‘You always say that I hate to be touched,’ Amber said to me. ‘That’s not true. Emotional tenderness and connection, that’s what I’ve needed so desperately. But the whole Harry thing just made me feel more miserable and lost and self-loathing. I was still stressed, and barely eating. It wasn’t the answer. But it did force me to look harder for the deep affection I so craved. I tried to tell you both on the cruise but the time was never right. I’ve finally found what I was looking for. With . . . with . . .’ She began gesturing like a heroine from a Jacobean tragedy. ‘. . . with Leyla.’

I rubbed my ears. Surely I’d misheard? I was beginning to think that it would be safer to fly an American jet into Iranian airspace than attend a Ryan family gathering.

‘What?’ said Scott, in the same voice he’d use in court to shout ‘Objection!’

‘Who?’ asked Harry.

‘Leyla Khoury. We were at school with her. Almond-eyed, Lebanese, good at maths . . .’

It took a beat for this momentous revelation to sink in for the frazzled family.

‘Khoury . . . You mean the doctor’s receptionist?’ Emerald asked. ‘The one you’re in a book club with?’

‘Yes.’

‘A book club for two, where you slip between each other’s covers?’ Emerald sought clarification. ‘No wonder you’ve been at “book club” every bloody night!’

‘You’re into women?’ a dazed and amazed Scott asked.

‘I don’t know! I’m into Leyla, that’s for sure. She’s so soft, so kind, so gentle . . . so slow. I’ve never known slow before. Slow sex in a fast world. Women don’t want a Tinder app, they want a Tender app. Well, I do anyway.’

Christmas, I thought, the gift that just keeps on giving. The whole family continued to stare at Amber, gobsmacked into rare silence.

And then there came a slow hand clap. The family focus shifted back to Ruth, who was lounging comfortably in her chair, feasting her eyes on the fallout.

‘Oh, yeah, by the way, thanks for dropping me in the shit, Ruth. And on Christmas Day. Thanks a lot,’ Harry addressed his mother-in-law, bitterly. ‘Why don’t you just finish things off by sodomising me with your fucking Hoover?’

‘Yes, Mum. How long were you holding on to that grenade, waiting to lob it into my life?’ I demanded to know. ‘You wanted to maximise the casualties, obviously. Why else would you wait until Christmas Day?’