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The 18th July - summertime. The town of Cragforth baked in the blazing sun. The smell of barbeque hung in the air, accompanying the distant hum of music as people lounged in their gardens.

Inside 55 Garston Close, however, the temperature was icy cold. Christmas decorations adorned every available surface, and an elaborate tree in the corner of the room formed a gaudy, light-festooned focal point.

Mr. Horton gazed at Mrs. Horton lovingly, clasping her mitten-clad hand in his. She picked at her novelty jumper. ‘Don’t worry love, its only 161 days, 12 hours and 20 minutes until Christmas.’

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