12:42 Christmas Day

“This is SICK! You’re the BEST, Nana!”

My nephew Ethan throws himself into his grandmother’s arms and hugs her tightly, still being careful not to let go of his brand new virtual reality headset.

I can see that Lily is itching to open her present now, but she uncharacteristically lets her older brother command the attention of the room for just a little bit longer.

“Oh buddy, that’s amazing – just what you wanted!” Tom, my brother-in-law, takes a swig from his can of beer and claps his son on the back. My sister Emma, curled around a gin and tonic to my left, says nothing. Her eyes dart from Ethan, to Lily, to our mother, back to Lily. She shifts in her seat.

Mark is sitting to my right, observing the scene with a gentle smile. This is our first Christmas together, and it took all his powers of persuasion to convince me that we should spend it with my family rather than his. “Under the circumstances,” he’d reasoned in his careful way, “we should be there to support your mother.” ‘That’s exactly why we shouldn’t be there’, I’d wanted to say, but realising it would make me sound like a bitch, I’d kept my mouth shut and reluctantly agreed. I’ve never gone out with an accountant before. They’re so… sensible.

Ethan is beaming. He turns the box over and over in his hands. I can tell he wants to run off and start playing with it straight away, but he knows better.

My mother sits in her armchair, hands folded primly over her knees, looking every inch the model Christmas hostess in her best cashmere jumper and pearls. Her hair is perfectly set, probably with enough hairspray to cause an explosion if anyone were to come too close to her with a naked flame. Her cheeks are pink with pleasure at her grandson’s praise.

“Your turn, Lily,” she says, reaching down to where my niece is sitting at her feet, and nudging her shoulder.

Lily needs no further encouragement. She dives under the tree and grabs the last present there, a big square box wrapped in red and green and topped with a huge gold bow.

I know she’ll have found the build-up both excruciating and divine, but now here is her moment. The last present. The whole day has been leading up to this.

She tears at the paper, eyes shining, smile wide. But then, mid-rip, her hand stops and I see her face fall. I glance at my mother but she doesn’t seem to have noticed that anything is amiss. I can feel my sister stiffen beside me.

Lily slowly removes the remaining wrapping paper. The sense of excitement has evaporated. Everyone looks confused, except my mother, who continues to smile beatifically. Lily looks up at her and I can see that she’s fighting back tears. “It’s lovely Nana, thank you,” she manages to choke out.

My mother’s face collapses. “You don’t like it,” she breathes, a hand flying to her chest. “I do, Nana, I do,” Lily tries to protest, but it’s no good – she bursts into tears.

“What is it, Lil? Hold it up, let me see!” Tom urges, and Emma gives him a death stare. “What?” he says, “I want to see.” “Tom…,” Emma hisses, and he shrugs, takes another gulp of beer and stands up to peer over Lily’s shoulder. “A baking set?” he says, the scorn evident in his tone. He looks at Ethan, still clutching his VR headset, and then looks at Emma, his face scrunched up in confusion.

Ethan looks in horror from his sister to his grandmother and I can see his poor little 10 year-old brain trying to figure out which one needs comforting more. “We can share this, Lily,” he says, no small amount of panic in his voice as he tries to thrust his precious VR set into her arms.

“Nooo,” Lily keens, “I want…,” but she stops herself when she sees her grandmother’s ashen face looking down at her.

“But you LOVE baking with Nana, Lily,” my mother insists. “I do, Nana,” Lily agrees between muffled sobs. She is unable to look at my mother’s imploring face anymore and stares down at the carpet instead.

“Look!” my mother continues, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice, “It’s all pink!” She grabs the box from Lily and tears it open, pulling out a succession of pink containers and implements and piling them on Lily’s knee. “I just thought it would be nice for you to have your own things, so when we bake together Nana can have her things and Lily can have her things. I thought you’d LIKE it.” Lily covers her face with her hands and sobs even harder.

In the corner of my vision I can see that Tom is trying to catch my sister’s eye, but she is studiously avoiding his gaze. She takes a large gulp of G&T and furiously crunches an icecube.

An awkward silence hangs over us all, punctured with the occasional sniff from Lily.

And then… a low wail starts to emanate from my mother. Ethan’s eyes widen to saucers. Tom looks at me in alarm. Emma and Mark just keep their heads down. The wail continues, and gradually increases in pitch and tone until it fills every corner of the room like a malevolent presence, rattling the china, vibrating in my fillings.

“Oh god,” Emma says under her breath. On the other side of me I can feel Mark tensing, and his left leg starts to bounce up and down – his nervous tic. I feel a curious mix of guilt and satisfaction. ‘I’m sorry,’ I want to say, but also ‘See, I told you so.’

“I can never do ANYTHING right,” my mother wails, suddenly standing up. “Everything I do for this family… after EVERYTHING I’ve been through, and it’s NEVER good enough!” With one last howl of indignation, she flounces out of the room, the sound of her sobs drifting back to us as she makes her way upstairs.

Then Lily is on her feet and also runs out of the room, quickly followed by Ethan, trying his best to comfort her.

The four of us left sit in silence for a second and I can almost feel the collective release of breath when someone finally speaks.

It's Tom. “What the hell, Emma?” he says to my sister. Like a coiled spring, Emma jumps out of her seat, dropping her empty glass to the floor with a crash.

“What did you expect ME to do?” she shouts at him, “You know what she’s like! If I’d opened my mouth she would’ve been only too delighted at the opportunity to have a go at me!”

“Oh, so you just let her have a go at your daughter instead?” Tom sneers.

“She’s YOUR daughter, too,” Emma fires back, “Why didn’t YOU do something? Had a few too many of those, did you?” She indicates the beer can in Tom’s hand, and he stops mid-raise to his mouth.

He slowly lowers the can and fixes my sister with an icy stare. “I don’t know, Emma,” he says calmly. “Maybe I’m not all that sure that she IS my daughter anymore.”

My jaw drops. Mark’s knee starts to bounce furiously. Emma looks like she’s been slapped.

“You fucking prick…,” she hisses.

“Well, who knows,” Tom continues, “Maybe it runs in the family. Your old man fucked the cleaner – maybe you had a go at the gardener, or the postman.” He stands up and drains the remaining beer from his can, squashing it in one fist and throwing it at Emma’s feet before stalking out of the room.

It takes her a second to gather herself before she unleashes a furious scream and follows him.

And then there is blessed silence. The lights on the tree twinkle cheerfully. The clock ticks its steady rhythm.

“Wow,” Mark whispers beside me. I put a hand on his bouncing leg.

“So,” I say, "Christmas with your family next year?’