We go to church at ten and sing carols loudly. Then we come back to Mae’s house and have the most enormous lunch I’ve ever seen. There’s turkey and cranberry sauce and Brussels sprouts and roast parsnips and roast potatoes and peas followed by Christmas pudding and custard. Mae’s dad switches all the lights off and then sets light to the pudding. We all gasp at the blue flame that floats around the dome before disappearing.

After lunch there are presents. I wasn’t expecting much, but Mae’s parents have bought me a brand-new pair of boots – knee-high brown leather with fur at the top. They are exactly the right size. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had boots like these, and I know instantly that I’ll never want to take them off.

They’ve bought a present for Dad too – a new cookery book and oven gloves.

His expression softens. ‘Duck with plums!’ he says, turning the pages. ‘Beef stew with stout and prunes! There’s a nice recipe here for chicken with lemons …’ And then his eyes widen as he realises what he’s said.

Lemons.

The breath stops in my throat for a moment. I can feel everyone around me holding their breath too. How could he say it out loud? I still dream about that day. Mae lets out a tiny gasp and stares at me.

I feel as though everyone is waiting for my reaction. And for that time-frozen moment, I know I have a choice.

They’re just lemons. Yellow fruit. We can’t go around avoiding them for ever, can we?

I let out my breath very carefully. Then I take a new one, and straighten, and stretch my mouth into a smile. ‘That sounds nice,’ I say, and look Dad full in the face.

His gaze is uncertain, but he nods, and he tries to smile too, and then everyone around us relaxes, and Christopher starts another argument with his dad about the tablet.

The danger has passed. Or is it me who has passed a test?

Mae has made me a beautiful pencil case with a zip and everything.

‘Mum did that bit,’ she says, ‘but I decorated it myself.’

The fabric is decorated with hundreds of tiny swirls and patterns, just like the ones on her wall. I give her a big hug.

I have made her a canvas collage, using copies of the front covers of all her favourite books. I got the idea from the activity we did at the young carers’ group. Miss Spotlin helped me print out the covers on the computer one day after school and I cut them all out and stuck them onto a big canvas. Then I brushed varnish over the whole thing to make it shiny.

Mae bursts into tears when she sees it. It makes me laugh because I know it means she loves it.

‘Do you hate it?’ I tease.

‘No, no, I love it!’ she sobs. ‘This is the best present anyone’s ever given me!’

She’s so funny.

‘I have one more for you, Calypso,’ says Mae’s mum.

It’s a bag made out of the leftover fabric from her skirt. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. I love it so much that I am left speechless.

‘Calypso,’ says my father, ‘don’t be rude. Say thank you.’

‘Ah, don’t worry,’ says Mae’s mum, putting a hand on Dad’s shoulder. ‘She is saying thank you – look, with her eyes.’

After presents, there is a film on the TV and then food again – Christmas cake and chocolate yule log and tea and hot milk.

It’s been the best day of my life, and although I don’t want it to end, I don’t mind going home again. In fact, part of me is longing for the peace and quiet of my own house. It’s just me and Dad there, and although that’s not easy now, it’s familiar. Familiar family. I think maybe you can be a family with just two people.

One step at a time on our journey. But hopefully we’re going the same way now. And soon, smiles won’t be an effort, and maybe there’ll be hugs. There’s already more sharing. That’s a good start.

When we’re all stuffed and sleepy, I catch Dad’s eye. He knows, because despite what he did to protect me, despite the difficulties we’ve had, he knows me better than anyone.

‘Shall we go home, Calypso?’ he says.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes please. I think it’s time.’