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I step to the side and let the first man wheel the food in, watching as he slowly makes up the table. First the cloth, then the silverware. Finally he gestures at me to sit down.

“Does every guest get their room decorated?” I ask, as he pours champagne into my glass.

“I’m just room service,” he tells me. “I have no idea.”

I look over at the woman and repeat the question. If they do, it must cost the hotel a bomb in decorations and manpower.

“Oh no, this is a special request,” she tells me.

“But I didn’t ask for it.” I take a sip of the champagne. Damn, it’s delicious.

“Would you like us to stop?” she asks. She looks uncertain and now I feel guilty.

“No, you can carry on.”

So for the next hour, I eat dinner and drink champagne while they put up the tree and expertly decorate it. The waiter leaves the bottle behind – ha, take that, player boy – and I’ve finished half of it by the time the woman asks me if I’d like to turn on the lights.

And actually, I would. I stand up and flick the switch, and they start to sparkle. And suddenly, my very elegant but impersonal room feels like a winter wonderland.

“Oh, and we have this for you,” she says, passing me a small rectangular box, gift wrapped in the signature Hunt red, with gold ribbons.

“A gift too?”

She smiles. “It’s Christmas.”

I mean, it isn’t. It’s eleven days away. But whatever. “Thank you,” I say, watching as they disappear from my room. Then, like the child I am, I rip open the gift, hoping it’s chocolates because I didn’t order dessert and I have a sweet tooth tonight.

But instead of anything edible, inside is a box. A Blu-ray box. On the front is an image of a movie.

The Muppets Christmas Carol.

Oh.

As the wrapping falls to the ground, a little note falls with it. I lean down to pick it up.

Dear Georgia,

I hope it isn’t too much of an imposition to have your room decorated. I know you’re staying until Christmas, and I know how much you love the holiday.

Please know, that I’m so sorry about last night. I was very much looking forward to having a drink with you before my mother arrived unexpectedly. Even though we had a good time, I assumed that you meeting her on a first date would be a step too far.

I understand if you don’t want to talk with me. But you should know that last night with you was the most fun I’ve had in years. And if you’d consider letting me apologise in person, I’d be very, very grateful for the chance.

Have a good evening,

Theo Hunt

PS – the Blu-ray player is in the cupboard beneath the television.

His mother.

HIS MOTHER.

Oh god, the horror. I accused him of cheating with his mother.

Picking up my phone, I type his name into the search bar of my browser, then add ‘family’ at the end.

And sure enough, there are photographs of her. And him. And his father and a brother.