It was Christmas Eve. Paddington Station hummed with kinetic energy – hundreds of people were crowded around ticket machines and d eparture boards, rushing for platforms with their huge suitcases dragging behind them, all manically focused on reuniting with their families for the Christmas break. I seesawed between loneliness and relief as I wheeled my own case – feather-light from the lack of presents – across the concourse. How many of them were silently dreading the drunken Brexit disputes and petty rows over the remote control? But how about the others? The parents looking forward to constructing their kids’ Christmas stockings, or people k ept apart from far- flung, beloved siblings all year long? How could I not envy them? I blinked away the tears that prickled behind my eyes, joining the long coffee queue that snaked its way across the station floor. Amber was always encouraging me to choose acc eptance. This was my life: all I could do was carve out the best possible choices from the circumstances that existed. And spending Christmas with my family was a total non-starter. I’d started to fire up a spark of triumph by the time I was asking for my double-shot latte. Mum had been convinced I’d break, that I’d come crawling back for her hulking organic turkey and excruciating selection of Christmas mocktails (San Pellegrino with a twist for our little alcoholic?). Instead I was running free. Amber knew where I was, and Mum didn’t. I was my own woman; an emotional orphan, in charge of my own destiny. The station I got off at was de ep in the Devon countryside, the platform dark and deserted. I pulled my ugly, warm coat a little tighter around my body, remembering Amber’s airy suggestion that I just ‘grab a cab’ when I arrived. I headed for the ticket office, but it was shuttered closed, and the tiny car park was a ghostly garage, no cab rank in sight. Something stopped me from simply calling her, demanding help as part of the pricy package I’d paid for. Now I marvel at how much I was pr epared to put up with in order to kid myself that I was a friend or an equal, something more to her than a mere client. After some frantic googling I found a firm who promised a cab in half an hour. I shivered on a bench inside the tiny entrance hall, my hands plunged de ep in my pockets. Eventually a battered Vauxhall Astra pulled up, the cheery driver heaving my case into the boot. ‘Last Christmas’ blared from his radio, approximately the nine millionth time I’d heard it that month. The cab smelt of fags, a tinsel tree swinging jauntily from his mirror while the heater blasted out noisy air. ‘So, you’re going to Holcroft, are you?’ he asked as I swung the seatbelt across my swaddled body. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ ‘Buckle up, then,’ he said, laughing to himself. ‘Your family rented it for Christmas?’ ‘Yeah, they have,’ I said merrily. Lying still came so easily. And besides, Amber sort of was family in my mind. ‘We’ve been planning it for ages. What are you up to?’ As his car zoomed down pitch-black lanes as narrow as spaghetti, twisting and turning around hairpin bends, ‘Gavin’ gave me the full rundown. His daughter had got divorced, taken up with a fella he didn’t think much of, but he was at least getting to spend Christmas with his two angelic granddaughters. His wife had died two years ago, and Christmas made the loss particularly savage, but he knew she was watching over them all, giving him marks out of ten for his gravy. I sat there, letting his monologue wash over me: I couldn’t imagine my dad ever talking about us with the same easy warmth. Sometimes
it felt more like we were prizes than offspring, and I was definitely the booby of the bunch. Waves of nausea got progressively worse as the journey refused to end, but eventually we drew up to a pair of high, wrought-iron gates. Gavin leant out of his rolled-down window and pressed the buzzer, the gates parting slowly like the wings of a bird of prey, to reveal a forbidding grey pile. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘Addams Family Christmas?’ Gavin said, turning his ruddy face around to grin at me. Suddenly I didn’t want him to leave me here. Surely he had a couple of beloved brothers he could describe to me for an hour or two? ‘It is a bit,’ I agreed. As the cab crunched to a halt, the door was flung open and I saw Amber framed perfectly in an oblong of light. It was almost like a snatched paparazzi shot – her beautiful face lit up by her wide lipsticked smile, her lithe body sculpted and kissed by a long jersey dress in a de ep red. Gavin didn’t even attempt to hide his gawping. ‘Rachel!’ she cried. ‘Here you are!’ Gavin busied himself pulling my case from the boot as Amber enveloped me in a tight hug. Her perfume was so familiar to me by then: it se eped into my nostrils, and I felt my whole nervous system start to loosen and relax. It was the kind of subtle change in emotional temperature I’d never have been able to detect before she came into my life: I could have stayed there forever. ‘Have a lovely Christmas, ladies,’ said Gavin, heading back around the car to the driver’s seat. He gave a mischievous smirk as he climbed in. ‘And may I say, you don’t look old enough to be her mum.’ I flushed scarlet with shame, but Amber didn’t skip a beat. ‘Why, thank you,’ she said playfully. As Gavin drove off, I tried to cover my tracks. ‘I don’t know where he got that idea from,’ I said, grabbing the handle of my case, hiding my flushed cheeks behind a curtain of hair. ‘I’m flattered!’ said Amber, peeling my fingers off and gripping it herself. ‘And please, let me; you’re a guest.’ ‘Thanks so much for inviting me,’ I said gratefully, point-blank refusing to engage with the large bank transfer that was a condition of said invitation. ‘Thanks so much for trusting me with your Christmas,’ she said, as if I’d had a glittering selection of options – St Barts put on ice in favour of rural Devon. ‘I’m honoured, I really am. Come and meet the rest of the gang.’ The gang. I jacked a smile across my face, even though I was feeling an odd sort of jealousy. Amber was mine, wasn’t she? Or at least more mine than this ‘gang’ she was about to reveal. I tentatively followed her into the house, guilty about the way the wheels of my case scraped through the gravel as she awkwardly dragged it for me. ‘Everyone’s in the kitchen,’ she said, swiftly abandoning it at the bottom of a long wooden staircase. It all smelt a little bit musty, the hemp rug that ran down the hallway threadbare and stained. Still, light from a burning candelabra made it all glow prettily, and the dark wood furniture felt old and stately. I felt a stab of shame – I needed to purge myself of Mum’s ability to deliver a sniper stream of sneering judgements. That was what Amber was offering me – a chance to grow myself towards the light. Amber pushed open the kitchen door. A group of five people sat around a large pine table, wine glasses and beer cans littering the surface. A jolt of anxiety hit me. Why had I assumed that no one would be drinking? A girl a good ten years younger than me with pink streaks through her hair picked up a bottle of white to top up her glass, and I could almost feel its cool progress down my own throat. All I wanted, when faced with a room full of strangers, was a way to take the edge off.
‘Everyone, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is—’ She giggled, more girlish than I’d seen her before. It made my anxiety spike even more. Was this social Amber? Would this be more like a house party than a retreat? I’d asked so few questions before I’d jumped off the cliff feet first. ‘... well, everyone.’ ‘Hi, Rachel,’ they chanted. A guy in his early twenties, cropped dyed blonde hair framing a Peter Pan face, pulled out a chair. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said, a European lilt to his voice. ‘I’m Marco.’ ‘I’m Hannah,’ said the pink-haired girl, sticking out a hand. Her nails were grubby and bitten. ‘Sorry, bit formal!’ she added, coming over to give me a hug. I awkwardly hugged her from my seated position, my spine jammed upwards, her embrace too close. Her organic deodorant was nowhere near as effective as the health food shop had promised her. Ugh – it was like Mum was in my head. Even though I despised her sly monologue, missing her felt so unexpectedly visceral that my body almost jackknifed. Can we ever truly exorcize the people who made us, or will they always haunt us, their ghostly voices ventriloquizing out of our throats, or sending up thought bubbles from our fevered brains? Even now – even after everything that’s happened – I still wrestle with that question every single day. ‘I’m Arthur,’ said the older man sat on the other side of the table. He had a grey-flecked beard, slightly bushy, that made him look more distinguished than homeless. It was the elegance of his clothes too – their studied casualness