Camilla makes a show of flicking through the pages, saying she’s “touched,” yet she appears anything but. She clutches it tightly like she can’t wait to hurl it out a window. I deliberately included a few pictures of Charlie—it felt wrong to leave him out.

Stuart was a tricky one to buy for. After ditching the tie idea—he and I can start our own thing—this year (especially as we’ve gone for a horribly public group-present-sharing experience), I had to walk the fine line. He’s got a voucher, too—a certificate for a valuable, rare wine of his choice which he can apparently keep in storage in some mysterious wine cellar or have delivered. Who knows if this wine even exists or not, or if it is indeed decent, but that is the joy of internet gift-buying. It makes it look as though I’ve tried.

Deborah knocks back the last of her Baileys, crocodile-like eyes glaring at me over the top of her glass.

She can doubt my motives all she likes, but they are pure. I have Stuart and the children’s best interests at heart, I really do. Not one of them can prove otherwise.

After exchanging gifts with Suzanne and Kevin, I excuse myself. “I must pack.”

There’s only so much false cheer, I, and even Deborah, by the looks of it, can take. Nina would’ve hated this. I feel grubby and restless.

Finally, Stuart catches my eye. He even manages a genuine smile. It’s a relief. It dies, however, when I return downstairs with my bags and spot Stuart and Camilla alone in the kitchen. Both their glasses are empty, yet they seem unaware, clutching them regardless while they talk. Camilla stops talking as I approach.

“Marie!” she says in a happy voice, which sounds like a warning to Stuart of my arrival.

There’s nothing else I can do but smile. Graciously. It’s bloody hard.

Most of her belongings have already been moved into the guesthouse by a removal company. Suzanne and Kevin said they didn’t mind being surrounded by boxes for the last few days of their stay. (Camilla appears to have an awful lot of stuff for someone who moved to a different country at short notice.) She is spending two nights at her grandparents’ before flying out to Toronto for the remainder of the holidays. Upon her return, she will be our (very) immediate neighbor. She didn’t waste any time at all in making it happen. Neither would I if I had an underhanded agenda.

We all say our goodbyes, festive wishes and farewells among hugs, kisses and promises. Actually, I don’t mind being the first to leave, I realize, as I drive away. When I return, it will be for good. Unlike Camilla, my ties to this place are strong.

I check into a boutique hotel near my parents’. I’ll go over and help cook Christmas lunch tomorrow, but I couldn’t face three nights home alone with them. There’s too much time to fill, too much...expectation for me to take on the role of two siblings. Rightly or wrongly, I feel like I need to make up for my brother’s absence, smile in a jolly fashion when he Skypes from a beach or a mountain or a desert or wherever he can get Wi-Fi, when really, I’m jealous.