‘Who are you calling a dog?’ Kim, my dark-haired, mini-me of a stepsister, walked into the room carrying an enormous gift bag. ‘Nice PJs.’

‘Kim!’ I exclaimed, scrambling to my feet and meeting her hug head on. ‘I didn’t think you were coming over until later. Is everything all right? It’s so early!’

‘Oh, yeah,’ she looked away briefly, her cheeks turning the same colour as the end of her frosty nose. ‘Dad had a kitchen crisis. His oven conked out so they’re bringing lunch over to mine. I wanted to give you your present before I’m elbow deep in giblets.’

‘Right,’ I nodded, hands on hips. ‘Of course.’

One of the first things I did after moving into Jess’s house, was call Kim. The more I thought about it, missing out on a sister because our father was an arse and my mum wouldn’t have liked it seemed really stupid. I couldn’t live my life for other people any more, whether they were still here or not. She’d jumped at the chance to build bridges and after one boozy brunch that turned into an early dinner, unplanned cocktails and eventually a sleepover, we’d been more or less joined at the hip.

‘Here, I hope you like it.’ Kim handed me the gift bag as she loosened her scarf. ‘It was the last one.’

Inside the bag was an enormous neon-orange, zebra print onesie. Jess walked in the room, sipping from a cup of coffee, saw the onesie, spluttered into her mug, turned around and walked back out again.

‘Like it? I said, holding it up against myself. ‘I love it!’

It was at least two sizes too big and felt so flammable, I was afraid to sneeze in case it exploded in my face. No one wanted to spend Christmas in hospital.

‘It’s been such a cold winter, I wanted to get you something to keep you cosy,’ she explained, clapping her hands with glee. ‘I saw it and I thought, I bet Fran would love that.’

‘And I do!’ I lied, reminding myself that my sister had only just turned twenty-two and while neon-orange zebra print wasn’t necessarily my signature print, it was a very sweet and thoughtful gift. ‘Here, let me get yours.’ Crawling underneath the Christmas tree, I rooted through all of Jess’s gifts to self, looking for the little cashmere jumper I’d seen her mooning over in Whistles.

‘I know you have your dinner plans all sorted,’ she said, clearing her throat as though she was about to deliver a well-rehearsed speech. ‘But there’s going to be loads of food at mine if you and Jess want to eat with us? Save yourself all that cooking?’

Slowly, I backed out from under the tree, pine needles in my top knot, pyjama bottoms riding down as I went.