undermined by the thick luxury of the dark denim and soft cashmere hanging off his solid frame. There was a hole in the elbow of the jumper, and I wondered if he’d secretly scissored it into existence. He had a presence, a confidence, that immediately drew me. There was another man, Tim, closer to my age, who was tall and balding, his long body hunched back down over the table like a giraffe trying to take a drink. He wiggled his fingers companionably in my direction, nervy but warm. The last happy camper was a haunted-looking woman in her late forties, Joanna, who struggled to raise a smile when I said hello. Her ringless hands were wrapped tightly around a chipped mug, the steam condensing on her narrow, black- framed glasses. It was as if she was surrounded by a forcefield of misery. I swallowed down another wave of tr epidation. ‘Joanna’s having lemon verbena tea,’ said Amber. ‘Would you like one too, Rachel?’ I felt a flash of irritation. Way to broadcast to the group that I’m an alcoholic. ‘I’ll just have water, thanks,’ I said, and Marco carefully poured some from a smudged glass jug that sat on the table, his burning eyes telling me he’d taken on board my ‘problem’. Amber walked to the head of the table and clapped her hands. ‘Welcome, everyone,’ she said, laying a hand on her heart. A gold star was hanging around her neck, dipping down into her cleavage, which led the eye to follow. I noticed Arthur’s eyes already seemed to be taking the hint. ‘I want to tell you how honoured I am that you’re all trusting me to take you on this healing journey.’ She bowed to us, and we spontaneously bowed back, our eyes darting towards each other and back to her. I felt a little firework of jealousy go off as I saw their rapt expressions – did they carry Amber around in their heads the way I did, always leaning on her for a snippet of silent advice? I needed to purge this negativity. ‘Let’s close our eyes and breathe together, take a moment to set an intention for the days ahead.’ The darkness was quickly broken by a snuffling sob. I let my eyes blink open. Eyeliner streaked Hannah’s plump cheeks, her broad shoulders heaving. Amber rushed to her. ‘My brave girl,’ she said, enveloping her in a hug. ‘It’s taken a lot for you to get here, hasn’t it?’ Hannah gave a desperate nod, her sobs getting even louder. Everyone stared at the tableau of the two of them,
their faces earnest. I looked down into my water, willing it to honour Jesus and turn into wine. Why the hell was I here? My eyes grazed Hannah’s sobbing form, and suddenly she was my little sister, my Sophie. We’d never spent Christmas apart before. We’d met last week, but I almost wished we hadn’t, the air so thick with mutual resentment that our Christmas presents felt more like unexploded bombs. I’d still brought hers with me, carefully wrapped with silky ribbons the way she always did them. It was swaddled in my jeans at the bottom of my suitcase. ‘Thank you, Amber,’ managed Hannah eventually, unbinding her arms from around Amber’s torso. Sophie had got it out of me eventually, her hurt at my secrecy like an open wound. I’d admitted to Amber’s retreat as we’d said our goodbyes, pretended it was no more than massages and Christmas carols, and made her swear not to tell Mum. It was feeling way more complicated than that right now. Amber stalked back to her position at the top of the table. ‘The fact is, we’re all going to cry this weekend,’ she said, eyes resting bene volently on Hannah. ‘I’ve got many clients, many people I could have invited, but you lot – you’re my warriors.’ She grinned at us, almost triumphant. ‘You’re the ones who are ready to walk through the darkness, wade through the shit and honour your own precious hearts.’ Marco gave a spontaneous cheer. ‘We’re very lucky Arthur agreed to join us,’ she continued. ‘He’s a master practitioner in past life regression.’ A pulse of anxiety spread through my body. ‘He and I have worked together before, and...’ – her hand fluttered upwards – ‘well, it’s literally life-changing. That’s all I’m saying for now.’ Arthur gave a wide grin of appreciation. ‘When we find those lost fragments of our souls, it gives us permission to st ep fully into this incarnation.’ I glanced around the table, hoping some of the others were finding the prospect unnerving, but their faces were rapt moons. I can always go home, I told myself, but the thought of throwing myself onto the mercy of someone else’s family or spending it alone in my poky flat, only the 7/11 on the corner open for business, was too much to bear. I was doing it again – removing myself, like I always did – feeling inadequate and superior all at once, loneliness the only constant. I forced myself to merge with Amber, to inhale her words. I was here for a reason. I was ready to be transformed. Hannah’s enormous rucksack landed on the single bed with a heavy thud. ‘Do you mind if I go next to the window?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I get a bit claustrophobic.’ I looked around the tiny space, the narrow landing strip between the tiny beds. Why hadn’t I asked about the sle eping arrangements? But then, as it wasn’t a Brownie camp, it would never have occurred to me that I’d be sharing a room. It was bare and white, with a scratchy beige carpet. We each had a bedside cubby, but it didn’t look like there was anywhere to hang our clothes. A single light burned harshly from the centre of the low ceiling. ‘If you’re claustrophobic, this is going to be some serious aversion therapy,’ I said. ‘Amber says it’s really important,’ she said primly. ‘It’s part of the whole healing journey, sharing our space.’ ‘Yeah, no, it’s great,’ I said quickly. I didn’t want her sneaking to Amber, telling her I was undermining the retreat. ‘I was only joking.’ ‘This is a whole healing immersion, Rachel,’ she said, staring intently at me. She sank down on her bed. ‘I’m not ashamed of being emotional downstairs. I was honouring how de ep we’ll go, the places Amber’s already taken me.’
Tremors of unease ran up and down my limbs. ‘Sure, but it’s Christmas,’ I said lamely. ‘She told me how relaxing it would be. We’ll have fun too.’ Hannah gave a slightly knowing laugh. ‘I’m really happy to be sharing with you,’ she said. ‘I felt a connection as soon as we hugged.’ A lump closed up my throat, her not Sophie-ishness almost too much to bear. ‘Yeah, me too,’ I said. She gave an odd little namaste bow. ‘It’s an honour to spend Christmas with you, Rachel.’ I froze a second, forcing my face into submission. Then I bowed back. ‘The light in me honours the light in you,’ I said, and Hannah beamed. ‘We should go downstairs for supper,’ she said happily. Amber was ladling a brown, sludgy concoction out of a huge sauc epan. ‘I bet this is your first vegan Christmas,’ she said to me, handing me a steaming earthenware bowl. The heat was searing, but I forced myself to hold onto the bowl. ‘Yeah, not really Mum’s scene,’ I said. Amber grinned at that. ‘Can I do anything to help?’ ‘Absolutely not,’ she demurred. ‘How many times do I have to remind you that you’re a guest?’ Apart from the fact that my fingerprints were close to being burned off – a gangland hit via the medium of lentil stew – I wanted nothing more than to stay glued to Amber’s side. Instead I reluctantly retreated to the kitchen table, plonking myself down next to Marco. ‘Salute,’ he said, chinking his water glass against mine supportively, while Tim watched our little exchange. Hannah smiled gently across the table. ‘How long have you been... not been drinking?’ she asked. Ugh. I really didn’t want to go there, but they were all looking at me expectantly. Arthur’s spoon had paused en route to his bearded mouth and even Joanna seemed to have been shaken out of her cocoon of misery at the prospect of my big reveal. ‘Um, about three months. Well, I started trying not to drink three months ago – had a bit of an epic fail – and then, since then, it’s been eight weeks and three days.’ Amber was hovering behind me, my sobriety angel. ‘Obviously I couldn’t have done it without Amber.’ ‘Ob-viously,’ laughed Marco, and everyone looked up at her with adoration. ‘It’s all you, my darling,’ she said. She’d never called me darling before – I fondled the word internally. ‘Rachel’s been incredibly brave and determined, against some tough odds.’ Her voice dropped low. ‘People haven’t been as supportive as she’s deserved them to be, but she’s...’ – she paused, gazing at me meaningfully – ‘well, it’s been humbling to watch.’ Murmurs of congratulation bubbled up from the group, and I flushed, pleased now that I’d been brave enough to be truthful with them. Arthur cocked his head, contemplated me with something that looked like admiration, and I blushed even more, noticing how handsome he was. He glowed somehow, the flickering from the lit candles giving him a soft warmth. His face was lined and weather-beaten, but it looked distinguished in this light, his soulful eyes like melted chocolate. He felt like an anchor suddenly, a point of safety. I forced myself to look away. Everyone tore into the stew, dipping hunks of bread into their bowls and throwing more compliments at Amber. She nibbled at hers, birdlike, deflecting the praise. Once the meal was over, she clapped her hands and stood up. ‘It’s great news that you’re all getting on so well, but I’m afraid it’s time to say goodbye.’ We all looked up at her, confused. Hannah’s bottom lip began to tremble. ‘Don’t be sad!’ laughed Amber. ‘It’s the first part of the healing journey we’re taking together. You’re going to shed your names for the next few days, try out a new one.’
‘Call me Romeo,’ said Marco, and Hannah giggled. My eyes flicked between them. Were they flirting already? It was unnerving to me. I trained my gaze on Amber, made sure I didn’t look at Arthur. ‘I don’t understand,’ said Joanna sharply. I’d learnt over dinner that she was a corporate lawyer and her tone suggested that this particular contract was faulty. ‘Let me explain,’ said Amber, her tone honeyed. ‘As I’ve explained to each of you in the work we’ve done together, each of us develops a shield very young, a core wound that imprisons us and steals our joy.’ ‘What like?’ said Hannah. ‘Well, for me,’ said Amber, ‘I’ve always been a rescuer. When I was a little girl, my parents asked way too much of me, and punished me when I...’ Her eyes flashed with anger. A wave of fear washed over me, the earth unsteady. ‘... failed to meet their needs.’ The twist in her face smoothed away to nothing, and I wondered if my fragile state was making my mind play tricks. ‘It’s typical of alcoholics. So, my name might be, say, “Little Lost Rescuer”.’ ‘But how does it help us?’ demanded Joanna, showing scant interest in Amber’s awful childhood. Amber was next to me, and I lightly touched the crook of her elbow to let her know that I, at least, had heard her. The move felt like a risk, so when she gave me a soft, almost imperc eptible smile, I felt another wave of pride at my courage. Everything was starting to feel heightened, like the first lapping waves of MDMA. I breathed in, let myself trust it. ‘By confronting our key issue, by witnessing each other’s de epest pain, we can throw away the lies we’ve believed all our lives, and finally see ourselves – and each other – for the radiant beings we really are.’ ‘It’s a Christmas miracle!’ said Marco, ever the joker. Joanna continued to look unconvinced, narrowed eyes peering out from behind her glasses. Arthur looked calm. Calm and sure of his place in the world. I tried to inhale some of his surety from across the table. ‘I don’t know how I’d ever pick my name,’ whimpered Hannah. ‘I’ll help each of you,’ said Amber. She turned towards me, eyes fixing on my face. ‘Let’s start with Rachel. You up for that?’ Fear began to lap up again, but I refused to drown in it. She was choosing me. She was declaring me her equal, up to the task of showing this broken gang how to heal. ‘Definitely!’ I said. Could they all see it? How special our bond was? It was bad in a way, that she was making it so obvious. ‘Good girl,’ she said. She cocked her head and stared into my eyes with a loving intensity. ‘Stand here next to me.’ I got to my feet, standing opposite her. I could feel the energy between us. ‘So, Rachel, tell the group a little bit about your place in the family.’ She giggled. ‘Not this family. Your actual family.’ ‘I’m the middle child. I’ve got an older brother, Josh, and a younger sister, Sophie. My mum and dad are still together.’ Amber gazed at me, almost pitying. Then she gave me an unexpected hug. ‘Rachel, darling, you sound like you’re on a French exchange. Do you want to tell us how many pets you’ve got? Any stray guinea pigs we should know about?’ Marco and Hannah tittered, and I felt myself cringe. ‘We don’t want facts,’ she said. ‘We want feelings.’ ‘Right.’ I wanted to please her, but the words were jammed in my throat, choking me. Why had I volunteered for this? I wasn’t strong enough. Tim gave me an encouraging smile, his long fingers ste epled in front of him. ‘Sharing your story isn’t a betrayal,’ said Amber softly. ‘How does it feel to be their sister, their child?’ She paused a beat, waiting for me to speak. ‘Tell us about Lily.’ Something tore a little inside. ‘My mum is – she loves me, but it’s hard.’ I paused. The silence felt too full. ‘She won’t let me tell the truth.
