‘Most of it’s bloody burnt, you mean,’ Dad says.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Tom replies.

True to his word, fifteen or twenty minutes later we’re called through to the dining room and Tom serves up the perfect Christmas Dinner. I look at Mum and smile. She looks embarrassed, ashamed almost.

‘Thank you, Tom,’ she says, eventually. ‘This is lovely.’

‘Nonsense,’ Tom says, pouring out the red wine. ‘You did all the hard work. I just dished it up.’

It’s agreed amongst us that it really doesn’t matter who gets the credit, but that we’re all enjoying the meal.

When dinner’s finished, we’re all suitably stuffed and decide to give it an hour or two before worrying about dessert. The thought of adding more food to my stomach is enough to make me feel ill, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to want to eat for a week.

Instead, Dad and Tom pick out a board game while Mum and I load the dishwasher and tidy up in the kitchen.

‘I don’t know what happened,’ she says, drinking a pint of water. ‘I just came across all funny and knew I needed to lie down. I could have sworn I turned the hob off and the oven right down.’

‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. Everything was fine in the end. It was probably just the stress of trying to get everything ready, the heat in the kitchen, drinking on an empty stomach, who knows? Doesn’t really matter now. But for Christ’s sake tell us if you feel like that again, alright? There’s no need to go sneaking off upstairs. You’re too proud.’

‘I know, I know. It was only meant to be for a minute or so. I must have just nodded off. I think maybe I had a little too much to drink. I didn’t think I’d had that much, but I must’ve done.’

‘Mum, forget it. Please. It’s Christmas Day, and no-one else is bothered, believe me. We’re all having fun.’

‘Your dad isn’t. He thinks I’m a silly old fool.’

‘No he doesn’t. Dad’s just being Dad. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day. Yes?’

Mum forces a smile and nods. I think she knows she doesn’t really have much choice.

We head through to the living room, and find Dad and Tom sitting in silence. I don’t know what they’ve been talking about, but it certainly seems as if the conversation is very much over now.

‘Thought you were never coming out of there,’ Dad says, nodding his head towards the kitchen.

‘We were sorting out the mess from dinner,’ I say.

‘Well don’t worry about all that. That can be done later.’

‘It’s done now.’

‘Great. Now are we going to play this bloody game or what?’

Tom and I share a look — one that tells me Dad’s been a right bundle of laughs while Mum and I were in the kitchen — and Tom starts to deal out some coloured cards, explaining the rules as he goes. I try to follow what he’s saying, but I get lost a couple of times. I usually tend to work these things out much better by playing a round or two, rather than trying to understand everything that’s being said.