Steve shifted onto his side and pulled her down to lie next to him. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said. He reached around and stretched his hand over the flesh of her backside. ‘I knew you’d like it.’

She moved closer against him so he couldn’t see her face. Her nightdress crackled with static against his pyjamas. ‘You dark horse,’ she said into the warm meat of his neck. ‘I thought you were getting me the necklace I showed you.’

‘What necklace?’ He rolled her away from him and pushed her hair from her face. ‘You didn’t mention a necklace.’

‘It’s all right.’ She brightened her voice. ‘Sorry. It’s a beautiful watch. I didn’t mean –’

His eyes moved side to side, trying to remember. ‘You didn’t say anything about a necklace.’

‘I showed you, is all. In my catalogue. A gold chain with a pendant.’ She held a finger to the base of her neck, where the pendant might have hung. ‘I showed you a while back. It had a small letter A for Amanda. A pendant.’

He shook his head. ‘You have to spell it out, Mand. If you want a necklace, tell me you want a necklace. You can’t expect me to pick up on a hint like that.’

She smiled, and pinched his face until he smiled back. ‘D’you like the jacket?’

‘I love it, darl. Good for the truck when I’m driving at night.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

She turned her back to him and picked up the gift wrap the watch had come in, red with gold bells, still holding its box shape. From this position on the bed she could see one of Steve’s socks beside the wash basket, where he must have thrown it and missed. He’d left his new jacket on the carpet at the foot of the bed, and the striped paper was torn, strewn across the floor. The Christmas cards she’d arranged on the chest of drawers had fallen sideways, and the water needed changing in the glass vase where she’d arranged a few orchids earlier in the week. The rest of the house could do with a once-over. She ought to get moving.

‘I could take it back,’ he said, sitting up. ‘The watch. I kept the receipt. I think.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ She balled up the gift wrap in her hand and wondered how long she could pretend to like the watch. Not much past Boxing Day, she figured. ‘I’m hungry.’ She swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘You take a shower and I’ll get breakfast going.’

‘No rush, is there?’ Steve patted the sheets where she’d lain and looked up at her hopefully.

It was only nine-thirty, according to the Timex, and already she felt like a bitch. She ought to get back into bed with him, she knew that. Start the day again. Morning sex was a tradition she could get behind, as a rule. More her bag than Christmas. But the fun had gone out of it lately, and she couldn’t bring herself to fake it.