The pop of the cork sounded more like a bullet to the head than a celebration. We always have
champagne on Christmas morning, our flutes chinking, our little family circle something magical and
precious. Of course there had been absences in the past – triumphant in-laws who’ve made off with my
babies, claiming it’s ‘their’ Christmas – but there had never been an absence as agonizing as this one.
‘Cheers!’ said Sophie, smashing her glass against mine. ‘Careful,’ I said sharply. ‘These were your
grandmother’s.’ I could feel how eager she was to please, how determined to fill the space of two, and it
irritated me. What an ungrateful fool I was back then. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ she said, her body imperc eptibly
shifting towards Toby’s soft bulk. He was built for comfort not for speed, my son-in-law, but maybe
that was a good thing. Maybe, despite her outward naivety, Sophie had listened more carefully than her
sister to the cautionary tales that her father and I had silently taught them about love.
‘Happy Christmas, everyone!’ said Josh, a self-satisfied grin splitting his face in two. He seemed
genuinely unconcerned about Rachel’s absence. He must have seen my face. ‘Come on, Mum, it’s fine.
She’s sulking. Do her good to miss us. It’ll remind her what she’s actually got.’ His dreary wife nodded
her agreement like a little china dog, ignoring the black look I gave them both. Rachel was always
brighter than him: they both got As, but hers were effortless. He’d never quite forgiven her for that – her
absence was probably a Christmas present in itself, or so he’d thought. ‘Let’s go and get some
unwrapping on the go,’ cried Nick, and my grandchildren began their relentless sugar-revved
screaming. It was only 11 a. m.
As they tore towards the living room, the adults in tow, Sophie hung back.
‘You okay, Mum? I miss her, too. It’s so weird without her. I ke ep looking round, and she’s not there,
rolling her eyes at me.’ ‘I don’t know how to feel, quite frankly,’ I said. ‘I’m angry, of course, but most
of all I’m hurt.’ My hand went unconsciously to my heart, encased by a black cr epe dress which
could’ve just as easily done for a funeral. ‘I ache, Sophie.’
It was true; my body throbbed with the kind of pain that no amount of paracetamol could take away.
‘That’s what she’s done to me.’ Sophie’s round, expressive eyes moistened. ‘It’s making me feel like
total poo, too, Mum.’ Her inability to swear was normally endearing. Not today. ‘But...’ She froze,
framed by the French windows that opened onto the bare winter garden, the light grey and low. ‘I think
she needs this.’
‘Needs what, exactly?’ I said witheringly. Why could I summon no warmth for the children who had
actually deigned to spend Christmas with me? ‘To be in a different space this year,’ stuttered Sophie.
‘To try to heal. She’s trying really hard to change.’ ‘The most healing thing is to be with the people who
love you, not to be alone.’ ‘She’s not... I mean...’ Sophie blushed crimson, her feet starting towards the
door. I’d grabbed the flesh of her upper arm before she could make her es cape.
Everything sped up in that moment, inside and outside my body. ‘She’s with that woman, isn’t she?’ I
demanded. ‘She’s with Amber.’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Sophie. ‘Don’t lie to me!’ I was shouting. I
couldn’t help it. There was a whole river of pent-up rage that was bursting its banks. I could see Sophie
quaking, and I used it to my advantage. It’s hard not to hate myself for that now. ‘Tell me the truth.
Where is your sister?’
‘I don’t know!’ she said, tears starting. ‘She’s with her, though, isn’t she?’ I thought about her smug
smile as she sank into her flea-bitten sofa, refusing to help me. ‘That vile bitch is spending Christmas
with my daughter. Your sister, Sophie! Why did you let this happen, when it’s the absolute opposite of
what Rachel needs?’
Nick and Toby were in the kitchen now, Josh and Chloe following behind them. I let go of Sophie’s arm
and flung myself down at the kitchen table, giving way to the sobs that I’d been holding in since dawn.
All of them looked at me as if I was some kind of grief sideshow. Nick eventually put a hand on each of
my shoulders. ‘Let me call her again,’ he said, useless as ever. ‘She might pick up this time.’
Was this my punishment? Was this my punishment for what I’d done? I raised my head an inch. ‘If you
want to call anyone, call that cunt,’ I hissed, too quietly for any children to hear. I hadn’t lost all sense of
common decency. At least not yet.