While ReadUp is a fictional charity, it was inspired by the fantastic work of Read Easy UK. There are an estimated 2.4 million people in the UK either unable or barely able to read. As well as being five times more likely to be unemployed, adults who struggle to read face challenges in all areas of life, for example understanding road signs, household bills, food packaging or basic health information.

Read Easy is an adult literacy charity that provides free, confidential, one-to-one reading coaching to adults. It is changing lives across the country, but unlike my fictional ReadUp, the reading coaches are all volunteers. You can find out more about this amazing organisation, including ways to support them, at readeasy.org.uk, or @ReadEasyUK

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Read on for an exclusive extract of Christmas Every Day…

Prologue

22 December

It was finally here. The highlight of the Dougal and Duff calendar. Everyone would be there, from the lowliest admin assistant to the senior partners. The oak bannisters were draped with ivy, dotted with twinkling red and white fairy lights. The doorway leading into the designated party room was framed with pine branches, a cheeky sprig of mistletoe hanging in the centre. Inside, the room looked even more spectacular than last year. Hundreds of sparkling snowflakes dangled from the wood-panelled ceiling, more fairy lights and greenery adorned every surface. The Christmas tree in the centre of the back wall stood festooned with baubles and ribbons.

Waiting staff slipped between the clusters of office cliques with trays of champagne and crumbly canapés, their black uniforms in sharp contrast to the glittering party dresses and tartan finery. A swing quartet thrummed, but it couldn’t beat the buzz of festive gossip. Rumours had been flying that the newest partner, Richard Abernethy, freshly returned from yet another victory in the Paris office, had been dropping hints about an important announcement. And when a locally renowned jeweller delivered a ring-shaped box to Reception that morning, every one of the sixty-three employees knew within minutes. The only question was who. Nobody had a clue.

That was, except me.

The other PAs assumed I must have some insight to the mystery woman, given that I’d almost unlimited access to his emails and diary. They spent most of the evening trying to badger me into giving them a name. Or at least a list of suspects.

I smoothed down my ridiculously expensive dress, patted my hair, took another fake-nonchalant swig of champagne and said nothing.

Not because of loyalty to my boss. Although that would have been reason enough.