Christmas Eve arrived and Joe was true to his word. He busied himself in the kitchen, shooing me away every time I popped my head around the door. Instead, I did what I could to make his sorry excuse for a Christmas tree look a little less haggard, and when that was done I set six place settings in the small dining room. I showered and dressed and even put on a little make-up. I was nervous, but also excited. It would be lovely to have my grandparents here.

Marie was first to arrive, in a fug of Chanel No. 5, impeccably made up and carrying a bottle of Moët & Chandon. Eighteen-year-old me was impressed. Real champagne! It felt decadent and grown up.

‘You look lovely, Heidi,’ she said, hugging me so tightly that I got a lungful of her perfume mixed with her hairspray. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Is Joe in the kitchen?’

I took her coat and soon heard peals of laughter as they chatted. I liked Marie. I always had. Unlike Ciara, she hadn’t taken her hurt about Joe leaving out on me. She’d always been kind when we met, looking at me with sympathetic eyes. Sometimes I wondered how someone who appeared as kind as she did raised a daughter as cruel as Ciara. Then I’d remember, of course, who Ciara’s father was.

My grandparents arrived next, dressed in their Sunday best. I helped Grandad through the door and to the living room. He was looking well. Feeling great, he said. He’d left his wheelchair at home and was managing with his walker. My heart was aglow with love for them. Granny even agreed to take a small glass of sherry while Grandad remained a traditionalist with a bottle of beer I poured into a glass for him. Marie and Joe joined us and we were making polite conversation when the doorbell rang again.

Ciara had arrived. Very much in the party spirit. I could smell wine on her breath and her eyes were glazed. Still she grinned.

‘So, where is it?’ she asked, looking directly at Joe.

He shrugged. ‘Where’s what, sweetheart?’

She rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion. ‘The fatted calf? Surely it should be on the spit by now? Celebrating the prodigal daughter’s return from Dublin.’

‘Ciara.’ Marie’s voice was low and stern. She was firing off a warning shot.

Ciara pressed her index finger to her lips and shushed. ‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘We have to be good. Keep quiet. Don’t say what we all want to say.’

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

‘Right,’ Ciara said, ‘where can a girl get a drink around here?’

‘Ciara, you’re twenty-three years old and acting like a brat,’ Joe hissed, which was exactly the wrong way to try to endear Ciara to him.

‘Oh, Daddy, you’ve noticed me! I didn’t realise you remembered I existed,’ she said, mouth turned down melodramatically. ‘Kudos to you for remembering my age! I am impressed.’