Early on Christmas morning Zara and Rowena and I crowded into Mum’s bed to open our presents from Santa. My stocking was filled with love-heart sweets, a little knitted mouse, a bar of chocolate, an elephant purse, a bag of balloons and a green pen. Even Bear had a stocking full of dog treats and chews and his very own rolled-up socks to stop him stealing ours. My present from Mum was a black sweatshirt embroidered with a pearly-white moon and silver stars. It was exactly the sort of top Sally would wear and I loved it.

‘It’s the best present ever,’ I said, hugging Mum hard.

‘No, mine is,’ she said, because she’d just opened my framed photograph of us three girls and clearly loved it. She was thrilled with Zara’s hairbrush and Rowena’s special drawing too, and said we were her three favourite girls in all the world.

I got black nail varnish from Zara. I usually hated nail varnish, but black was kind of cool, and I liked the Goth look. She liked her silver nail varnish too, and was impressed that I’d chosen it for her.

Rowena gave me a bead bracelet in red and yellow – not really my sort of thing at all, but I said I loved it because I knew she’d made it herself. She loved her banana monkey pen.

My dog book from Sam was lavishly illustrated, full of facts and true-life stories. I showed Bear a photo of a long-haired German Shepherd the spitting image of him, but he was too busy chewing his Christmas socks to pay much attention. Sam had given Mum a new Anne Tyler paperback, Zara a fantasy novel called Zara, Queen of Snake Planet, and Rowena The Worst Witch – all excellent choices.

‘Bless him,’ said Mum. ‘He’s such a lovely boy.’

‘I know he is,’ I said. ‘I love him to bits.’ And I did too – but it wasn’t that kind of love.

Mum made banana pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast, and then we lazed around in our dressing gowns for most of the morning. We didn’t have to prepare a huge Christmas dinner. We just had chicken and roast potatoes and sprouts and peas. It would have been silly to roast a big turkey: Mum would have been stuck eating leftovers while we were away with Dad. We didn’t bother with Christmas pudding, which none of us really liked. Instead we ate clementines and little marzipan sweets in the shape of fruit. After Mum had had a rest, we had fun blowing up all the balloons in my stocking and playing a hilarious game of Pass-the-balloon, twenty-five of them bobbing crazily about the room, with Bear leaping up at them, wild with excitement. For supper we had chicken sandwiches and the trifle, and then later that evening we roasted chestnuts.

I ate all my love hearts until I only had one left. It was a pink one with I love you written on it. I kept it at the bottom of the packet and put it beside my scarlet notebook.

I wondered about starting a diary, but I couldn’t think of the right words to express all my feelings about Sally. I love Sally, I love Sally, I love Sally all the way down the page was a waste of paper, and there didn’t seem much point in writing a prosaic account of our family Christmas, enjoyable though it was.

But then it was Boxing Day and we had to go to Dad’s. Not to his flat, as it only had one bedroom and that was full of Dad and Helen. We went to Granny’s house in the country. It had been great fun when Dad and Mum were still together. It was a rather dark, gloomy house, and Granny was very particular and didn’t let us paint or bake or do anything that might make a mess – though she didn’t mind if we played up in her attic, which was full of trunks of clothes and old books and a dressmaker’s dummy we pretended was real.

We spent most of our time outdoors, even though it was always cold and often wet and windy too. We visited a farm where we were allowed to feed their two donkeys and collect eggs, and we went for long walks through the forest or up Paradise Hill. We could see for miles from the top.

I remembered Mum striding along, climbing a tree for a dare, often giving Rowena a piggyback. Now she was often exhausted just walking down to the corner shop and back.

Last year Helen had brought a special set of country clothes, a waxed jacket and green wellies, but she wasn’t a proper walker and wouldn’t go anywhere muddy, even in her new boots. We didn’t want to go to our special places with her anyway. I’d spent most of last Christmas holiday up in the attic, reading, and planned to do the same this year.

Mum came to supervise our packing. ‘Aren’t you taking your new sweatshirt, Frankie?’ she asked.

‘No, I like it too much. I’m saving it for best.’ I was wearing Mum’s rainbow jumper again, and I had the black yeti coat on my bed, ready.

