Camilla rolled over on the sofa and gagged. Her head hurt, her mouth was dry and her tongue had a fur coating. She peered from under the throw she must have dragged over herself at some point.

What time was it? The only light that had managed to sneak through the gap in her curtains was grey, so it could be morning or afternoon. She she didn’t care.

Her coffee table was a mess. Mugs, wine glasses, used tissues and sweet wrappers littered its surface and as she forced herself to sit up, she realised that the horrible smell making her nauseous was coming from her. She hadn’t showered since Sunday and that had to be two or three days ago. Maybe more. The house was cold, the fire in the lounge had long gone out and she hadn’t bothered to relight it.

Her landline had rung and rung since Sunday, so she’d unplugged it from the wall. Her mobile was still at her mother’s and although someone had, at some point – but she couldn’t remember when – been knocking on the front door and calling through the letterbox, she’d shouted at them to go away. She thought it had been Rick, probably keen to put Dawn’s mind at rest, but she also believed she recalled her father’s voice too.

Camilla pushed the throw to the side and stood up, then wobbled as her head spun. She needed water desperately.

She padded out to the kitchen and groaned as she took in the mess out there too. The clock on the wall told her it was seven-thirty, so it was morning after all. She’d just filled a glass with cold tap water when someone knocked on her door and the letterbox fluttered open.

“Camilla! It’s your father. If you don’t let me in today, I’m getting the police or the fire brigade out to break your door down.”

Camilla froze. Break her door down? It was cold enough as it was without losing her front door.

She went through the hallway and knelt in front of the door then pressed her lips to the letterbox.

“Go away, I’m fine. I just want to be left alone.”

“You’ve said that for the past three days since you ran off from your mother’s after lunch. Your mobile kept ringing all Sunday night then all day Monday and yesterday the battery must’ve run out as it finally stopped. We could see from the caller ID that it was that vet, Tom, but we didn’t like to answer it.”

Camilla shook her head then winced. So what if it was Tom? She had nothing to say to him. And three days? Her father had been back every day to check on her? The wine haze must’ve blurred her concept of time.

“Dad… please go away.”

The letterbox creaked open and she saw her father’s eyes blinking at her through the narrow gap.

“Please let me in Camilla.”

She sighed. If she didn’t, then he’d keep coming back or get her door broken down, so she could just let him in – so he could see that she was all right – then send him on his way.

As she opened the door, Laurence stood there with a tote bag in one hand and a sad smile on his face.

“I brought you some groceries. Figured you might need milk and bread.”

“I guess you better come on in then.”

Camilla led the way to the kitchen and watched as her father unloaded the contents of the tote bag onto her kitchen table.

“Right, love, where’s the kettle?”

Soon, he handed her a steaming mug of tea and a plate with two slices of toast covered in thick yellow butter.

“Let’s go into the lounge, I’m sure it’s warmer in there.” He gestured at her for her to go in front of him.

“It’s really not. I haven’t lit the fire.”

“No problem.”

He rolled up his sleeves then knelt in front of the log burner as Camilla sat back down and pulled the throw over her legs again. She made herself nibble the toast and washed it down with sips of hot tea. Her stomach churned but she knew it would make her feel better if she could just keep it down.

Once the fire was established, Laurence got up and sat next to Camilla on the sofa.

“Looks like the ghost of Christmas past has visited.” He eyed the mess on the coffee table and the floor then met Camilla’s eyes. “Sweetheart, what is it? Is it me being back? Does it bother you that much?”

She shook her head.

“Is it Tom then? Has he said something to hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“Then what? I want to help.”

Camilla shook her head and to her horror, her bottom lip wobbled and a strangulated sound came from her throat.

Laurence opened his arms. “Let your old dad give you a hug and try to make it better.”

“You can’t,” she squeaked. “No one can.”

“Maybe I can’t but I can try.”

Camilla didn’t want to fall into his arms, she didn’t want to release her pain and she certainly didn’t want to show weakness, but in spite of all that, she found herself sobbing on her father’s chest, and as he gently stroked her hair and murmured words of comfort, she was glad. Glad that he was there. Glad that he cared. Glad that he’d come home. And glad that he was finally holding her and looking out for her the way she’d always wished he would. He couldn’t take back the past but he could be here for her now and in the future.

Once she’d stopped crying and her eyes stung and her throat ached, her father lifted her chin. “Now do you want to tell me about it?”

“Okay.”

“Take your time.”

So she told him about Tom and the Halloween party, about how she’d really liked him and how they’d spent time together and how she’d felt herself falling for him. Then she told him about all the years of sadness when Laurence hadn’t been there and how much she and Dawn had missed having their dad around and about how angry she’d been with him, but how she’d secretly hoped that one day he’d walk back through the door.

And he had.

“So you like Tom and he likes you? What’s the problem then?” Laurence asked finally.

“After I saw you and Mum dancing in the kitchen I realised I really wanted to speak to him. I thought it would be wonderful to hear his voice and to tell him how much I was missing him.”

“But?”

“A woman answered his phone.”

“Oh…” Her father frowned. “Perhaps it was his mother? He’s gone to visit her hasn’t he?”

“It wasn’t his mother, Dad.”

“How’d you know?”

“When she answered I asked to speak to him and she said he was in the shower. I asked if she was his mother, wanting to say hello to her and tell her I’m a friend of Tom’s. You know, I didn’t want to say girlfriend or anything similar, in case he hasn’t told her anything about me yet. But she said…” She took a deep breath. “She said she was his wife.”

“Oh…” Laurence sighed. “I see.”

“So do I. Now.”

“There could be a perfectly logical explanation, Camilla. Perhaps she’s teasing you or perhaps they’re separated or… you know. Something like that.” He shrugged. “You need to speak to him. I brought this for you.” He placed her mobile on the table in amongst the mess. “Call him again and find out.”

Camilla shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Whoever she was, doesn’t matter. I’ve learned a valuable lesson about myself and that is that I need to stay away from love. I was right all along and love just isn’t worth the risk!”

“You don’t know that for certain, angel. You should give Tom a chance to explain. Look at how differently you might have thought about me if you’d known I tried to stay in contact with you and Dawn.”

“Maybe. Probably.” She did wish she’d known her father had tried to stay in touch, but as for Tom, she couldn’t see a way forwards now; he was married, after all.

“Why don’t you go and have a hot bath and I’ll tidy up a bit.”

“Okay but Dad…”

“Yes?”

“You’ll still be here when I come down?”

“Of course I will.”

He wriggled on the sofa then reached around behind him and frowned.

“What’s this?”

He held up the white bauble Tom had given Camilla and the bulldog swayed from side to side in his fingers.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Just an old decoration.”

Camilla took it from him then dropped it into the wastebasket by the fireplace with a handful of tissues that she pulled from up her sleeve.

“Goodbye Tom,” she whispered.

Then she made her way upstairs to run a bath. She intended to wash away the ghosts of Christmas past and to embrace Christmas present as she looked to the future.

She had so much more than so many other people did and she wasn’t going to take it for granted a moment longer. Even if she knew it would take a while to let go of Tom completely. Even if she suspected that letting him go would be very difficult indeed.