‘It’s five in the morning, miss. But I suppose that’s as good a time as any.’

Dad heaves himself up into a sitting position. ‘Mum and Dad awake?’

She shakes her head. ‘They’ll make me stay in bed. Come to the tree, Pop.’ She makes a show of pulling him upright.

Once he’s standing, Dad gives me a whack on the foot. ‘Merry Christmas.’

Dad holds Sarah’s hand as she tugs him down the dark hallway to the living room. I follow. She stops when she sees the tree, now circled by a dizzying number of brightly wrapped presents. Abby has left the lights on overnight so the tree flashes gaudy colours, and the tinsel and metal decorations glow and dim with each throb of light. Sarah runs to the tree and kneels, overwhelmed by the number of gifts, the excess of it all, as the twins run down the hallway, screeching in excitement.

I feel a light touch on my arm. ‘Merry Christmas,’ Abby says.

‘If you guys haven’t got a unicorn chewing grass outside, I’m leaving.’

She smiles back at me. Mark stands next to her, his arm draped across her shoulders. ‘I’m sure Santa came up with an alternative.’

‘What’s an alternative to a unicorn?’ I ask.

‘You want to do the honours, Sarah?’ Mark says, and she leaps into action, picking up one parcel after another, reading the name on the tag and handing it to the right person. She quickly becomes annoyed at Joanne’s slowness in unwrapping, and Petey’s insistence on grabbing his own gifts, and gives up the job, turning her attention to tearing into a gift labelled for her. Abby takes over.

I’ve brought gifts from Bali: a sarong and wooden salad servers for Abby, wood carvings for Mark and Dad, miniature gamelans and twangy instruments made out of coconuts and metal spikes for the kids. Abby shakes her head at the sight of the musical toys, but Petey seems happy. Kids love noise.

It’s a spectacular morning, the sky a bright blue, air warm but not hot. After we’ve admired one another’s gifts of books, bubble bath, jewellery, aftershave, tools and appliances, after Petey has shown me his G.I. Joe and Joanne has held her Viewmaster to Dad’s face so he can enjoy it, too, Abby makes us breakfast: scrambled eggs on toast, coffee and Tang for the adults; Froot Loops for the kids. While she’s cooking, Mark balls up the torn wrapping paper and puts it in a box to take outside. I sit with the kids and check out their presents with them. Sarah clutches her toy unicorn, which is the size of a large cat, with enormous plastic eyes, a horn decorated in pastel-coloured glitter and a pink ribbon collar studded with diamantes. I thought she’d be disappointed when I watched her unwrap what clearly was not the living unicorn she’d asked for, but she adjusted in a heartbeat, and now declares her love for the toy in her arms. Dad stands watching, hands in pockets, unsure what to do with himself since there’s no newspaper on Christmas Day.