening, so we can… replace it,’ I steamed on. ‘With something better.’

‘Wiped it?’ Ollie was looking at me as though I’d spoken in Spanish – although if I had, he would no doubt have understood. ‘Wiped it?’

‘I was… messing about and pressed the wrong button.’ I looked past him to avoid his slightly bloodshot stare, fixing my gaze on the smooth surface of the wall. ‘But it’s OK, because it wasn’t that good anyway. I mean, it was all… blurry.’

He switched his gaze from me to Craig. ‘Wiped it?’ He looked back at me, trying to focus his eyes. ‘Only the bits with me in?’

‘I… don’t know how that happened,’ I said, voice wobbling a little. I’d never been good at lying and, even drunk, Ollie could probably tell it didn’t make sense. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I’ve been wiped,’ he said to Craig. He sounded bemused, rather than angry, but that might have been the cushioning effect of the alcohol. ‘Eliminated,’ he added. ‘I no longer exist.’

‘Ollie, mate…’ I could tell from the set of Craig’s shoulders he was about to tell him the truth.

‘Look at my toes!’ I said, kicking off my slippers in an effort to skirt the issue, but Ollie was on his feet looking galvanised.

‘We have to get out there this minute and start shooting,’ he said, and I had to admire his ability to bounce back from what must have been a catastrophic discovery – that all of his performing had gone unrecorded. ‘This is actually good,’ he said, combing his hands through his hair as he paced up and down in a whisky haze. ‘It’ll be more naturalistic,’ he said, barely slurring his words. ‘You film me walking down the street, like this,’ he slipped his fingers in the pockets of his silky jacket and mooched from the door to the fireplace and back. ‘I’ll be looking at each of the houses in a considering way.’ He paused, hand cupping his chin, eyes scanning imaginary Christmas lights in a thoughtful fashion. ‘Then, maybe Lily could run after me—’

‘I’m running nowhere,’ I muttered.

‘—and take my hand,’ he demonstrated by lifting my palm and linking his fingers through mine, ‘and say something like, “Isn’t it magical?”’ He put on a falsetto voice, mimicking a love-struck expression that almost prompted a giggle. ‘And then we could stand for a moment, admiring the Santas, or whatever, before I kiss her.’ As he tilted my chin with his finger, I jerked away.

‘Why does it have to involve a kiss?’ I said, glancing at Craig, who was studying the floor with apparent interest. ‘And I thought you’d changed your mind about being an actor.’

Ollie looked as if I’d pinched him. ‘I was actually directing just then. I won’t be acting.’

‘But if you’re directing yourself, you’re not being natural,’ I pointed out. ‘You have to let things unfold.’

He looked uncomprehending. ‘Wouldn’t that be awfully boring?’

Craig gave a noisy sigh. He was still wrapped in his sleeping bag like a chrysalis. ‘It’s all in the editing, mate.’ He lifted his head. ‘Or at least it would be if we were—’

I cut him off. ‘We’re not filming in the middle of the night,’ I practically shouted.

Ollie jumped. ‘Fine.’ For a moment, I thought he was actually agreeing, but then he dived for the camera. ‘I’ll do it myself,’ he said, and left with astonishing speed.

A gust of cold air hit my ankles as the front door opened, and by the time Craig had extricated himself from his sleeping bag, Ollie had gone.

‘Shit,’ Craig muttered through gritted teeth, stuffing his feet in his trainers, and as he hurtled after Ollie, laces flapping, I saw he was wearing black boxers and that his calves were surprisingly muscular – probably from all the running.

‘For crying out loud.’ Forcing my own legs into action, I tightened the belt of my dressing gown and staggered after them.