'Yeah I still remember how much joy he injected into proceedings the last time we spent Christmas with you. He was a regular laugh a minute.'

'Go on. Come. We could ignore the rest of them and lock ourselves into my bedroom with a bottle of Baileys. I'll even let you watch Christmas Top of the Pops, like we used to ...'

Christmas Top of the Pops had been banned in Susannah's childhood home. Between midnight mass at St Gabriel's, Christmas morning service at St Gabriel's, egg-nog with the neighbours, and the compulsory Christmas game of charades, there was never time to watch anyhow. After the age of thirteen or so, Susannah would beg off to go round to Amelia's to watch in her bedroom. She could never hear Frankie Goes to Hollywood's 'The Power Of Love' or Band Aid's 'Do They Know It's Christmas?' without thinking of lying on the double bed in Amelia's pink and green bedroom eating Terry's Chocolate Orange segments until they felt sick. At that age, it had seemed a bonus that Amelia's mother was watching her video of It's a Wonderful Life and crying softly in the TV room after three schooners of sherry, while her father shut himself in his study and played golf on his mini executive desktop set.

'Tempting, but no. I think Doug and I could use a bit of time on our own. No work, no family.'

'No best friend battling cancer?' Amelia made a puppy-dog face.

'No, no one, irrespective of battling.' Susannah laughed. 'Just the two of us.'

It had been a strange time and yes, Amelia had been a part of it. It had been enormously unsettling learning that her friend was ill. Rob was in the mix, too she knew she'd been distracted by the idea of him, had wallowed in memories of the past. That wasn't Douglas's fault. Then there was Daisy, and Rosie. Life had been ... complicated. She wanted to slow it all down. Climb off the ride for a while.

She hoped they would talk. She hoped they'd make love, and find some of the intimacy that had been missing lately. She wanted to feel close to Doug again. She wanted to stop thinking about Rob. It made her feel ridiculous. And sad.

Sylvie didn't call until the evening of the 23rd. Susannah was unpacking the food shopping she'd just done. Sylvie still, after all these years, never really spoke to her. When Susannah answered the phone, Sylvie said hello always guarded, and vaguely brittle and then immediately asked for Doug. She never said who was calling, although Susannah always knew. She'd tried, once or twice, in the early days, to chat to her, about the children, but she'd never got very far. Sylvie's voice had expressed resentment and disdain, and Susannah knew that she'd complained to Doug about her. Anyone would have thought Susannah was the catalyst for the end of their marriage. Maybe Sylvie had respun the web of history and actually thought she was.

But she bloody well wasn't. They'd split up long before Susannah had met him, and the divorce and custody arrangements were already signed when they'd started going out. Amelia always said she couldn't believe the cheek of the woman that Sylvie ought to kiss her hand for taking care of her kids for her.

This evening when Sylvie rang, she didn't bother to try and talk to her, she just called Doug, laid the receiver down on the hall table, and went back to the kitchen, but from there she could still hear Doug's quiet, tense responses to his ex-wife. For reasons she had never completely understood, he always seemed slightly afraid of Sylvie, as if his main aim was to stop her from flipping out. She wanted to swap weekends, she said. And so did the kids. She knew appealing to Doug's vanity was the way to smooth her path towards getting exactly what she wanted. If Doug thought the kids wanted to be with him ... Susannah could tell from his responses what Sylvie was saying.

He asked her before he said yes. She heard him, her heart sinking, tell Sylvie he'd call her back once he'd talked it over with her. She wondered if Sylvie was as aware as she herself was that he didn't mean a bit of it. How was she supposed to say no?

She opened the fridge again, irritated, and looked at all the little delicacies she'd just unpacked. Foie gras, smoked salmon, smoked duck breast. Not enough to feed five of them, even if they wouldn't turn their noses up at every delicious morsel. A collection of little plates, to be eaten in bed, in the bath, curled up in front of the fire, or even the television, not around a full table of paper hat wearers feigning gaiety. Susannah sat down heavily on a stool at the breakfast bar and grabbed a notepad and pen. She'd already written a few things on the list before Douglas came in. Turkey, potatoes, Brussels sprouts, crackers, Pringles ... The thought of battling her way round Sainsbury's on Christmas Eve was exhausting, but it was too late to do anything online. She knew from Amelia that those delivery slots had been booked out for weeks and weeks. Like the 'no make-up' make-up look, no-stress, fuss-free Christmas entertaining involved a great deal of stress and fuss ... you just had to have it in October.