‘Really?’ said Mum. ‘You’ll look a bit of a scruffbag. Granny will turn her nose up at you.’

‘Good. I can’t stick Granny,’ I said.

It was clear that I was her least favourite grandchild. She approved of Zara because she was neat and girly, and she was very fond of Rowena, but she found me exasperating because I was untidy and fidgety unless I was reading. I seemed to be clumsier than usual at her house: I once made the china crinolined ladies on her windowsill do a little dance and accidentally chipped part of a stiff lace petticoat. It was barely noticeable, but Granny was furious. And of course we always had huge arguments about Bear.

He came with us, but very much on sufferance. We all took our boots off on the doorstep, but Bear could hardly remove his paws, so he couldn’t help making muddy marks on Granny’s carpet. She seemed to think he should be kept in her horrible freezing garage, all on his own! At least Dad took my side and said that Bear was part of the family, but Granny complained that his hairs got everywhere and he had an awful doggy smell. What else did she expect him to smell of?

She made me put his bed in a miserable little utility room with damp washing hanging on a rack above him. He didn’t like it there one bit and barked in protest, setting Granny off on a rant about that damned dog! I took to creeping downstairs when everyone else was asleep and curling up beside him.

‘If only your mum hadn’t died, Mum,’ I said.

‘Yes, if only,’ she said, and her voice suddenly went wobbly. She sat down abruptly on my bed and shut her eyes.

‘Mum?’ Zara and I cried in unison. ‘Are you having another relapse?’

‘No, no. I’m fine,’ she said, though her eyes were wet when she opened them, and she couldn’t stop tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘You’re not fine, Mum,’ I said, sitting down too and putting my arm round her.

‘I am. I just missed my mum for a minute.’

Zara and I looked at each other. Mum’s mum had died ages ago, before we’d even started school. I barely remembered her – just that she was soft and kind. I loved to nestle against her because she had a special smell. I smelled of it too if I sat on her lap.

‘What did she smell of?’ I asked.

‘Frankie!’ said Zara.

‘She always smelled of lilac cologne,’ said Mum, smiling now. ‘It was lovely, wasn’t it? I used to wear it for a while after she died, but somehow it didn’t smell right on me.’

She still looked very sad, even though she was smiling. I thought about this long-ago grandma. I knew Mum’s dad had died of a heart attack, but I never knew what her mother had died of. I suddenly went cold.

‘Mum, did your mum die of MS?’ I asked.

‘What? No!’ She saw my expression. ‘I don’t think MS is hereditary – you mustn’t worry that you’ll get it too. My mum died of pneumonia. There was a horrible flu outbreak and she couldn’t seem to fight it off. She was always very thin and frail.’

‘You’re getting thinner and frailer, Mum!’ I said anxiously. ‘Promise you’ll eat properly while we’re away …’

‘I promise,’ she said, patting my hand.

‘Yes, but seriously, it’s so awful leaving you all alone. You look after us girls brilliantly, but you’re not very good at looking after yourself. I think I’d better stay here. In fact, I’m absolutely one hundred per cent staying here,’ I said firmly.

‘No you’re not,’ said Mum.

‘Look, I absolutely hate the idea of going off with Dad,’ I said. ‘I hate him.’

‘No you don’t,’ she said. ‘Now, is that you packed?’

‘Yes!’ I said, shutting the lid of my case with great difficulty.

‘She hasn’t packed sensibly at all,’ said Zara. ‘She’s crammed about a hundred and one books in there, but I bet she’s forgotten clean underwear and pyjamas and washing things.’

It was a total exaggeration, but with an element of truth. Zara sighed heavily and went off to the linen cupboard and bathroom to find my stuff.

‘I shall miss you so, Mum,’ I said. ‘You’ve no idea how much.’

‘I do have some idea. I was missing my mum just then.’ Mum paused and then said softly, ‘I know it’s silly, but sometimes I want to be a little girl again and climb onto her lap so she can make everything better.’

‘Oh, Mum!’

‘Now don’t you start crying too. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to get all maudlin. Look, I’d better go and supervise Rowena. Heaven knows what she’s packing. Probably every single Sylvanian and all their equipment. We’d better get a move on. Your dad will be here soon.’

