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‘It’s a book,’ he said.

‘Doh. And here’s me thinking I’d gift-wrapped a furry dog bone.’

Arlo glanced up at her, smiling. ‘Sorry, I’m just a bit – surprised.’ He turned the book over to the rear blurb and his eyes widened again.

‘Please don’t say it’s not really your thing, even though it’s probably not your thing.’

‘How do you know what my thing is?’ he said, eyes scanning the blurb.

Katie told herself to keep breathing normally. Of course he was going to read the blurb and, being Arlo, he was reading it thoroughly. For the first time in a long while, Katie felt her cheeks grow hot. She’d thought she was long over being embarrassed about the steamier aspects of her own work.

‘Well, it certainly sounds intriguing …’ Arlo said, as deadpan as if he’d just been leafing through a Screwfix catalogue. Katie wasn’t sure if she wanted him to gasp in shock or what, but she hoped he’d do anything other than laugh.

‘I didn’t write the blurb. My editor did,’ she said, knowing that words like ‘hot’ and ‘steamy’ figured prominently alongside ‘emotional’ and ‘addictive’.

She’d taken a big risk, putting pressure on herself and Arlo. She was very proud of that book in a quiet way, even while recognising her limitations. No author worth their salt thought their work was perfect but you had to have some belief in your stories to carry you through to the end, especially as it was her first after the accident.

‘Intriguing is good,’ Katie said.

Arlo opened the book to the title page and drew in a tiny breath before looking at her in surprise.

‘It’s signed to me. And to Pongo.’

‘Of course. It also says Happy Christmas just to make it more … Christmassy.’

‘I’ve never had a book signed to me by the author and Pongo definitely hasn’t.’

Relief flooded her veins. Arlo wasn’t laughing – he seemed amazed. ‘How could I possibly leave him out?’ Katie said. ‘I, er, hope you enjoy it. And if not, please find it a good home. Maybe your—’ She was going to say give it to his mother but thought better of it. ‘A friend – or your sister-in-law?’

‘I don’t know what Alison reads beyond Vogue and the business pages of the FT, but even if she was your biggest fan, I wouldn’t dream of parting with it.’

‘Is that because it’s signed to you already?’

‘Partly, but I also want to read it. Did you write this after the accident?’

‘I’d started it before. Then everything had to go on hold while I recovered but at some point, I had to finish it. I’d like to say that it gave me comfort and escape and, eventually, I suppose it did. It was hard. My brain didn’t work and the painkillers I was on at the start seemed to freeze my thought processes.’ She broke off, knowing that now she’d started, she had to finish.

‘Sometimes I was so down, so – fixated – on what happened to me and to others that I couldn’t see the point.’ She shook her head. ‘This all sounds so selfish and pathetic. I knew I was being selfish and pathetic at the time and yet I couldn’t shake myself out of feeling like I was in a deep, dark pit with no way of escape.’

‘You are not selfish and pathetic,’ Arlo said, reaching out his hand as if to take hers yet suddenly withdrawing it. ‘Trauma is never to be dismissed. It’s a monster, a dark monster that creeps up on you when you least expect it – even when you feel it’s gone away.’

‘Yes, I – well, you saw me the night I arrived.’

He clutched the book tightly and Katie had the sense she’d already lost him yet she had to try.

‘Arlo,’ Katie spoke as gently as she could, aware she was treading on eggshells. ‘You said you were in the Army and I noticed, even though you were hiding things well, that you were disturbed by Ned’s interrogation.’

He snorted. ‘That wasn’t an interrogation.’

‘I thought he was pretty full-on and, more importantly, you seem to instinctively understand how it feels – how I feel. Because I know you have an empathy that others don’t. Even the people I love most.’

He smiled at her sadly. ‘You don’t join the forces, even as a reservist, expecting a safe and easy ride. At least, you’ve no business joining if you do.’ He sounded fierce. ‘I’m not a special case. No one wants to hear me moaning about stuff.’

So something did happen to you, she thought. ‘That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be listened to. You encouraged me to talk about the accident so it must be OK for you to do that too. Doesn’t have to be now. You know where I am, after all, and I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Thanks,’ said Arlo, ‘but it’s Christmas Day and it’s been a good one. There’s no way I’m going to spoil it with my tale of woe.’

So there was a tale of woe. That seemed like a big admission to Katie. ‘Please, tell me. I can be a good listener.’