There are two wedding dresses, both too big. Four pairs of shoes, a tiara, six necklaces, three bracelets, and fourteen lacy garters. There is even, rather inappropriately, a set of scarlet red lingerie.

“Are those…” Amanda snatches them from me to look closer and then howls with laughter. “Crotchless knickers,” she bellows. “Oh. My. God.”

I snatch them back. “Shut up.”

James smirks until my father frowns at him, then he pretends to be suddenly fixated on something outside the window.

When we have finished, we have a pile of perfectly wonderful gifts, but I don’t need any of them.

“Donate them,” I say emphatically when Kate tentatively asks where we’re going to keep it all.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Women’s refuge? If anyone is in need of something nice for Christmas, it’ll be those women.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely idea.” Mum smiles. “Are you sure, though, that there’s nothing you want to keep?”

I survey the pile again and pick up the veil. I know I won’t wear it; it doesn’t go with the picture I have in my head of how I want to look on the day. But I don’t want it to go to just anyone. “Just this. I’ll find a new home for this.”

“That’s it? Are you sure?”

I nod. “I’m sure. I’m grateful for each and every present. And the thoughts that came with them. But I don’t need any of this. I’d rather it all went to people who will appreciate it.”

“Ava Green, you have a heart of gold,” Mum says. “You get that from me, you know.”

Notes from Ava

(Women’s Weekly, December 18)

Spend less on possessions. Yes, it’s a message you’ve heard before. Countless times. But before you roll your eyes and turn the page, hear it one more time from me, the dying girl.

I am facing my last Christmas here on earth. My last Christmas Eve, last Christmas morning. I started thinking about all the Christmases gone by, not that many, admittedly. Not near enough. And do you know what? There is only one gift I remember receiving, and that was a doll when I was about four years old. That’s it. And I don’t even really remember what it looked like, just how it smelled when I removed it from its packaging. I can’t even remember what I got last Christmas. How bad is that?

We spend time and money investing in the “perfect” gifts for our loved ones, and most of them are discarded or forgotten about by New Year. That “perfect” gift, the one that was going to change their life? Yeah, it’s sitting in a cupboard or drawer somewhere. They’ll find it again, in a few months or a year, and they’ll scratch their head and think, Now where did this come from, again?

It’s meaningless. Most of it, anyway. Of course there are exceptions.

What I do remember from all those Christmases is all the fun times we had. My family. Putting out the cookies for Santa and the carrots for the reindeer on Christmas Eve. Trying to stay awake and craning to hear any sound of hooves on the roof. Christmas Day itself, the jollity and merriness of the day as we played and ate and drank and watched the Queen’s message, trying to mimic her prim and proper tone and falling about in fits of laughter when my father nailed it the most accurately. Pulling crackers, running through the sprinkler, lolling on the sofa after eating too much, then an hour later getting up to forage for food once more.