‘It’s an angel, playing a harp,’ cried Mouse, excitement making her shout, her slippered feet dancing. She moved to the next advent calendar, eyes darting around the picture of Santa and his reindeer pixellated by smaller images peering through windows. Where was today’s number?

Dominique smiled as she watched, and could see the tension of her daughter’s body as the hunter found her prey. Sharp nails picked at the edge of the cardboard door…

‘A beautiful snowflake! It’s all sparkly with glitter,’ she gasped. ‘And look, only seven days to go.’ She pointed to the inside of the door, which contained a countdown. Mouse was almost beside herself. ‘This time next week it will be Christmas.’

Unable to contain her glee, she curled up her fists and jumped up and down in her baggy-bottomed sleep suit.

Dom’s stomach dropped at the sight. What would Christmas be like, knowing Benjamin was carrying on with another woman? Even if she were ready to confront him, she would have to keep quiet for the children’s sake, so they could have one last festive season all together as a family. Even if it was a charade. Once Christmas ended she would tell Benjamin that she wanted a divorce.

Did she though?

Between worrying about her marriage and Ruby playing up, no wonder she had started sleepwalking again. Dominique felt better for having warned Ruby off Harry, though. Dominique hadn’t had the chance to really get to know the other parents of children at the school, but she’d chatted with a handful who had been eager to fill her in on rumours about Harry and his no-good mother. They lived on a rough estate, Harry’s father had disappeared long since, and his mum had fallen apart and turned to drink – maybe even drugs. One mum had gleefully told her about a time a few years ago when Harry’s mum had been sacked from her job in a supermarket because she was slurring and clearly the worse for wear. It was disgraceful. The estate they lived on was well known as a drug den, too; it was always in the news. So, it was all too likely that Harry himself was dabbling. How could he not, raised the way he had been. The conversation she’d had with Fiona, far from soothing her fears, had added to them. Dom only hoped her rebellious daughter listened to her for once.

Still, part of her felt guilty. If she and Benjamin split up, then the teen was going to need all the support she could get. But the relationship with Harry was so intense it was almost claustrophobic.

No, it was the right thing to give her daughter some enforced breathing space. She was too young to get involved in a serious relationship, and when it inevitably fell apart, she would be devastated. Just like her mum felt. Better Dominique stepped in now and saved Ruby further pain in the future.

Right now, though, Dominique was going to enjoy Saturday with her youngest girl, who had now opened all her advent calendars.

‘Do you want to help me put up the decorations?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’ Mouse’s mouth formed a perfect circle of elation.

‘Breakfast first, then get dressed. Hopefully Daddy and Ruby will help, too.’

It was boiled eggs for breakfast. Dominique followed the 5:2 diet religiously, keeping her figure slender at a point in time when she had started to naturally thicken slightly around the waist. Surely forty-four was too young to start middle-age spread?

One of the eggs in the roiling water cracked, its contents spilling forth and solidifying until it looked like intestines. Dominique shuddered at the thought, wondering where such a dark image had come from. She was letting things get to her.

Well, she would have to eat the cracked egg, because Mouse certainly wouldn’t.

Mouse already sat at the kitchen table, her legs almost but not quite long enough to reach the floor. She was growing up fast.

She pointed, wrinkling her nose. ‘Eurgh! Your egg is trying to escape,’ she giggled.

‘I know, the shell cracked.’

‘You’re not very lucky with boiled eggs, are you, Mummy? Yours always cracks and mine never does. Why is that?’

Dominique tilted her head and gave her daughter a smile that glowed. ‘You must just be a very, very lucky girl.’

Then they both dived into their breakfast, and the only sound was of happy munching.

---

That was the highlight of the day for Dominique. Once the Christmas tree was delivered, it quickly became clear that Benjamin would not be coming home early from the office to help, and that Ruby would not be appearing from her bedroom. Even Mouse quickly bored of decorating, frustrated because she wasn’t allowed to do it the way she wanted, with everything messily everywhere.

Dominique was not a fan of the decorations, either, if she were honest. They were too desperate to be chic, the white colour scheme too cold and corporate. A bowl of lemons was not Christmassy, no matter how tasteful it may look. It was all too considered, which automatically sucked the joy out of it. Christmas should be about laughter, really bad decorations made by the children, and making an arse of yourself in charades.

When she and Benjamin had first moved in together, they had such a laugh at Christmas. They’d had no money at all. Dom’s parents owned a dance studio, which they’d set up after retiring from professional ballroom dancing, so although comfortable, didn’t have much money going spare to help the young couple set up. Not that Dom would have accepted anyway, particularly after Benjamin had so generously given his share of his inheritance from his father to his mother and sister. So, they had lived in a draughty flat, cheap as chips, with dreadful storage heaters that couldn’t cope with the cold snap that made Jack Frost patterns on their windows. But they had kept warm making love, or cuddling up on the sofa under a blanket watching It’s a Wonderful Life. On Christmas night, after spending time with each of their families, the pair had come home to discover the heating had packed up altogether. Instead of despairing, they had put their music on full blast and jumped around to their own private disco, singing and laughing helplessly.

Dom had spent all her money that Christmas, about £40, on a Sekonda watch she had had engraved for him.

A play on something Benjamin had whispered to her not long after he had told her he loved her for the first time. As he had laid out all his hopes and dreams for the future, and launched his business with Jazmine Bauer, he had said he would work hard every single day to give Dominique the life she deserved.

‘No more draughty flat, no more rusty cars. We’re going to have a wonderful life together. But I promise, no matter how hard I work, I will always make time for you.’

Benjamin had worn the gift for years, but stopped suddenly when he bought his fancy timepieces. The latest in his ever-increasing snobbery.

Fatherhood had wrought the initial change in Benjamin, Dominique realised now. When she and Ruby had come home, he had been a bundle of nerves. When he held Ruby, the newborn cried.

‘She just needs her nappy changing. Can you do that, please, while I take a nap?’

‘What? No, I – I can’t.’ The panic on his face.

‘Benjamin, you look like I’ve asked you to disarm a bomb.’

‘I can’t. You do it.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She folded her arms as he proffered their baby, eyes beseeching.

He’d burst into tears. Actually broken down, hunching over Ruby as he held her away from his body.

‘I’m just scared I’ll break something,’ he confessed. ‘Look at my massive rugby player hands. Look how tiny she is.’

Ruby’s skin wrinkled ever so slightly where he held her. Dominique smiled. ‘And look at how you’re holding her as though she is the single most precious thing in the world. You would never do anything to hurt her – I know that, you know that. Come on, I’ll watch while you do it.’

And he had, marvelling at Ruby’s perpetual motion once she was on her back, little arms and legs wiggling. So careful with her soft skin as he wiped her, then did up the new nappy.

But Benjamin had never really conquered that fear. Overwhelmed by the responsibility of a little life depending on him, he had become more and more uptight. More convinced that his role was to provide the money and hers the love; traditional roles, and she had nothing against that, but she didn’t understand why he had thrown himself into it quite so much. Or when material things had begun to outweigh the love his family gave him.

Benjamin would, Dominique already knew, spend this Christmas Day lounging in bespoke cotton Charvet pyjamas. Even his bloody pyjamas had to be mega expensive. She wished he’d just grab some velour leisure wear, extract the poker from up his backside, and chill out.

Was he the same with his mistress? Was he as grumpy, or did they laugh, talk, have wild sex without fear of being overheard by the children?

Did they dance around to their own private disco?