Mum was still in her dressing gown, her face very pale, dark rings under her eyes. I wanted Dad to see her like that and realize just how ill she was – but by the time he turned up she was showered and dressed in a thick jumper that didn’t show how much weight she’d lost, and she’d made up her face carefully.

‘You look ever so pretty, Mum,’ said Rowena. ‘I bet Dad will wish he’d never, ever left you. In fact, maybe he’ll come back again.’

‘Oh, darling, that’s never, ever going to happen – and I don’t want it to,’ said Mum. ‘Anyway, Dad’s got Helen now.’

‘Then couldn’t you find someone else, Mum, so you won’t be lonely?’

‘I don’t want anyone apart from you girls. And I’m never lonely,’ Mum said as cheerfully as she could.

She smiled resolutely when Dad arrived. They greeted each other awkwardly, both of them giving a little nod, not close enough to kiss any more, but not formal enough to shake hands.

Rowena hurtled forward and clutched Dad round the waist, butting her head into his stomach, squeaking, ‘Dad! Dad! Dad!’ as if she hadn’t seen him for a year or more instead of a week. Zara said, ‘Hi, Dad,’ and gave him a little wave of her hand, not actually joining in the big Rowena hug. I said nothing at all and stood pointedly beside Mum.

‘Hey, my three girls,’ he said.

When he lived with us we were his four girls, Mum included. It sounded so brutal now, but Mum didn’t flinch.

‘They’re all packed and ready,’ she said pleasantly.

‘One of us isn’t ready. One of us isn’t going,’ I said.

‘Frankie. Stop this, please,’ said Mum.

‘Come on, Frankie. It’s Christmas time. Let’s call a truce, eh?’ said Dad.

He shuffled over to me, hampered by Rowena, who was still clinging to him like a limpet, and trod on Mum’s foot. She gave a little scream and staggered backwards.

‘Mum?’ I said, trying to hold her up.

‘Jen? I’m sorry I stood on your foot – it didn’t really hurt, did it?’ asked Dad.

Mum shook her head, but she was practically doubled up with pain. I sat her down on a kitchen chair and hovered over her anxiously.

‘Let me see your foot, Mum,’ said Zara, but she shook her head again, still bent over.

‘Mummy!’ said Rowena, unpeeling herself from Dad and running to her side too.

‘It’s all right, Rowena, I’m sure Mum’s fine.’ Dad bent down and took off Mum’s slipper, though she tried to resist, crying now.

‘There’s no mark or anything,’ he said. He tried bending Mum’s toes and she pushed him away.

‘They’re all perfectly straight. They can’t be broken. I’m sure it hurt, but I really think you’re making a bit of a fuss. There’s no need to make such a meal of it. It’ll stop hurting in a minute or two,’ said Dad.

‘No it won’t,’ Mum said through gritted teeth.

‘Look, you’re being a bit over the top, aren’t you?’ Dad sounded impatient now.

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Mum muttered.

‘Well, I know it upsets you when the girls come to spend time with me. I’ve tried to be understanding, but it was all agreed when we split up. I get the girls for five days at Christmas, at Easter and during the summer holidays. Surely you must see that’s fair, when you have them all the rest of the year, bar the odd Sunday. There’s no need for histrionics.’

Mum sat up straight and stared at him, eyes blazing. ‘Do you think I’m acting? Have you forgotten I’ve got MS?’

‘Of course I haven’t, and I’m very sorry for you, but it’s not as if it’s painful. It isn’t as if it’s cancer,’ said Dad.

‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘It is painful, especially now my legs are affected. It’s as if they’re filled with concrete – I can hardly move them, and it feels as if I’m walking on hot coals. I can’t bear the slightest touch, so you standing on me with your great clodhoppers is agonizing.’

We all stared at her. She’d never once mentioned that she was in pain – and yet I realized she sometimes flinched when Rowena jumped on her.

‘All right, all right, if you say so,’ Dad said uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry. How many more times can I say it? But there’s no need to go on like this, especially in front of the girls.’ He gestured at Rowena, who had started to cry.

‘Oh God,’ said Mum. ‘Come here, darling. Don’t worry, I was just having a little moan. It’s nearly all better now, I promise. There, look, I’m smiley Mummy again.’

