I focus on the shiny happiness of it: the shimmering tinsel, the gold star, the funny lines, the younger children waving at their parents, donkeys ears falling off. But when they sing “Silent Night,” the tears build up inside and I fear that I will sob out loud. I swallow, deliberately looking ahead so that I don’t catch the expressions of anyone else, but especially Stuart and Deborah.

Afterward, I attempt to get Tamsin to one side to see if I can pin down a time for us to meet and chat, but she’s “busy.”

“Sure we can meet,” she says, “but it will have to be in January. Work’s manic.”

“What are you doing next Wednesday evening?” I say.

“I’ll have to get back to you.”

Damn. People quite often get caught out when I attempt to tie them down by phrasing a question in that way. They aren’t usually quick enough to come up with an excuse and end up admitting that they have nothing specific on. It allows me to get them to agree to a fixed date. It worked nearly every time with Nina.

I chat to Greg from our book group instead, who has come along as an unofficial photographer for the school website.

“Is it a hobby or are you hoping to develop your interest into something more?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t say I’m a natural, but I’m improving all the time. Nina and I attended the same photography course.”

“Oh. I just assumed that all her friends were made through connections to the school.”

I didn’t know Nina had taken a photography class. I hate things that may seem inconsequential to others, but to me, feel like deliberate snubs, as if Nina was deliberately hiding things from me on purpose. It’s not as if I’d have enrolled at some random photography class, too! Perhaps she kept it a secret because it was something I was naturally better at.

Ben said I had a tendency to take things too personally. I do try not to, but if I’m being honest, it’s hard when you discover that your supposed friend hid normal things from you for no clear-cut reason.

“It’s a small world around here,” says Greg. “People tend to be linked in some form or other. You’ll be glad to move on.”

“I promised Nina I’d stick around for as long as it took.”

I pick up a glass of white wine and take a sip, but it’s so bitter I wish I’d gone for the cordial instead.

“That’s good of you. She must’ve thought highly of you.”

Is he joking? Had he really missed how close we were? I’ve been part of the book group for over a year now.

I opt for a simple response.

“Well, of course. There wasn’t anything that Nina couldn’t ask of me.”

“Anything?”

“Well...” I say, giving a half laugh, half smile. I bite into a mince pie, unsure how else to respond.

Stuart heads over.

“We’re ready to leave,” he says. “If you are, too.”