He was an interior designer and had about three items on display in his house, and they were all shades of monochrome. Nay and I reckoned he encouraged his twins, Zai and Kai (yes, he actually thought that was a good idea), to like things like pandas and zebras just to keep with his aesthetic. What was he going to persuade them to like when they were older? Nuns and barcodes?

I mean, this is a man who Doesn’t. Even. Own. A. Toaster.

But his approach wasn’t going to work here. Christmas at ours was like a box of decorations collected since the seventies had exploded over our house.

Just how I loved it. Naomi would watch me decorate the whole house, sitting on the sofa saying, “Oh, that’s not straight,” after I’d pulled twelve muscles gluing something to the wall. Then she’d somehow make our ramshackle collection of tree decorations look good together. Nay joked our family was proof that if you put a loop on anything, it could be a tree decoration. Glittery gherkin, a furry ferret, even a replica model of the Leaning Tower of Pisa (which ultimately was straight in decoration form)—they all dangled from our tree. If anyone has ever looked at a terrible decoration and thought, “Who would buy that…?” the answer is “me, my sister, or my mum.”

Which reminded me. The tree. Time to get to the bottom of this. I tightened up my laces.

“Muuuuum.” It’s amazing how long that word can take to say. I didn’t want to nag. Although…I did want a tree. What was the difference between interested question and nag anyway? “Any idea on when we might be able to go to Enchanted Forest?”

“Is that a nag, Hol?” she called back from the kitchen. Maybe she’d forgotten what week it was—despite me writing it in massive letters on our family calendar. And underlining it in highlighter.

“It’s an interested question, actually.” I pulled out my scarf and hat. “You know ancient Egyptians were some of the first people to have a Christmas tree. Sort of. And they didn’t even have cars.”

She walked into the hall and leaned on the banister. “What’s the name going to be this year?”

“Hmmm…” It wasn’t something to be rushed. “We won’t know until we see it.” Get the hint, Mum—when are we going to see it?!

“Justin Tree-ber will be hard to beat.” It still amused her. He was our tree last year because he had what looked like a floppy fringe that dangled down. She picked up the kettle and waved it in my direction.

“Tea?” Mum flicked the kettle on. “Just us.”

I peeked out the window. Still no Woody sighting.

Maybe some more time here was a good idea.

I let Fred know I’d be a few minutes and said yes to a quick cuppa.