I realized what an enormous effort it must be for Mum to stay smiling nearly all the time. I hadn’t known her legs hurt so. I’d thought I was so sensitive about her illness but I didn’t have a clue. It made me even more determined to stay at home and look after her.

‘There! See how ill Mum is! She won’t be able to manage if she’s all by herself,’ I declared.

‘I can manage.’ Mum took hold of my wrist and pulled me nearer. ‘Please don’t argue, Frankie. Please!’

‘Can’t Bear at least stay with you?’ I suggested, though I knew I’d miss him terribly. ‘Then, if you have another fall or something, he could go and fetch someone.’

‘That might be a good idea,’ said Dad. I think he was saying it because Granny found Bear such a trial.

‘I can’t take him for walks – and he’d pine for you,’ said Mum. ‘Now, go, darling. All of you. I’m fine. I’m sorry I made such a spectacle of myself.’

So we went, and she went on smiling bravely all the time she was waving on the doorstep. I kept imagining her retreating into the hall and weeping. I had to screw up my face to stop bursting into tears myself.

Dad looked at me in the driving mirror. ‘There’s no need to look so sulky, Frankie,’ he said sharply.

I hated him. To my surprise Zara reached out and held my hand tight, and Rowena nudged up close to me. They made me feel just a little bit better.

Dad turned on the radio, flicking from station to station to find music we could all sing to, though it was the last thing we wanted to do. Then he suggested we play I-Spy, which I’ve always thought was the lamest game in the world. But Rowena loved playing, and cheered up a bit, so I joined in for her sake.

After a while we stopped at a motorway café. They wouldn’t allow Bear inside, so after I’d walked him for five minutes Dad insisted he go back in the car. I wanted to stay with him of course, but Dad told me I was being ridiculous.

‘We’ll leave the windows open a crack so he’s got some fresh air, and I’ve got a treat for him – look.’ He’d brought Bear his favourite rawhide chews as a bribe. Bear seemed disloyally appreciative, and stretched out on the back seat, looking perfectly happy.

Dad had a big fried breakfast, determinedly eating everything until his plate was clear. Helen fusses about his pot belly – she’s always encouraging him to eat healthily. He tried to make us eat something too, but we weren’t really hungry. He insisted on buying us huge Danish pastries all the same. I didn’t touch mine, and Zara only nibbled the edge of hers. Rowena ate hers valiantly, though she picked out every single currant because she always worries they might be flies.

There was a little amusement arcade attached to the café. It had one of those glass booths stuffed with luridly coloured fluffy animals.

‘Aren’t they sweet,’ said Rowena. ‘I especially love the blue rabbit in the pink dress.’

Dad did his best to manipulate the crane to win the rabbit for her, but it was wedged in too tightly. He eventually snared a lime-green teddy in an orange T-shirt. ‘Will he do instead?’ he asked.

‘He’s not quite as sweet as the blue rabbit,’ said Rowena. ‘But Frankie likes bears. Can we give him to her? Remember you bought her a little wooden bear at the Christmas fair? She carries him around in her pocket everywhere.’

‘No I don’t,’ I said.

‘Yes you do!’ Rowena tutted at me in a motherly way. Before I could stop her she delved into my coat pockets, first one, then the other. ‘Oh, he’s not there!’ she said, disappointed.

‘Told you,’ I said.

‘Well, you can squash the little green bear into your pocket instead,’ said Rowena.

‘I don’t want the little green bear. I think he’s hideous,’ I said.

I was speaking truthfully, but I knew I was being childish. I said it to hurt Dad, but it was Rowena who got upset.

‘Don’t! You’ll make the poor little bear so upset! I’ll have him then, please, Dad. There there, little chap.’ She cradled the bear in her arms, patting his back.

Zara looked up from her phone and raised her eyebrows. Dad was looking fondly at Rowena. As we walked back to the car and poor incarcerated Bear, he took me to one side.

‘Are you going to be like this the entire time we’re at the cottage, Frankie?’ he asked in an undertone.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said.

‘Sulking and surly. Behaving like a spoiled brat. Being mean to Rowena. I don’t mind you being appallingly rude to me, it’s water off a duck’s back, but I won’t have you upsetting your little sister,’ Dad hissed.

