I glance at Charlie. ‘The table was set as though she thought a horde of animals was about to descend on her: a tiny Santa Claus centrepiece wrapped in plastic, vinyl covering the table. And she wouldn’t let us open the crackers. We ate in silence like it was some unseemly activity to be done with as fast as possible – no music, no talk, just the clang of cutlery on her horrible beige plates.’

Charlie blows smoke towards his cracked-open window.

Dad huffs. ‘Merry bloody Christmas.’

I look in the rear-vision mirror. ‘So why did you take us there?’

He meets my eye, sighs again. ‘Christmas was something your mother did. How would I know? Anyhow, she’s my sister.’

Charlie shifts in his seat. ‘Let’s listen to some music.’

‘There are tapes in the glove box. Grab the Helen Reddy one.’

He groans. ‘Seriously?’

‘What? The driver picks the music. That’s the rule.’ But it takes one verse of ‘I Am Woman’ for me to realise my poor choice.

‘How much of this claptrap do we have to listen to?’

‘It’s not claptrap, Dad.’

Charlie forms a gun with his fingers and makes as though to shoot himself in the head.

‘Whining about nothing. There are people in the world with no food or water. Why isn’t she singing about that?’

‘How about something less controversial?’ Charlie says, pressing the stop button.

‘Only if it’s by a woman,’ Dad says. ‘No good has ever been done by a man, Charlie.’

‘Nobody said that, Dad.’

‘That’s what your sister thinks. Isn’t it?’ We lock eyes in the rear-vision mirror once more. ‘Thinks it’s beneath her to be a mother.’

‘I absolutely don’t,’ I say. He’s in pain, lashing out. I should let this go.

‘It was enough for your mother, nothing to scoff at. It’s dignified work to take care of your home, husband, raise a family.’

I focus on the road, keep my mouth shut though there are a thousand things I want to say, though I feel stung and enraged.

‘Don’t think I’ve ever heard her say otherwise, Dad. Hey, do you remember my friend Jason from –’

‘Well, why do you want to be a lawyer then? What are you trying to prove? Mark earns a good salary. You’ll make his life harder by being at university now you have kids to look after. Who’ll be doing that? I suppose you expect him to. As well as his job. So you can go off and do what you want. Which, by the way –’ he flicks his hand angrily in my direction – ‘plenty of lawyers in the world without you.’

Breathe in, breathe out.

Charlie glares at Dad now. ‘You’re talking like a guy from the fifties.’

‘The fifties weren’t so terrible,’ Dad says.

‘You know what I mean. Abby’s a great mother. What’s your beef with her working? Sounds like your baggage, Dad, not hers.’

‘I’m well aware that women work. Skye worked. Donna works. But I don’t see why your sister, why young women now, are so hell-bent on creating division, making a big statement about it. It doesn’t need to be so bloody . . . pious.’ He sits forward so his head is closer to mine. ‘You should think twice about this, Abigail. You have a good husband and those kids deserve a mother. You don’t need to show off.’