This was messing it all up. She felt the Christmas she'd imagined receding. She'd told Mum she'd come over for lunch tomorrow. She'd accepted for herself, though she hadn't told Douglas she was going yet. She knew he wouldn't have done any gift shopping he never did it until the last minute. Probably because it was a good excuse to dip out of the whole family thing. Alastair and Kathryn were with her family this year, but Alex and Chloe were going to be there they were flying to Canada on Boxing Day for a week's skiing with Chloe's lot. She'd bought and wrapped gifts, and she was feeling vaguely festive about the whole trip. She'd play Christmas CDs in the car and get herself in the right mood to make Christmas Day with Doug work.

And she'd thought she might call Lois. It wasn't a complete thought, just a vague idea, and not necessarily a good one at that. But she might.

Douglas came in from the hall with both hands raised in his 'what can I do?' gesture. Probably her least favourite of his mannerisms.

'What's the story?' She tried to keep her voice even and calm.

He shrugged helplessly. 'Some friends of hers have asked her if she wants to go skiing. She can get on a flight to Geneva that leaves tomorrow afternoon.'

Susannah nodded slowly. 'And the kids are okay with that, are they?'

He smiled. 'She says the kids would rather be here. She's never said something like that before.'

Susannah snorted before she could stop herself. 'She's never wanted to dump them with less than twenty-four hours' notice on Christmas Eve before.'

'Don't be like that.' His voice was imploring. 'Maybe it's true. You said yourself you've been getting on better with Daisy lately. Rosie, too.'

'Don't be like what?' She didn't want to bring the girls into it. That was beside the point.

'So hard and cynical.'

His words stung. 'I'll tell you what, Doug. I'll try and be less hard and cynical if you try and be less pathetic and gullible. How's that?' Her voice sounded mean and shrill. She was spoiling for a fight now.

'Gullible?'

'Yeah. Gullible. You think this skiing holiday just came up out of the blue, do you? Like people just decide to go skiing in the most popular week of the year ...'

He interrupted her angrily. 'Of course not. I'm not an idiot, Susannah.'

She wasn't so sure about that.

'She said someone else had to drop out, and there's a place in a chalet.'

'Great. So, she just rings you up and dumps them, and you just let her. What if we were going somewhere?'

'But we're not,' he whined. 'We were just going to be here on our own.'

'On our own, Doug. That was the point.' She let the point hang in the air for a moment, hoping he'd pick it up.

But he didn't.

'I think we need that, don't you?'

He sidestepped an answer to that one, and went back to his original, entrenched position.

'What am I supposed to do, Susannah? Put yourself in my shoes.'

Too late for that. He'd spent years making sure she stayed out of his shoes. He had no right to chop and change to suit himself. 'Say no. You could say no.' How many times had they had this conversation? How many more times could she keep having it?

'I can't do that. They're my kids.'

'And they're her kids, too.' They're not mine. They're not even close to being mine.

'I don't want to do that. I really don't know why you're making such a big deal about this. You don't even like Christmas much.'

God the arrogance. She used to love Christmas.

Like lightning, the certainty that she didn't want to have this argument with Douglas tonight struck her, and with it, the rage seeped away instantly. She turned to the fridge so he couldn't see her face, suddenly afraid that she might cry. 'Fine. You're right. I'm not into Christmas. I'm making a fuss. They'll come. Of course they will. Sylvie will ski, we'll cook. It'll be fine.'

'Fine. I hate that word.'

'It's the best word I can manage this evening, I'm afraid, Doug.'

His voice, when he spoke again, sounded relieved, and conciliatory. 'I'll do the shopping.'

Damn right he would. The cooking, too, though she didn't say so now. 'You'll have to I'm going to Mum's tomorrow.'

'You didn't tell me.'

Was that resentment in his tone? Was he kidding?

She bit down hard on her lip. 'Last-minute thing.' Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Ouch. But he had that coming.

'Fine. Was I invited?' His voice was testy again.

'You're always fucking invited, Doug.'

He always cringed when she swore at him, almost as though she'd physically hurt him.

She almost enjoyed watching him. 'For God's sake. You just never come. And now, tomorrow, you can't anyway, can you?'

The next morning, after an uneasy peace had settled at home, and they'd got through the night without fighting any more, thanks to a long bubble bath and a good film, Susannah found herself driving to her parents' house the long way round the common the way that took her past Lois and Frank's house. She came off the main road one exit earlier, watching the car move, curious, as though it was steering itself. She hadn't called, but she couldn't resist this. There was no plan. As she approached, she saw the car a short way in front of her a blue Ford pull into their driveway. Without thinking, she stopped, too, a couple of hundred yards away, slamming her brakes on and turning on to the grass verge opposite The Cricketers, feeling like she was spying.

Because she was.

