Chloe was humbled by the amount of effort it had taken—was taking—to put this meal on the table, but Susan had approached it all with practised ease. She did say she was cheating with the Heston Blumenthal pudding and vanilla-bean custard from the shop, but Chloe had assured her that it was all going to be spectacular and that she’d heard the Blumenthal puddings were something to behold.

She had also helped as much as she was allowed, putting her hand to chopping and peeling, but as soon as she was done with her assigned tasks, Susan had tried to shoo her out of the kitchen. “At least let me help clean up,” she’d insisted, being a clean-as-you-go cook herself. She was permitted on the proviso that she’d then go and keep Max company, which meant reading her Kindle while he read the latest Harlan Coben book he’d got for Christmas.

Max did not offer to help in the kitchen, but only because he would, “just get underfoot.” He did, however, set the table. Chloe knew that if her dad sat down to read on Christmas Day while her mum was buzzing about the kitchen getting all the food ready, he would have been on the end of some seriously passive-aggressive comments until he relented. But her dad would never do that; he wouldn’t dare.

Just as Susan was about to heap some loose leaves into the teapot, Chloe had a better idea. “Actually, Susan, what do you think about cracking open the bubbles Archer gave me?”

If a woman of sixty-something can giggle, then that’s what she did. “Oooh, bubbly would be lubbly.” She giggled again and Chloe joined in. “Oooh, and I have some proper glasses put away somewhere.” Susan disappeared, presumably to the front room where they seemed to keep all the “good stuff”—the china and crystal—while Chloe retrieved the bottle from the fridge.

“Dusty,” Susan declared before heading straight to the sink to wash the flutes. With her back turned, she again posed her earlier question about how Lucy had seemed, and Chloe felt a twinge of guilt. “I think I stuffed up.” Susan turned, a glass in one hand, a tea towel in the other, and looked at her inquisitively. She was an expert listener, Chloe realised. “I mentioned the job thing.” Susan nodded and pursed her lips. Chloe doubted it was with derision, but it certainly didn’t make her feel any better.

Susan brought the now-clean glasses to the table and picked up the bottle. “She will want to talk to you about it eventually, I imagine, just not on Christmas.” So, Chloe had stuffed up. “She’s had a hard time of it lately, poor Lucy,” continued Susan, “and, quite honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned it to you girls already. That woman—” Susan cut off her own thought, her anger palpable. Chloe felt a little helpless, not having an immediate fix, but she’d just have to wait until Lucy was ready to talk about it.