‘We’ve been doing this every year since you were pretty much a foetus, Sophie.’

I handed it back to her ceremonially, high on my own righteousness.

‘Doing what?’ she said, worrying the scarf through her fingers.

We were in one of those mid-level boutiques on Marylebone High Street, almost designer, but not quite. More expensive than it should have been, trying to prove its credentials with the reed diffusers that sweetened the air and the 1920s French prints that lined the walls in weather-beaten wooden frames.

‘Agonize over what to get Mum. Every Mother’s Day card. Every birthday. Every Christmas. And it is only Christmas. She’s not the actual second coming.’

Sophie didn’t crack a smile, her face wrinkling with upset instead, and I felt a stab of shame. I shoved it away. I was being honest. I was nurturing our relationship, even if she didn’t yet understand it.

‘She’s our mum, Rachel. Don’t you like it when we find her something she loves?’

‘Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this,’ I said. ‘It’s stress on a stick, because she makes it so impossible to find her something perfect enough. And the truth is, perfect doesn’t exist.’

Good enough is enough. It was the second half of the sentence, but I managed to hold it in. Amber had given me so many mantras to follow by then that it was almost as if she was my invisible shadow. I snuck my hand into the pocket of my jeans and massaged the tiny chip of rose quartz she’d given me. I believed it gave me courage in those kinds of situations. It reminded me that my essence was pure love.

‘Fine,’ said Sophie, rolling the scarf up into an angry ball. ‘This is fine. I’m going to buy it. It’s up to you if you want to go halves. I don’t know what kind of state your finances are in, anyway.’

We glared at each other before she stalked off towards the till. My heart pounded in my chest, the rose quartz leaving a painful indentation on my fingertips. I looked at her rigid posture as she earnestly tapped her pin number into the keypad. My little sister. Why was it so hard to be me and simultaneously be a part of them?

We sat in the bakery opposite, nursing big pottery bowls of coffee in stony silence. Sophie broke first.

‘I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said that about your finances. It was rude. I was just frustrated—’

I cut in. ‘And I’m sorry too,’ I said, ‘if I upset you.’

Her eyes glinted for a second, the distinction between our apologies not lost on her, but she was too much of a peacemaker to kick off round two.

‘Are you okay, Rach?’ she said. ‘I feel like you’ve been a bit AWOL since…’