I was outraged because I nearly always indulged Rowena, playing all her little games and making a fuss of her … Though I wasn’t as good at it as Sally, I thought. It seemed so awful that I wouldn’t be seeing her till New Year’s Eve.

‘There now,’ said Dad, misinterpreting the expression on my face. ‘Can’t we call it a truce? This time’s so precious to me, seeing you three girls. I look forward to it so much. Don’t spoil it for me, Frankie.’

‘You’re the one who spoiled it,’ I said. ‘If you hadn’t walked out on us you’d be seeing us all the time.’

‘Don’t you think I know that? I feel so bad about it, you’ve no idea,’ he told me.

‘Then why did you walk out?’ I asked.

‘I couldn’t help it. You’re too young to understand, but I just fell in love so deeply that I simply had to be with Helen,’ said Dad.

I thought of Sally. Had Dad felt like that about awful Helen – saying her name again and again, lying awake at night thinking about her and then dreaming about her when he eventually fell asleep?

‘Maybe I do understand, just a little bit,’ I said. ‘But it doesn’t make it right.’

‘I know it doesn’t. Oh, Frankie. You and I used to be so close. I can’t stand it – you act like you hate me now. You’re still my little girl inside, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not a little girl any more, Dad. I’m nearly fourteen. And don’t assume I can’t understand about falling in love. I know all about it.’

‘Of course you do.’ Dad spoke solemnly enough, but I saw his mouth quiver and his eyes were bright. Oh God, he was trying not to laugh!

‘You make me sick,’ I said furiously. ‘Now let’s get back to poor Bear. Don’t you know how cruel it is to leave a dog in a car?’

Bear seemed totally relaxed, but he started barking excitedly when he saw us.

‘There, he’s probably been barking his head off all the time we’ve been in that stupid café,’ I said, and made a huge fuss of him as I climbed into the car.

He didn’t really want to scrunch up small enough to let Rowena in too, and he thought the green bear was a special present for him and kept trying to snatch it from her. He was only playing, and Rowena found it funny, but Dad got uptight about it.

‘That dog’s getting totally out of control,’ he said.

There were no more sing-alongs and games for the rest of the journey. Dad drove in silence. Rowena murmured to the green bear. Zara flicked through all her messages, and tapped away on her phone. I wondered about asking her if she’d let me send a message, but I knew she’d baulk at the idea of me contacting Sally.

At last we got to Haven Cottage – such a lovely name, conjuring up a thatched roof and a garden full of old-fashioned flowers running wild, when actually it was a gloomy, dark-brick house with severely clipped rose bushes. There was Granny at the door, Helen standing behind her.

‘My girlies!’ Granny cried.

We had to be hugged in turn. Granny seemed to get smaller each time I saw her. I was bigger than her now, and could look down on her grey head. Her hair was sparse so that I could see glimpses of her pink scalp. It made her look vulnerable, and I hugged her back carefully, suddenly loving her – but then she started tutting at poor Bear, who was gambolling around us in his usual guileless way, convinced everyone adored him.

‘That dratted dog!’ Granny fussed. ‘I see he’s still not properly trained.’

‘He’s saying hello, Granny,’ I said.

‘But he’s so boisterous!’

‘You just want to be friends, don’t you, Bear?’ I bent down and gave him a hug too in case his feelings were hurt. He licked my face enthusiastically.

‘Ugh, don’t let him lick your face like that!’ Granny said, grimacing. ‘Think of the germs!’

‘He’s clean as clean,’ I protested.

‘He’s a lovely dog,’ said Helen, patting him cautiously. She smiled at me, her lips very red and glossy, her teeth gleaming. Perhaps she’d had that special tooth-whitening treatment. In contrast to Granny, Helen’s hair looked bigger than usual, fluffed all round her face. The rest of her seemed bigger too. She always wore very tight clothes to show off her figure, but now she looked a little bulky. Perhaps Dad would go off her if she got really fat.

She didn’t try to kiss any of us, which was a relief. We didn’t want red smears all over our cheeks. Bear was circling around everyone, getting a bit fidgety now. He’d been cooped up in the car for such a long time.

