I sat up, my breath a foggy cloud that furled outwards into the freezing bedroom. It took me a second to
remember where I was, but the biting chill soon reminded me. So, too, did the sight of Hannah, who
leapt from her own bed and crossed the room, flinging her arms around my shoulders. ‘Happy
Christmas, lazy bones!’ she said. The relentless intimacy was a bit unnerving, almost as if I’d adopted a
rescue dog who’d expected to live out his days in a damp kennel. ‘I waited to go down to breakfast so
I’d be here when you woke up.’
‘Right, thanks,’ I said, forcing my body not to turn rigor-mortis stiff. ‘I know how weird it must be for
you, not being with your family, so...’ She looked down at me with blazing eyes. ‘They sound like total
fuckers, Toxic Mummy’s Daughter. You’ve done the right thing coming here.’ I reached up a hand
unconsciously to fondle Sophie’s scarf, which was still looped around my neck – I’d fallen asle ep in its
embrace. I could smell the mustiness of Hannah’s morning breath, her lank, dyed hair curtaining my
forehead.
There I was, dodging intimacy again. ‘Happy Christmas!’ I said, injecting cheer into my tone. I hugged
her back properly, then swung my feet down onto the sticky carpet. ‘And thank you for saying that.
You’re brave, too, taking a risk on this whole thing.’ We’d established last night that Hannah was
adopted, had never felt her adoptive parents loved her as much as her high-flying siblings. There was a
suicide attempt that she wasn’t yet ready to talk about: instead she’d taken on Amber’s suggestion of
Little Lost Lamb as her name and promised to get courageous enough to share more today.
‘Nothing’s a risk if Amber’s with us,’ said Hannah, her expression as dreamy as a lover. Amber was
back at the stove, her big orange tureen now filled with steaming porridge. Her dark hair was pulled
back in an elegant chignon, a woollen dress skimming her body, the scarlet bow of her mouth as festive
as a Christmas decoration. My eyes flicked to the kitchen table, unconsciously searching for Arthur.
Why had I brought a suitcase full of jeans and tracksuit bottoms? I chided myself: I was falling for the
biggest con in the book: comparison – something Amber herself had taught me to reject as I’d sat in her
room wailing about all the milestones I’d failed to achieve. What an irony that I was now comparing
myself to my liberator. I’d brought the warm, comfortable clothes she’d advised us to pack, whilst she
was expressing herself in her normal, vivid way.
Meanwhile, there was no sign of Arthur. I tried not to overthink it. ‘Here’s your Happy Christmas
breakfast!’ Amber trilled, holding out a bowl for me. ‘Made with almond milk and water. There’s maple
syrup on the table.’ ‘Thanks,’ I said. I couldn’t help feeling like every meal had the same mulchy quality
you’d only fully appreciate if you had false teeth. ‘Are there are any eggs I could boil?’
She cocked her head, looking slightly disappointed. ‘Eggs aren’t strictly vegan, Toxic Mummy’s
Daughter.’ ‘No,’ agreed Hannah, coming up behind me. ‘The hens get really mistreated actually – I can
send you a link about it. Amber, can I have a big bowl of the yummy stuff?’ ‘Of course you can!’
beamed Amber, and I retreated to the table, feeling stung. Everything still had that heightened quality,
emotions so close to the surface that the slightest touch triggered an electric reaction.
Tim picked up a big cafetière of coffee as I sat down next to him. ‘Want some?’ he said. ‘I guess you’re
not suffering like the rest of us. Oh yeah, and Happy Christmas.’
Tim was gay, an A&E doctor, and he’d been having an affair with a married male colleague for the past
three years. He was illegitimate, too, and Amber was convinced it was all part of the same internal story.
‘Certainly do, Shameful Secret.’ I caught his eye, wondering if we’d smile at the ridiculousness, but we
didn’t. It was yet another reminder that I needed to fully commit. As he poured a hot stream of coffee
into one of the tannin-ringed mugs, Arthur ambled into the room, scuffing his beard with his left hand.
He surveyed the room, then crossed directly over to me.
‘Happy Christmas, you,’ he said softly, leaning downwards so that his lips almost grazed my earlobe.
‘Happy Christmas to you too,’ I stuttered, willing my cheeks not to flush. Amber was watching us from
the stove, the wooden spoon static in her hand, her gaze steady and unwavering. Was it pity or contempt
I could see in her eyes? A shudder of self-disgust ripped through my body. She was my focus. She was
my protector. I needed to stifle this crush before it ruined everything I’d worked so hard to gain.