C‌hristmas dinner was a nightmare. Never in all her years had Liv or indeed any of her family endured a meal like it. Barbara Quirke was quite simply the limit. It started with the seating arrangements – not that there were any, beyond everyone grabbing a chair. The only exception to that being her father, who had taken his place at one end of the table, next to where Rachel had always sat. He had a slightly taller chair than the rest, which helped in making it easier for him to stand up again. Barbara, obviously sensing that he’d managed to bag the best possible spot, complained bitterly, endlessly, until he swapped with her. Her chair was too soft, too straight, too low; she was sitting in a draught; she was too close to the fire – it didn’t stop until she’d managed to discommode everyone around the table, so right up until dessert, they were still playing a form of disgruntled musical chairs.

When her father tried to make their annual toast to Rachel, Barbara had talked over him, and only Eddie could have knocked back the glass of port they always poured for her, even though he swore he hadn’t seen it. Before they’d even pulled their crackers, her mother was flushed and her father had the look of a rabbit in the headlights of an epic strain of myxomatosis.

And then there was lunch – the soup was too oniony; her potatoes were lumpy; she was quite sure that there was gluten in the ham; oh, how she missed the bread stuffing; and finally, no, she couldn’t possibly look at dessert. ‘Women of a certain age,’ she’d said, and looked pointedly at Yvonne, ‘need to have a little self-restraint or they are in danger of really letting themselves go.’

And all the while, Eddie seemed to be totally oblivious. Years of listening, or perhaps learning not to listen, had made him completely immune to his mother’s insufferable whining. He just sat there, bless him, complimenting Yvonne on the food and Mikey on the wine. Unfortunately, he’d ended up sitting next to her mother and that meant his glass was never empty and so probably without even realising it, he was steadily making his way through whichever bottle was within easy reach. He made no offer to help with clearing away dishes or refilling anyone else’s glass. Instead, he became drunker as lunch went on and by dessert he was grinning like a fool with hardly two words to say for himself, leaving the pleasantries to everyone else around him.