2.22
Christmas Day and outside the air was still and the morning sun did its usual dazzling and baking. Down on the streets, there wasn’t a car or a pedestrian in sight. The neighbourhood was silent. No kids on bikes. No washing hanging in back gardens. The whole of Maylands was hushed. Not even a fly disturbed the peace.
She went back into the relative cool of the flat. This time of year, when families and friends unite in celebration, she felt so separate, her own family foreign to her. Still, she picked up her phone and called her mother.
‘Merry Christmas, Mum,’ she said cheerily.
‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Thanks for the present.’ Another tea towel and, of all things, a nutcracker.
‘Oh, that’s all right. Hope you like them. I didn’t know what to get you.’
Anything except a ruddy tea to