It was Rob. She knew she'd hoped it would be, and it was. Almost like she'd summoned him up by thinking so hard. He climbed out, wearing a navy down vest over a check shirt, and stretched his arms high above his head, arching his back, as though he was stiff from a long drive. Then the passenger door opened and a tall, slender woman climbed out. Although Susannah couldn't see very clearly, she looked a few years younger than Rob from this distance. She had dark blonde hair, cut in a short and wispy style, modern, and she was wearing a navy pea coat over skinny jeans, with a vivid pink woollen scarf wrapped several times around her neck. She said something to him, leaning over the top of the car. He answered, smiling back at her. Then she opened the rear door and pulled out a small brown overnight bag and a large red and white striped gift bag full of wrapped presents. Rob walked round to take the duffel from her, and she reached up to kiss his cheek quickly. He ushered her in front of him, and locked the car before he followed her. Lois had opened the front door before they got to it wearing a red sweater and an apron she must have been looking for the car from the front window, eagerly waiting for them. When they got to the door, she opened her arms wide to embrace each of them in turn, and Susannah saw that she was chatting expansively the whole time. She was happy to see them.

Her jealousy shocked her. And that was what it was. A shot of adrenalin-filled envy. A few nights earlier, she'd been at Fin's school Christmas concert. She'd sat in the row, at the end, with Rosie, while Douglas and Sylvie had both gone forward with cameras and beams of pride, and she'd watched as they both kissed and hugged Fin. And hadn't felt so much as a flicker of jealousy. Nothing even remotely resembling what she felt now as she watched Rob and his wife. Susannah shook her head. There was something very wrong with this picture.

The door closed behind the three of them, and Susannah sat, both hands still on the steering wheel of her own car, waiting for her heart to start beating normally again. That had to be his wife. The two of them were home for Christmas. Of course they were. She felt oddly guilty for her voyeurism. She drove off, but she didn't go straight to her Mum's. She needed a few minutes she drove aimlessly round the village for a few more minutes, trying not to hear Amelia's voice in her head, before she parked her car behind Alex's, rearranged her features into a bright, happy countenance and rang the doorbell.

Chloe refused a glass of egg-nog. That wasn't strange in itself. Egg-nog was a bizarre and very English concoction, and Susannah only drank it herself out of politeness and for the sake of tradition. It was odder that she refused a glass of wine with lunch. Mum had gone to town, stuffing a pork loin with pistachios and cherries. This was her version of the fatted calf for Alex she said she'd already told their dad he'd get a turkey crown and only one kind of potato tomorrow, and Dad had uncorked both red and white for the occasion without prompting, neither bottle from his extensive supermarket under-five-pounds selection.

Dad tried several times to push a glass on Chloe, saying it would be hours until she'd drive, and it couldn't hurt, and it was Christmas all the stock reasons ...

Eventually, Susannah saw a brief glimpse pass between Alex and Chloe, and instantly knew what was coming.

When their mum came back into the room, Alex put a hand over Chloe's on the table. 'Mum, Dad, Sis ... we've got something to tell you all, actually.'

'Yes, love ...' Mum was trembling with anticipation immediately. Only good news was delivered at a Christmas table with a stuffed pork loin and two kinds of wine on it.

'Chloe's ... pregnant.'

Mum's hand flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with instant tears. 'Oh my darlings. My darlings. How wonderful.' She flew round the table to embrace Chloe, while Dad pumped Alex's hand vigorously.

Susannah sat stunned in the midst of the chaos, her glass in her hand.

Until Alex prompted her with a nudge to the shoulders. 'Well, Sis ... what do you think?'

She nodded and smiled. 'It's great news. Great, great news. Congratulations.'

Alex was beaming. 'It's way sooner than we thought. I mean, I know we haven't even been married a year yet. We certainly weren't planning ... But you know what they say ... and once we'd had a while to get used to the idea, we were both really stoked.'

Mum was pressing them for details. Chloe wasn't twelve weeks yet she was ten but they'd given her an early scan before the trip. She wouldn't be skiing, she said, so they'd have to tell everyone there, and they'd been unsure about telling Alex's family before they went ... but then Dad had pushed the wine.

'Sorry. Stupid me. Wasn't thinking,' Dad coloured up.

'No, no.' Chloe put her arm around her father-in-law. 'I was secretly dying to tell you. I mean, they say twelve weeks, just to be safe, but I want to tell everyone ...'

Mum looked briefly at Susannah. Chloe didn't know.

Susannah had been thirteen weeks pregnant when she'd lost her baby. The twelve-week rule hadn't worked for her. She'd had the scan, seen the heartbeat. She lost it anyway. Those things didn't give you insurance, and nor should they give you too much peace of mind. At the time, she remembered wondering, almost abstractly, whether she'd relaxed too much. It wasn't as if she'd started smoking and drinking and doing high-impact aerobics. It was just that she'd started taking it for granted.

