Mills had disappeared upstairs and Helen hadn’t seen anything more of Lydia or Matt since dinner, but that wasn’t unusual. She knew she should reach out to them more, but some days it was just too damn hard. Their mother was a hugger, tactile to the extreme by most accounts, whereas Helen preferred to express her affection by keeping the cupboards full and waiting on them all hand and foot. She was no Francesca, not that she would want to be. Tofu tended to give her wind and it was difficult to make Lycra look fetching on her thighs.

Lydia in particular should demand more of Helen’s attention. She was a closed book, so quiet and unassuming that Helen often forgot she was in the room. Helen knew what that felt like and it was a lonely place to inhabit. But Lydia was so different to what Mills was like at her age, making it tricky for Helen to bond with her. Mills was curious and feisty, questioning everything, challenging everyone, determined to make her own mind up. Lydia was a people pleaser, happy to accept whatever you told her without forming her own opinion. That’s why she melded into the background so much. She never stepped out of the shadows cast by other people. Even her brother looked through her like she was translucent.

Helen swirled the merlot, watching the liquid swill around the glass, coming dangerously close to the top before retreating. The news was starting on the television, stories of sadness and gloom. It was early October and Helen fully expected the Christmas marketing to kick up a notch very soon. 2019 had been a quiet year for them. Helen hoped 2020 would be a little livelier. A holiday would be nice. A beach, a view, a good book. But Hugh didn’t like to travel. He liked his home comforts, nothing too exotic. He was a korma man, nothing too spicy, and liked knowing that a good cup of tea was within reach at all times.

Christmas felt like it arrived earlier and earlier every year. Helen needed to think about plans for the bookshop and what festive preparations were needed there. It was her favourite time of the year, all that sparkle and colour. Knowing there was glitter at the end of it made the beige hue of the rest of the year bearable. Maybe she should see if Lydia wanted to help out at the bookshop, a few hours after school perhaps or helping to plan the festive displays.

An open book sat on the couch beside her, a new novel by a familiar author, but her mind kept running away with her tonight. Hugh was still in his study, but the draw of the news headlines would be too much for him to ignore. True to form, she heard the study door open across the hall and his slippered feet shuffle across the hard wood floor.