In big ways and small ways.’ I heard my voice crack. ‘It’s like she loves the idea of me more than she loves me.’ ‘And love is a verb,’ intoned Amber. ‘If someone tells us they love us, but they’re not loving – well, is that even love? It’s de eply distressing for a child.’ ‘She does love me, she’s just... she’s a complicated person. She had a really hard childhood herself, she...’ Amber watched me, letting me peter out. ‘Maybe it is love,’ said Amber, ‘but I don’t think that love should make you feel this sad. This shitty about yourself. Do you? Do you really think you deserve that, Rachel?’ I was crying now, standing up in that grubby kitchen, the pile of lentils I’d failed to eat congealing on my plate in a grey pile. I let the stinging tears roll down my face like a window pane battered by a storm. I felt utterly desolate. ‘No, I don’t!’ I said, suddenly galvanized by a surge of righteous rage. ‘I fucking don’t deserve to feel like this.’ ‘Too right,’ agreed Amber, flushed with indignation on my behalf. I should have seen it. I should have detected the triumph that shone out of her eyes. ‘Your mum constantly manipulates you. She tortures you.’ ‘Fuck her,’ I sobbed. ‘Fuck my fucking family.’ ‘That’s it,’ said Amber. ‘Let it out. Connect with that pain you’ve spent so many years numbing away.’ She looked around the group. ‘You’re safe. You’re held. We’re all here for you.’ I risked a look around the room. All of them were smiling at me, even Joanna. Arthur’s handsome face was almost split in two by his grin. ‘Thanks,’ I said in a small voice. ‘I’m sorry to be such a cry baby.’ Then I felt bad about Hannah, my proxy baby sister. ‘I mean, obviously I’m just being incredibly brave, being this vulnerable.’ I smiled at them, and they took my cue to laugh. I felt like Arthur was drawn to me, intrigued, admiring of my spirit. The high came back, kicking in just as hard as the low had done a few minutes earlier. ‘So, there we have it!’ said Amber, beaming. ‘We’ve got to your issue. Let’s try out a phrase or two for size. Give me some words.’ ‘Toxic. It’s fucking toxic,’ I said, filled with righteous energy. ‘You’re right,’ agreed Amber. ‘It is. So let’s name it. Toxic Mummy’s Daughter?’ I stared at her. Could I do this? ‘Yes. Okay. Yes!’ ‘So, there we have it,’ she said. ‘Rachel’s left the building, and in her place we have Toxic Mummy’s Daughter. Let’s give her a clap and decide who goes next!’ I collapsed heavily into my seat, the applause reverberating through my body. I had committed. It was late now, and Amber had gone to bed. I’d lost track of time, my hands waving above my head as my body swayed and dipped in a vague approximation of dancing. The wailing chorus of ‘I Feel Love’ kicked in, and we all sang along at the top of our voices, tuneless and blissful. Our fingers, freezing in the draughty living room, touched and grasped, our eyes locking with a warm sweetness. ‘Happy Christmas, losers!’ yelled Marco, pointing at his watch. ‘Happy Christmas, Abandoned Peter Pan,’ I yelled back, hugging him. If love was a verb, our hug certainly felt like it, and so did all the others I shared. I didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, with these precious people. My family threatened to lurch up, but I forced down any threatening emotion. My happiness was too hard won to let them rob me of it. Arthur’s hug came last. ‘Happy Christmas, Toxic Mummy’s Daughter,’ he said, directly into my ear. How could such a ridiculous phrase feel like a come-on? I felt his lips brush my skin, and an unexpected tremor shot through me. I peeled my neck backwards to look up at him. Was this dangerous? A stab of desire as strong as this almost always ushered in disaster, but maybe I was a whole new person now.