At the time, it honestly, honestly hadn't felt like the end of the world. She knew it wasn't fashionable to say so. It certainly hadn't felt like losing a baby. She'd woken up one morning with a familiar ache dragging her belly, seen spots of blood in her knickers. By lunchtime she'd lost quite a lot of blood enough to soak two or three pads and passed something that looked to her, however much she stared at it, like a clot or a piece of liver. Not a baby. She didn't need a D and C she wasn't admitted. It was all very straightforward and quick. The doctor and her nurse were very gentle and kind to her, and she was sent home with an A4 sheet of information, and a brief explanation. The main text of which was that there was no explanation. It struck her as very primitive, in the midst of all the technical equipment of the casualty department. 'It just happens sometimes, and we don't always know why.' Really?

She'd cried a bit mostly when she told her mum. And Mum cried. She'd felt slightly embarrassed about having to tell other people. It felt like failure, however much she knew it wasn't her fault. But, at the time, she'd genuinely believed she'd conceive again. Quickly, easily. And that the next time, everything would be okay.

Amelia had been incredible. Elizabeth had been a cherubic toddler when it had happened. She came round to see her the first day, parking a sleeping Libby in her buggy in the front hall of Susannah and Sean's home without comment. Then, when Libby had woken and demanded attention, she'd picked her up and put her in Susannah's stiff arms. Libby immediately reached for the flat gold disk Susannah wore at the base of her throat, pulling at the chain and talking her still almost incomprehensible talk. At first Susannah hadn't wanted to hold her, but Amelia had stood there, the two women almost touching, until Susannah's arms had softened, and until she had looked into her god-daughter's chubby face, and then at Amelia's, both their eyes full of tears.

Amelia had nodded, then kissed her cheek. 'So, we're all okay here, then?'

It was funny peculiar definitely not ha, ha how she was so much sadder now, all these years later, about the miscarriage, than she had been then. It had become sadder with each passing year, directly proportional to that dreadful line on the graph delineating her diminishing fertility. Now, as she faced her forties, still childless, at the table beside her newly married, much younger brother, and his fecund young wife, it seemed almost tragic. But she smiled quickly at Mum, and shook her head briefly, but forcefully, to signal that her story was not to intrude into this moment, which belonged rightly to Chloe and Alex.

Later, in the kitchen, while they were drying the dishes, Mum had given her a long hug. 'Are you okay, love?'

'I'm fine.'

'Really?' Mum peered at her.

Susannah nodded, then carefully, deliberately folded the tea towel she'd been using.

'Do you ever think about trying, you know, for a baby, with Douglas?' She'd never asked her that before. Certainly never suggested it.

For the first time, it occurred to Susannah that maybe her mum hadn't ever wanted her to stay with Douglas. It seemed obvious, the moment she thought it. 'I'm over forty, Mum.'

'Not yet, you're not.'

'I would be, though. If I got pregnant tonight.' And she didn't even say how unlikely that was. 'I'd be forty when the baby was born. Nearly sixty by the time he or she went to college.'

'Darling it's the twenty-first century. Forty now isn't what forty was when ... when I was forty. Women are having babies much later than they used to.' Mum was staring at her intently.

Susannah didn't want to talk to her, not today, about the state of her relationship with Douglas. She didn't want her to know that she and Doug were as far away as they had ever been further, maybe from having a baby. Although now, it seemed possible that Mum might actually be relieved ...

But Mum's concern would be oppressive at this point. And it would seem cruel, when Alex and Chloe had just made her day her Christmas, her year to deliver news that would worry her. 'You're right, I know. Maybe next year ...'

'Don't leave it too long, my sweetheart, will you?'

She shook her head. 'I know.'

Her mum held her face in her hands for a moment, and looked into her eyes. 'I want you to have what your brothers have. You deserve it, too, Susannah.'

Susannah nodded. 'I'd like that.'

That was, it seemed, enough for now. Mum squeezed her shoulder, smiled contentedly, and carried the plate of mince pies she'd laid out through to the living room.

Parenting 'lite'. She couldn't blame Mum she'd cooked, and she had the house full, and it was a happy day. If she felt a little that her problems were being skirted round, given a cursory kitchen airing, before the fun could begin again, she could hardly blame her mum today. And wasn't that what she wanted anyway?

Chloe didn't know about the miscarriage because Alex didn't. Nor Alastair. She hadn't told either of them.

Sometimes she wished she hadn't even told Mum.

Back in London, on Christmas morning, Daisy and her dad got into the festive spirit by having a screaming row. She wanted Seth to come over for lunch, and waited until breakfast time to ask. Douglas, rendered immeasurably grumpier than usual by an early start to get the turkey into the oven Susannah having taken a certain perverse pleasure in rolling over at 7 a.m. and going back to sleep for another hour, holding him to his promise to prepare the meal said he didn't want Seth to come.