While the others went into the house I took him down the lane, and stayed out long after he’d had a good wee. There was a wintry sun and the countryside had a stark beauty that made me feel glad to be there in spite of myself. I remembered all the times I’d walked down the lane with Mum. We didn’t just walk, we often ran along racing each other. I couldn’t imagine Mum running now. I was scared she’d need to use a wheelchair soon.

‘We’ll look after her, won’t we, Bear?’ I said, and I imagined Mum sitting in a sledge while Bear pulled her along like a husky.

When we got back to Haven Cottage, the smell of roast turkey made my mouth start watering. Dad and Helen and Zara and Rowena were in the living room, sitting around a crackling log fire. Helen had made mulled wine. Dad was knocking it back, and I saw she’d given Zara a glass too. Rowena had warm Ribena. Granny was sipping her wine as if it was medicine.

‘Can you wipe the dog’s paws first if you’re going to bring him in here, Francesca?’ she asked. ‘There’s a clean J-cloth out ready, and a bowl of soapy water.’

I suppose it was a reasonable enough request because the lane was muddy, but it didn’t sound very hospitable. Still, when Bear and I returned from the kitchen Helen had poured me a small mulled wine too.

It didn’t taste very nice actually, like red jam that had started to go mouldy, but I drank it down eagerly, hoping it might make me drunk. It didn’t seem to work at all. I felt exactly the same even when I’d drained my glass.

‘Come and help me dish up, dear,’ Granny said to Dad.

Helen followed them into the kitchen, not wanting to be left with us. We all breathed out. Bear made himself comfortable in front of the fire, and Zara and Rowena and I pulled faces at each other.

‘Did you see Helen’s dress?’ Zara mouthed. ‘She could barely squeeze herself into it! She hasn’t half put on weight! You don’t think she could be having a baby, do you?’

‘No! Gross!’ I said, trying to get the image of Dad and Helen making love out of my head.

‘A baby!’ Rowena looked delighted. She only had the sketchiest idea about how a baby got to be in its mother’s tummy.

‘Shh! No, she can’t be. She wouldn’t want to give up work. She’s the least maternal woman I can think of,’ I hissed.

‘Maybe Granny will babysit,’ Zara suggested.

‘She’d wipe it with a J-cloth every five minutes and swab it with disinfectant into the bargain,’ I said.

We all got the giggles, and Dad grinned when he came back into the room.

‘Ah, good to see you’ve all cheered up,’ he said. ‘Come into the dining room then, girls. Helen’s brought her own home-made cranberry sauce. Wait till you taste it! And Granny’s produced her usual wonderful spread.’

‘Helen’s producing a wonderful spread herself,’ I murmured into Zara’s ear.

I stared at her all through the meal. Could she be pregnant? She was totally the wrong sort of woman, so immaculate, so carefully made up, so artificial looking. There were no soft places for a baby to nestle. It would be like cuddling a robot.

I wondered for the fiftieth time why Dad had fallen in love with her. He was gazing at her so fondly it made my stomach churn. He seemed a bit drunk, quaffing back the Chablis when he’d already had two glasses of mulled wine. Helen was primly drinking sparkling mineral water – did she have any mulled wine earlier? I wondered. Oh God, perhaps she really was pregnant.

Zara was right. After we’d eaten our turkey and the home-made cranberry sauce and crispy roast potatoes and little chipolatas and sprouts with chestnuts and cauliflower cheese and parsnips and peas, followed by a fruit and cream roulade and tiny mince pies and Helen’s own bottled peaches, Dad passed round a box of posh chocolates and then cleared his throat.

‘Helen and I have something very special to tell you,’ he said. He was very flushed, but it seemed to be with pride as well as drink. ‘We thought we’d wait until our special Boxing Day celebration, all of us together. We’re going to have a baby.’

There was a little pause. We’d guessed, but it was still a shock to hear him say it out loud. We all stared at Helen and her stomach. She blushed, not quite meeting our eyes.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Dad asked.

‘It’s lovely,’ said Rowena. ‘I won’t be the little sister any more! Can I help look after her?’

‘Of course you can,’ he said happily.

‘And when she’s a bit bigger she can play with all my Sylvanians!’

