When my husband came home a few hours later he found me not quite asleep in his winter-weight winceyette pyjamas, clutching a hot-water bottle and shivering under two duvets and a blanket.
I snuggled up under a duvet cover I hadn't seen in 20 years, put the nightlight on and lay back, watching the shadow of Mum's lampshade on the wall move in the draft.