His dreary wife nodded her agreement like a little china dog, ignoring the black look I gave them both. Rachel was always brighter than him: they both got As, but hers were effortless. He’d never quite forgiven her for that – her absence was probably a Christmas present in itself, or so he’d thought. ‘Let’s go and get some unwrapping on the go,’ cried Nick, and my grandchildren began their relentless sugar-revved screaming. It was only 11 a.m.

As they tore towards the living room, the adults in tow, Sophie hung back.

‘You okay, Mum? I miss her, too. It’s so weird without her. I keep looking round, and she’s not there, rolling her eyes at me.’

‘I don’t know how to feel, quite frankly,’ I said. ‘I’m angry, of course, but most of all I’m hurt.’ My hand went unconsciously to my heart, encased by a black crepe dress which could’ve just as easily done for a funeral. ‘I ache, Sophie.’ It was true; my body throbbed with the kind of pain that no amount of paracetamol could take away. ‘That’s what she’s done to me.’

Sophie’s round, expressive eyes moistened.

‘It’s making me feel like total poo, too, Mum.’ Her inability to swear was normally endearing. Not today. ‘But…’ She froze, framed by the French windows that opened onto the bare winter garden, the light grey and low. ‘I think she needs this.’

‘Needs what, exactly?’ I said witheringly. Why could I summon no warmth for the children who had actually deigned to spend Christmas with me?

‘To be in a different space this year,’ stuttered Sophie. ‘To try to heal. She’s trying really hard to change.’

‘The most healing thing is to be with the people who love you, not to be alone.’

‘She’s not… I mean…’ Sophie blushed crimson, her feet starting towards the door. I’d grabbed the flesh of her upper arm before she could make her escape. Everything sped up in that moment, inside and outside my body.

‘She’s with that woman, isn’t she?’ I demanded. ‘She’s with Amber.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sophie.

‘Don’t lie to me!’ I was shouting. I couldn’t help it. There was a whole river of pent-up rage that was bursting its banks. I could see Sophie quaking, and I used it to my advantage. It’s hard not to hate myself for that now. ‘Tell me the truth. Where is your sister?’

‘I don’t know!’ she said, tears starting.

‘She’s with her, though, isn’t she?’ I thought about her smug smile as she sank into her flea-bitten sofa, refusing to help me. ‘That vile bitch is spending Christmas with my daughter. Your sister, Sophie! Why did you let this happen, when it’s the absolute opposite of what Rachel needs?’