Elizabeth Buchan - The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

I planned everything down to the last detail. Presents: bath oil for the women, which I had employed Syriol to wrap – she was keen to earn a bit extra – and a good bottle of wine each for the men. Food: the turkey, ready-made gravy, cranberry sauce, bread sauce, vegetables and pudding were to be delivered by the supermarket. I reckoned I could manage to peel the Brussels sprouts and potatoes with the boys’ help.

A big smile plastered across her wan face, Eve had flown home on Christmas Eve with so much luggage – mostly sweaters and socks from M &S – that I was convinced she wouldn’t get through check-in.

I had filled the stockings several days previously.

On Christmas Day, I had been up at dawn laying the table. Having thought long and hard about the placements, I decided that Sam should be at the head with his mother and Jilly on either side. Richard was at the other end of the table with me. Poppy had volunteered to sit between the twins so that she could keep an eye on them. ‘You’re to make decent conversation,’ I had admonished them. ‘What’s decent?’ asked Felix.

Sam arrived early, straight from the airport. He was tired, unshaven and foul-breathed. I sent him up to the spare bedroom where he could wash and brush up in peace. The rest arrived half an hour later.

There was confusion as to whether the presents should be opened before or after lunch, but I put my foot down and announced that lunch would burn if we delayed. Sam carved, and Richard poured the wine. Poppy had provided the candles, which were red, glittering and, to be honest, would not have been my first choice – and played cat’s cradle with the twins while the food was served. With one arm round Frieda, Rose talked earnestly to Jilly.

No one paid me much attention, but that was fine, particularly as I was busy in the kitchen. That was how I wanted it. As we sat and ate, conversation flew back and forth across the table, little snippets of gossip, an old joke, a snatch of reminiscence. Only so much could be expected from six-year-olds, and before long the boys had decided they were jumping beans and Richard had to swap places to help Poppy control them.

When I emerged from the kitchen with two puddings burning merrily, there was a spatter of applause. I sat down, head spinning, speechless and not hungry. At that moment, Rose sent me a little smile.

We discussed jet-lag. ‘I’ve been taking melatonin,’ Sam rubbed his face, ‘but it’s not great.’

‘You should try arnica. The pills, I mean,’ Rose said.

‘It might be better if you didn’t quaff huge quantities of wine on board.’ Poppy leant over to poke her brother. ‘Eh?’

‘Who are you to lecture us on behaviour?’ Sam grinned all the same. ‘I know where your secrets are buried.’ For a second, Poppy’s eyes were dark with terror. Under the table, I felt for her hand. After a moment Poppy’s fingers tightened on mine. Sam continued: ‘Who snitched the chocolate bunny from Gavin in the fifth form? That’s what I want to know.’

After the pudding Sam got to his feet, wine glass in hand. ‘We need a toast,’ he said. ‘Absent friends.’

‘Dad…’ cried one of the twins, and I swivelled round to see which.

There followed a heartbreaking, emotion-filled silence, which no one wanted to last. The twins wriggled, Frieda pulled a face, and the adults drank the toast. Absent friends .

At which point, Frieda threw herself back in her chair and overbalanced. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Jilly, ‘I told you not to do that.’ Then she remembered it was Christmas and wiped the frown off her face. ‘Come here, sweetheart. I’ll kiss you better.’

Sam produced a digital camera. ‘OΚ. Best smiles,’ he ordered. ‘Mum, can you move up a bit? Frieda, sit still Lucas, can you get on to your mum’s lap? Thank you.’

We held our poses, there were several clicks, and Sam fiddled with the camera. ‘Have a look,’ he said and passed it round.

Rose was in the middle of the group, with Jilly beside her. Richard’s eyes were red. Lucas had moved at the crucial moment and, consequently, was a little blurred. Felix was pointing at something. Poppy was gazing at Richard. And me? I was positioned in the left-hand corner of the photo, looking tired, which was not surprising. ‘It’s quite good of you, Minty,’ Poppy commented, and handed the camera back to Sam.

Rose sat herself down beside me. ‘I’ve been thinking about the garden, as you asked. We could put the catmint by the fence. It would look good there, and leave space for the boys to play. What do you think?’

A candle guttered, and I leant forward to shield the flame. It was hot against my flesh and I flinched. ‘Mum!’ shrieked Felix. ‘Mum! Can we have presents?’

The flame steadied, and I took my hand away.

Elizabeth Buchan is the author of nine previous novels, including the bestselling Revenge of the Middle-Aged Woman, The Good Wife and That Certain Age, all of which received rave reviews. She lives in London with her husband and children.