‘The baby might be a little brother,’ Helen said.

‘Boys can play with Sylvanians too.’ Rowena picked up the lime-green teddy that was sitting on her lap. ‘Here, he can have my teddy. It’s brand new.’

‘That’s so sweet of you, Rowena,’ said Dad.

‘Yes, thank you, darling,’ said Helen, though she didn’t look very pleased. Naff little arcade teddies wouldn’t fit in with her nursery decor.

‘Zara? Frankie?’ said Dad.

‘Congratulations,’ said Zara in an offhand manner.

‘Yeah,’ I added.

‘Of course we’ll have to think about moving now,’ said Helen.

We stared at her.

‘Moving?’ said Rowena.

‘Well, it’s such a tiny flat, and the second bedroom’s so small, not much more than a cupboard,’ Helen said determinedly.

‘Surely it’ll be fine for one small baby?’ I said.

‘Not when he gets a bit older,’ said Dad. ‘But there’s no real rush for the moment.’

‘Ideally we’d like a proper house, wouldn’t we, Richard?’ Helen persisted. ‘Though London houses are going for such ridiculous prices now.’

‘Move out to the country,’ said Granny. ‘Houses are much cheaper here. In fact, you could always move in with me for a while.’

‘I’m not sure that would really work,’ Helen said quickly.

‘I know what would work!’ Rowena said, her whole face lighting up. ‘You could move in with us! The baby could have my room – it’s a lovely room. I can share with Zara and Frankie, us three girls together – it’d be fun. And Mum’s got ever such a big bedroom, so Dad and Helen could squash in with her! We could see Dad all the time then, it would be magic!’

We stared at her in stunned silence, and then Granny started tutting, and Zara and I giggled feebly.

‘What?’ Rowena said, looking hurt and puzzled.

‘That wouldn’t work, little chum,’ Dad told her gently.

‘But why? It would be so lovely, all of us together,’ she said earnestly.

‘Daddy couldn’t live with your auntie Helen and Mummy,’ said Granny. ‘Now, I think it’s time for the boxes.’

This was a new tradition. As we saw Dad on Boxing Day instead of Christmas Day, he gave us our presents in boxes, and Granny did too. Helen didn’t give us presents, she was just and Helen on Dad’s gift tags. Rowena adored the box ceremony, but she refused to be distracted now.

‘It would be lovely,’ she insisted.

‘Now now. You’re just being silly,’ said Granny.

‘I think you’re all silly,’ said Rowena, near tears. ‘I know Mum and Helen don’t like each other, but they could always make friends again, like Frankie and Sally. And Sammy is friends with Frankie and Sally and it all works perfectly.’

‘That’s right,’ I said, pulling her onto my lap. I bent over her head to hide my red cheeks. I couldn’t help blushing whenever Sally was mentioned. ‘But it would be different with grown-ups. Dad and Mum used to be married but now they’re divorced.’

‘Is Dad going to marry Helen now, then?’ Rowena asked.

‘Auntie Helen,’ Granny corrected. ‘And it’s none of our business, dear. Richard, for heaven’s sake get the boxes!’

Dad was looking at Helen. She shrugged her shoulders and nodded.

‘We are planning a wedding, Rowena. Just a very quiet affair,’ he said. ‘But perhaps you’d like to be a bridesmaid.’

Rowena cheered up instantly, but I went cold with horror.

‘Zara and I aren’t expected to be bridesmaids too, are we?’ I asked.

‘No, as your father said, it’s going to be a very small wedding,’ said Helen. ‘Perhaps my little niece will be a bridesmaid – she’s a couple of years younger than Rowena, but I think they’ll get along – and of course they’ll be cousins soon.’

That was another weird thought. I didn’t want to be related to Helen and her family in any way.

‘What colour bridesmaid’s dress will it be?’ Rowena asked. ‘Could it be pink?’

‘Not for a winter wedding,’ said Helen. ‘I was wondering about cherry-red velvet dresses, with little white lace collars and frilly white petticoats.’

‘Oh yes!’ said Rowena.

Zara and I cleared the table while Helen and Granny put the pans to soak and Dad went to get the boxes, Rowena trotting after him like a little puppy.

