Mae practically squeals the place down when she opens the door on Christmas morning.

‘Happy Christmas!’ She brandishes a large red pillowcase at me. ‘I’ve waited for you and it’s been agony!’

‘That’s not a stocking!’ I exclaim. ‘That’s a pillowcase!’

I feel ashamed of my own stocking – one of Dad’s old knee-length socks, with tinsel sewn round the top. It’s stuffed to bursting, but I can see presents peeping out of Mae’s pillowcase that would never in a million years fit into my sock.

Mae takes my hand. ‘Hey,’ she says, ‘I told you I’d share them, didn’t I? Come on, we’ll open them together. Oh! Is that the top you made?’

‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘It’s not very good. The seams are coming apart and –’

‘I love it!’ she exclaims. ‘Turn around, let me see.’

I do so, self-consciously. It’s made out of the four tops that I took apart. Mae’s mum gave me a few tips, but I did all the sewing myself, which is why I’d rather no one looked at it too closely.

Mae says with admiration, ‘That’s really clever, Calypso. Can you make something for me?’

I laugh. ‘Not until I’ve had some lessons from your mum!’

‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ says Mae’s mum. Then she smiles over my head at my dad. ‘Happy Christmas.’

‘Happy Christmas,’ Dad says, handing over a bottle of wine. He still looks very tired, but he does try to smile back. ‘Thanks for inviting us.’

‘Come on into the warm,’ she says. ‘Today is about being comfortable. So don’t feel you have to make small talk if you don’t want to.’

‘Oh,’ says Dad. ‘Oh – well, thank you.’

Mae’s dad passes him a glass of spiced punch and asks him if he knows anything about Greece, since they’re planning a holiday next year. As it happens, Dad does know quite a lot about Greece, so he immediately starts on a list of its best historical sites.

‘Stockings!’ says Mae, almost hysterical.

I rush to the sitting room with her. Christopher is already there, lying on the floor and playing with a new computer tablet. One finger is stuck up his nose as usual.

‘Happy Christmas,’ I say to him.

He says, ‘Yeah,’ and doesn’t take his eyes off the screen. It makes me laugh.

Mae’s house smells of cinnamon and oranges. There are candles on the mantelpiece and ivy over the mirror. A huge Christmas tree stands in the corner of the room. It’s not a real one, but it’s decorated with beautiful silver and blue baubles and lights, and tiny sparkling snowflakes.

We have a tree at home too, a real one, and Dad brought out our string of ancient lights, which are shaped like candles. We don’t have many decorations, but getting them out year after year is like seeing old friends. We have a big box of paper streamers. They must be about forty years old and they’re not very bright colours any more, but we still like them. You have to unroll them very carefully from the middle, so that they come out with twists in them. Rolling them up again after the New Year takes hours.

Decorating the house this year felt strange. Dad wasn’t sure he wanted to, but I made him. And he agreed afterwards that the house did look better with the streamers up, even though they made him cry a bit. He seems to cry a bit at all kinds of things now. It freaked me out to start with, but I don’t worry now. In a way, it’s quite reassuring.

He’s had four rejections now for his History, and each one hurts, but I’ve told him that I’ll help him to put it online so that people can still read and enjoy it, and that way all his hard work won’t have been for nothing.

Antonia came round the day after her phone message. I told her about the crash, and she said she was sorry no one had got back to me on the Friday. One of her children was ill, and she’d had to stay at home to look after him. I was surprised; I hadn’t even imagined that she had children. She told Dad he was making really good progress and she told me she was proud of me for handling everything so well. ‘Though next time,’ she added, ‘don’t go through it on your own, okay?’

I nodded and promised. Though I’m hoping there won’t be a next time. It was nice to see her, and she gave me a big hug before leaving to deal with a crisis somewhere else.

‘You first,’ says Mae.

Mae’s presents are much more exciting than mine, but she’s very kind. She lets me have a beautiful notebook and a shiny gold pen from her hoard, as well as a chocolate snowman because there are two.

‘I think Father Christmas knew I was going to share with you,’ says Mae with a twinkle.

‘Not Father Christmas,’ I say. ‘Your –’

‘Shh!’ she says. ‘Don’t spoil the magic!’

Christopher, still glued to his tablet, gives a loud snort. ‘How old ARE you?’ he says sarcastically.

Mae ignores him. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here today,’ she says. ‘I hoped and hoped so much, but I don’t think I ever believed you would actually come.’

I smile at her. ‘I can’t believe it either. It feels like a dream. The best dream ever.’

Mae’s mum comes in with warm, spicy drinks for us and we show her our stocking presents.

‘You look beautiful,’ I say, a bit shyly. She’s wearing the skirt she made, and it shines in the fairy lights. Her hair is all swept up on top of her head and held in place with a big diamond-style clip. She looks like a film star.

Mae’s mum looks surprised – and then she gives me a warm smile. ‘Thank you, Calypso, that’s a very kind thing to say. Why don’t I start teaching you how to use the sewing machine in the New Year? You’ve got a good eye – I could teach you some simple techniques and you could make all kinds of things.’

I blush. ‘I’d love that.’

‘I like what you’ve done with your hair,’ Mae says to me.

I touch the plaits that I’ve carefully pinned to my head. It took me half an hour to wrestle my springy red curls into plaits. ‘I wanted to wear it like this because it was how you had your hair on the day we first met.’

‘Was it? Wow, I don’t remember that.’ Mae grins. ‘Feels like a long time ago now.’

‘Yes, it does. Like years.’

We smile at each other.

Mae’s mum glances at Christopher. ‘We’ve set a timer on that tablet, you know. No more than two hours a day.’

‘What?’ he says, horrified. ‘That’s so unfair!’

‘Screens are bad for you,’ says Mae’s mum smoothly. ‘Your father set the time.’

‘Two hours is no way enough!’ complains Christopher.

Mae and I exchange glances. It may be Christmas Day, but families are still the same, aren’t they?