‘Hey, all commissions gratefully accepted,’ laughed Frankie. ‘Us self-employed types never say no. Bring on the hamster, I say!’

Paula hugged her and then gave Matt a squeeze too, for his part in the whole subterfuge. ‘Good work, you two,’ she said happily, leaning against him and feeling rather sickeningly contented that today was going so well. What was more, far from thinking Frankie sneaky, she loved that they’d both gone behind her back together, for her sake. They’d definitely risen a few rungs in her Christmas-present list now; she’d have to find some extra-special gifts for them in return. Maybe even that electric guitar Matt had been hinting about, ever since they bought one for Luke. As well as some industrial-strength earplugs for herself, of course.

Paula went to put the painting in a safe place in the kitchen (there was always at least one calamitous drink spillage at a Mortimer gathering), and set about handing around pieces of cake to the rest of the family, making sure she found an extra-large piece for her husband. Goodness, she felt happy, she realized suddenly, thinking of the painting again and feeling quite overcome with her own good fortune. Here they were, all her favourite people in the same place, celebrating and dancing and laughing together. A proper family. Sure, a slightly different-shaped family these days from where they’d been six months ago, but who was to say there was anything wrong with that? The Mortimers had survived all the various crises that had hit them this year, and had evolved into something stronger. Maybe even something better. Oh, and right on cue, here came the opening bars of her favourite Christmas song. ‘Come on, you know you want to,’ she said, grabbing Matt’s hand with a laugh and pulling him onto the dance floor.

‘How are the kids?’ Across the room, John had finally plucked up the courage to approach Robyn, having shuffled about awkwardly on the sidelines until now. Unfortunately – for him, anyway – his romantic dreams of shacking up in the Edinburgh love-nest with a girl half his age had abruptly collapsed when she dumped him, and he’d slunk home to York, tail between his legs, crest well and truly fallen. That was two months ago and, having slept in his parents’ spare room for a few weeks on returning, he was now sharing a flat in Heslington with some random postgrad students while he looked for a job. Regrets? He had a few, as the old song went.