That night they topped and tailed like they used to when they were seven, and in the morning Lana brought Judith a cup of tea.

‘You look absolutely crap,’ said Lana, smiling and smoothing her friend’s hair.

‘Cheers, mate,’ Judith croaked, her voice bashed with emotion. She sipped her tea. ‘Hey, you never told me, by the way. How come you were sleeping in my bed?’

‘Doing a character study on Goldilocks,’ Lana joked, hoping to avoid the inevitable explanation.

But Judith was one step ahead of her. ‘What d’you row about this time?’ she asked.

‘Oh I dunno, Jude. This an’ that.’ She couldn’t face talking about her relationship with Gareth right now. ‘Listen, I’ve got a show at two o’clock. What you gonna do? Will you go to Cat’s?’

Judith took the hint. ‘Yeah, maybe. I thought about goin’ there last night, but I couldn’t face the inquisition. And Lyndon is … Well, I don’t really know him, to be honest. I wasn’t about to start confiding in him about my dysfunctional parents.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Lana. And she hugged her friend. ‘Hey, but nice to know George is OK.’

‘Yeah. I just can’t bear thinking what he must’ve gone through. Living a lie like that.’

‘Wasn’t all bad though, was it, babe?’ said Lana gently. ‘He ended up getting you as a daughter. And that’s immense.’

Judith smiled faintly as Lana headed for the door. ‘Thanks for being here, Larn. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Cat.’

‘Best mates, aren’t we?’ said Lana. ‘All part of the job description.’

Outside the room, Lana hesitated, listening to see if Gareth was up and about. Silence. She thought about waking him, telling him Judith’s sorry tale. But she couldn’t guarantee he’d give her much of a reception, and right now she didn’t have the energy for more arguments.

Back in Guildford twelve hours later, she finished the last of the Boxing Day shows and headed back to her deserted student house. On any other day she’d have found it depressing to be there alone, but today she was grateful for the solitude. A chance to just take some time for herself, nurse her wounds and regroup.

She lay in the bath for an hour, topping it up with hot water every now and again, and luxuriating in the Opium bath oil Gareth had bought her.

Christ, what a Christmas.

Everything felt such a mess. Such a bombsite. She could feel tears encroaching but refused to let them come, promptly pulling out the plug and sitting with her arms wrapped around her bent knees till the water drained with one final, adamant gurgle. And then silence. She ought to get dressed and go to the phone box to call home. Check on Jude, make up with Gareth … But maybe not tonight. No. She’d do it tomorrow.

Soon the chill on her exposed wet skin prompted her to climb out of the bath. She dried herself and put on her favourite brushed-cotton pyjamas, thick stripy socks and a well-loved cardigan with holes in it. She wanted to feel cosy, wrapped up. Reaching under the bed for her seen-better-days slippers, she found the big painted star given to her by Gareth and Jude when they’d been to see her show. She’d stuffed it away that night, embarrassed by the silliness of the gift. And now she couldn’t face looking at it, the guilt was too much.