Gabby had at last stopped wetting the bed, and stayed Sundays and Mondays at her mum and dad’s house. It was wonderful. They ate a lovely meal together then watched the telly. Sometimes her mum still got impatient with them, though never too much, even when James Junior was really naughty. She loved her school, and she was making friends and, all in all, life was good. Now she had Christmas to look forward to as well. Everyone was going to come to their house! Her grandad said it was unheard of, though somehow Gabby knew she mustn’t say that to anyone or it would cause trouble. There was a big tree up, and the mantelpiece was decorated with a huge piece of pretend holly. Her nana said it looked like a Victorian Christmas card, and her mother had liked that so it must have been a compliment. Never had Gabby looked forward to something in her life as much as she looked forward to this coming Christmas Day. The turkey was massive, the veg was all prepared, and her nana was going to bring the Christmas pudding. She had actually helped her mum ice the Christmas cake, and she and James Junior had been allowed to make a chocolate log. It was magical.

As Gabby lay there wondering at how lucky she was, her mother came into her bedroom and sat down on the side of her bed. This was something else she was beginning to like – her mother had started chatting to her like a real person, like the mummies in the books at school. She didn’t just tell her off all the time.

‘You comfortable, love?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She still knew enough to watch her Ps and Qs.

‘Looking forward to Christmas, I bet?’

She nodded, her face shining with happiness.

‘Well, remember that Santa only comes to good boys and girls.’

‘I will, Mummy, and I’ve been good. Sister Angela said I had been impressive, that was the word.’

Cynthia laughed then, a real laugh. ‘I remember her – tall, ugly old cow.’

Gabby grinned at this blasphemy. ‘She said I looked just like you at the same age.’ She had also said that her mother was a heart-scald if ever there was one, and that she had been nothing but trouble from the day she walked into the Sacred Heart School. But Gabby wisely kept that bit of the conversation to herself.

Cynthia looked down on her lovely daughter – she really was lovely, she was beautiful. ‘You’re a good kid, Gabs.’

This was another new thing, the shortening of her name to “Gabs”, this from her mother who always insisted everyone got their full title.

Gabby felt the tears sting her eyes then, it was not often her mother was this kind to her. ‘I try, Mummy.’