Page 92 of Last Christmas in London

Especially as I reached for my laid-out pyjamas, thinking about what was waiting for all of us the next day.

I didn’t want to rush through it or keep myself at arm’s length any more. I wanted Christmas to come as quickly as possible. Not because I was afraid it might disappear, but because I finally felt ready to be part of it.

‘Merry Christmas!’ Denise, Bob, Megan, Josh, and I chorused around the dinner table the following day.

As expected, the anticipation had been worth it. Christmas morning was perfect, and then some.

Josh had woken Megan and me up at 6.00 a.m. by landing on my air mattress and practically launching me into Megan’s bed, as he declared it was Christmas like he was a member of Wizzard – but with much better hair.

He had been infectiously jolly all morning, cracking jokes and making us all ache with laughter as we hugged and kissed, wishing all the tidings of the season like a picture-perfect postcard. I noticed Josh’s jokes increased when we were opening presents. Megan had become subdued as she helped Alfie open presents from her and Alex, every one of them labelled with ‘Love from Mum & Dad’.

‘Have him open mine,’ Josh said, handing Megan a packet of wrapping paper, which bemused us all greatly.

‘Uhh, Josh?’ I didn’t even need to ask before he went off into an explanation.

‘Everyone knows that a child of Alfie’s age doesn’t give two hoots about Christmas presents, they just love the wrapping. So that’s what I got him.’

The fact that it was Harrods wrapping, perfectly packaged in cellophane, and not just regular ripped-up wrapping, was lost on Josh. But we had all eaten our words when later Alfie was screaming in delight, rolling and ripping up the expensive paper.

‘You may now call me Uncle G.O.A.T.’

‘Huh?’ Bob looked confused.

‘Uncle Greatest. Of. All. Time.’ Josh grinned.

Now we all wore ill-fitting Christmas crowns in a multitude of colours. Mine was yellow, while Megan and Josh both sported pink ones. Alfie’s child-form-fitting blue crown matched his Chelsea-themed Christmas jumper – which Bob ignored with little grace – while Denise had had trouble getting her crown over her light-up Christmas antlers. Bob’s crown slipped off his bald head with no hair to statically attach it to, but he kept replacing it without fail.

‘Cheers, my dears!’ Denise said jovially, reaching across the table as the tumble for the gravy boats and sauces began.

‘Who has the horseradish spoon?’

‘Don’t pass the salt! It’s bad luck.’

‘Don’t scrimp on the gravy, there’s more in the kitchen.’

And then the food swap and eyeing up took over.

‘Don’t you touch my Yorkshire!’

‘Josh has one more roast potato than me.’

‘No, he doesn’t. You each have four big ones.’

‘I always forget how much I like roast parsnips.’

‘Do you want mine?’

‘Swap you a stuffing ball?’

It wasn’t long before the food was devoured: a rogue stuffing ball, splashes of gravy on the Christmas-themed table cover, and six very full people lolling back in their chairs, the only sign that it had happened in the first place.

‘I can’t eat another morsel,’ Megan said, placing down her glass of fizz and rubbing her belly with satisfaction, as we all groaned in agreement.

I stayed standing, checking my phone which kept buzzing. At first, I thought it was Christmas well wishes, but glancing down I saw notifications from Elijah.

Groaning, I put my phone back in my pocket.

‘We do have some homemade trifle, if anyone wants it,’ Bob said after a beat, leaning back in his chair, bouncing Alfie on his lap. ‘My speciality.’ There was a momentary stillness, broken only by Alfie’s gurgling ah-ah-ah, as Bob bounced him even more.