‘Told you so!’ Zara muttered to me. ‘And a wedding too!’

‘Thank God we don’t have to be bridesmaids,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t have wanted to, would you?’

‘In cherry red with white frills? Are you joking?’ said Zara. ‘But I expect we’ll have to be on the sidelines, throwing confetti.’

‘Throwing stones more like,’ I murmured as Helen came bustling back into the room. Her tummy seemed more pronounced now, quite unmistakable. I imagined the little tadpole creature curled up inside her. My little half-sister or brother. I wondered if I’d hate it too. It would be more of an effort to dislike a tiny baby.

Helen saw me staring. ‘I hope you don’t mind too much,’ she said.

‘No, we don’t mind at all, do we, Zara?’ I said. ‘I mean, like Granny said, it’s none of our business.’ It was meant to be neutral, but it sounded more forceful than I intended.

Helen’s whole face went red, even her neck. ‘Do you always have to be so hostile, Frankie?’

‘I wasn’t meaning to be,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

She put her hand to her cheeks. ‘It’s my hormones. I can’t help flushing. I’m not the one who’s upset, as a matter of fact. It’s your poor father. You’re breaking his heart, do you realize that?’

‘I rather think it was the other way round. He broke my mother’s heart. He broke her,’ I said furiously.

‘That’s so unfair. You can’t possibly blame Richard for your mother’s illness.’

‘So you’re the world’s expert on MS, are you?’ I said. ‘Don’t you realize that stress plays a part in triggering many illnesses, including MS?’

‘Frankie!’ said Zara.

I realized I’d gone too far. I didn’t know anything of the sort. It probably wasn’t true at all. But somehow it felt as if it was all Helen’s fault.

‘Don’t you dare say that to your father,’ she said. ‘He feels bad enough as it is. He went straight back when your mother got her diagnosis. He was prepared to stay for ever.’

‘Oh, wonderful martyred Saint Richard!’ I said. ‘And how long did he stay? A fortnight? Three weeks at the most! And then he cleared off again, making it worse for everyone, especially Rowena.’

‘It wasn’t working. Your mother didn’t want him back.’

‘Well, no wonder. And we don’t want him either, do we, Zara?’

‘No, we don’t,’ said Zara, though she sounded a little uncertain. ‘But shut up now, Frankie. You’ll spoil the box bit, and you know how Rowena loves it.’

I didn’t want to shut up. I was still churning with rage, but I knew Zara was right. I managed to clamp my mouth shut and join in the box ceremony as if I still found it fun. We sat round in a circle in Granny’s living room, with the boxes in the middle. Zara went to fetch her contribution – festive candles in their own boxes – and I got my two packets of home-made fudge, which I’d put in a couple of old chocolate boxes (I’d relented about giving Dad a present). Rowena had an extra big jigsaw-puzzle box for Dad. She’d filled it with drawings and stories, all marked Espeshally for Dad.

When he opened it, Dad looked as if he might burst into tears.

‘Don’t you like them, Dad?’ Rowena asked anxiously. ‘I tried really hard, but some of my people are a bit blobby.’

‘They’re wonderful, darling. I shall treasure them all and read a different story every night,’ he said, in a choked voice.

‘And I love my fudge,’ said Granny, though she winced when she bit into a corner. ‘It’s very sweet. But delicious.’

She had bought special rectangular boxes for us girls, each containing a DVD. She didn’t realize we could stream films now. She’d chosen Grease for Zara, an animated film about dogs for me, and a Disney princess film for Rowena. For Dad and Helen there was a bigger box containing several series of Modern Family.

‘It’s a box set. Do you get it? A box set in a box on Boxing Day!’ Granny said, pleased with herself.

Dad gave Granny a small jewellery box containing an elaborate agate-and-silver brooch. Zara got a jewellery box too, with a pair of moon-shaped earrings set with tiny diamonds. Rowena got an enormous box which took her ages to undo. It was a huge holiday hotel for her Sylvanians.

My box was the biggest of all. It was a box inside a box inside a box inside a box inside a box. Perhaps I was going to end up with a matchbox with a spider inside and everyone would laugh. But it wasn’t a joke present. The last slim box held a smartphone, the very latest model.