‘Happy Christmas,’ I said. It felt mean not to use his name. His pain needed acknowledgement too. ‘Never Good Enough.’ He grabbed my hand, entwined his fingers with mine as the opening chords of an Adele ballad kicked in. I stood on tiptoes so I could get close enough for him to hear me. ‘Are you married?’ I regretted the question as soon as I’d asked it. The lights were as bright here as everywhere else in this house, so there was no hiding my embarrassment. ‘Sorry, it’s none of my business. Scrub that.’ A slow smile unfurled across his face. ‘I’m flattered you want to know,’ he said, his dark brown eyes intense. ‘No. Not now.’ ‘Right. Sorry.’ ‘Don’t ever apologize for being open-hearted,’ he said, pulling me closer to him, and moving me to the music. His firm fingers played scales on my ribs. ‘I love that about you.’ He loved that about me: it sounded like something you’d whisper after five years of dating. But that was the funny thing about this whole situation – time had started to warp and melt, dangerously fluid. By now it was almost impossible to believe that I’d only known my fellow warriors for a few short hours. I leaned into Arthur, allowing his arms to snake their way around my waist, letting the bass line se ep through our melded bodies. Then I saw how Marco’s elfin face was scrunched up in cheeky amusement, and immediately I came crashing down to earth. I’d be a fool to trust myself: when had this kind of situation not ended in disaster? I was a disgusting mess who just happened to be sober. I stiffened, slipping out of the circle Arthur had woven around me before the next song could draw us back together. ‘I should go to bed,’ I said. ‘No one wants panda eyes for Christmas.’ Arthur considered me, his handsome, grizzled face suddenly hard to read. ‘Get some beauty sle ep,’ he said, almost as if it was a command. ‘Not that you need it. Tomorrow will be quite a trip.’ When I got back to my room I sank onto my thin mattress, trying and failing to make sense of the past few hours. All that fizzing energy had drained from me now, my body limp and useless. I eyed the solid black oblong of my suitcase, torn. After a few minutes I crossed to it and yanked the zip, rootling through the layers of jeans and jumpers until I felt the silky sheen of the ribbons that encircled Sophie’s present. I sat cross-legged on the hard floor, gently teasing out the knots. I pulled back the paper with reverential care, as if Sophie would be able to feel the soft murmur of my attention through the ether. A long scarf unfurled itself in my hands, soft and yielding. It was far more stylish than the ones we’d looked at for Mum in the shop in Marylebone, chunky and thick, a vivid emerald green that she knew I’d love. A card fell out, a line drawing of a mouse in a Father Christmas hat. I don’t know exactly where she’s taken you, but I’d hate it if you were cold. Love you always, your sister Sophie xx I buried my face de ep in the wool, inhaling the faint trace of Sophie’s perfume. My tears left it sodden. ‘Happy Christmas,’ I whispered under my breath, almost convincing myself I heard her r epeat the words back to me, a sisterly incantation, unbound by time or space.