“At flirting?” she asked, surprised.

“Hell yeah. Didn’t you hear? I’ve practically been a monk for years now.” Lucy could hardly imagine that Will had been “monkish”. Single, yes, but celibate? Surely, he was joking. Well, if he wasn’t, she was quite happy to be the person to break his bout of celibacy. She giggled to herself, becoming aware that someone was calling her name—Briony. She was dealing out Cards Against Humanity and did Lucy want to play? She glanced at Will who shrugged.

“Oh, yes, I’ll play.” She popped the last of her Christmas cake into her mouth, then picked up each white card as it landed on the table in front of her. “Um, Will, I have no idea who this person is.” She stared at the card—“Vanna White”. Who in the world was Vanna White when she was at home?

“Oh, we have an unwritten rule. If you don’t know who someone is, or what something is, you can swap out the card. Here.” He held out his hand and took the card. “Really, you don’t know Vanna White?”

“Should I?”

“Wheel of Fortune?”

She stared at him blankly. “I think it’s a bit like if we were playing the British version and you drew Rachel Riley.”

“Who’s Rachel Riley?”

“Exactly.”

“Lucy’s swapping out a card—Vanna White,” he declared, placing Vanna on the bottom of the deck, and handing Lucy a card from the top.

She read it—“Steve Harvey”.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said, exasperated. “Who in the world is Steve Harvey?” The was a beat of silence before an eruption of laughter. Lucy joined in, happy to laugh at her own expense. There were two more swaps before she finally drew a card with something on it that she knew of. It was a particularly disgusting card, but she was certain it would win her a round. Now she just needed to wait for the right black card to be played.

Two hours later, Bridget was declared the winner with seven black cards. Lucy remembered what Jules had said about her cousin, that Bridget wasn’t as strait-laced as she seemed. Apparently not, especially considering that her winning card had involved a particularly graphic depiction of a sexual act that Lucy suspected was illegal in some countries. As Bridget raised her hand to claim the win, her cheeks had turned a lurid shade of pink.

Lucy leant back against the sofa, her eyes droopy. The Christmas cake had been eaten, they’d gone through two pots of coffee—she’d had tea—and between the large group, another three bottles of wine had been drunk. But, with her Christmas morning hangover still fresh enough in her mind, Lucy had declined the “incredible pinot from Oregon”.

“I’m absolutely shattered,” she said quietly to Will, as the others start to pack up around them.

“You should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

She threw him a frown. “How so?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Tell me what? Does your family have some sort of Boxing Day tradition?” Lucy wondered what it could possibly be and almost every thought seemed exhausting. Would it be awfully bad manners to sleep the day away?