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When Dad and Mum break up, Em does her best to cheer up her little brother and sister even though she’s miserable too. She tells them exciting tales because she knows a good story can make life seem better. Meeting the author of her own favourite book is a dream come true. But could her other greatest wish be granted? Is any story powerful enough to bring Dad back?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jacqueline Wilson is one of Britain’s bestselling authors, with more than 38 million books sold in the UK alone. She has been honoured with many prizes for her work, including the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award and the Children’s Book of the Year. Jacqueline is a former Children’s Laureate, a professor of children’s literature, and in 2008 she was appointed a Dame for services to children’s literature.

I THOUGHT IT was going to be the best Christmas ever. I woke up very very early and sat up as slowly as I could, trying not to shake the bed. I didn’t want to wake Vita or Maxie. I wanted to have this moment all to myself.

I wriggled down to the end of the bed, carefully edging round Vita. She always curled up like a little monkey, knees right under her pointed chin, so the hump that was her stopped halfway down the duvet. It was so dark I couldn’t see at all, but I could feel.

My hand stroked three little woolly socks stretched to bursting point. They were tiny stripy socks, too small even for Vita. The joke was to see how many weeny presents could be stuffed inside.

Vita and Maxie appreciated Santa’s sense of humour and left him a minute mince pie on a doll’s tea-set plate and a thimbleful of wine, and wrote him teeny thank-you letters on pieces of paper no bigger than a postage stamp. Well, Vita couldn’t fit her shaky pencil printing on such a tiny scrap but she wrote ‘Dear Santa I love you and pleese leeve me lots and lots of little pressents from your speshal frend Vita’ on a big piece of paper and then folded it up again and again. Maxie simply wrote a letter ‘M’ and a lot of wonky kisses.

I wrote a letter too, even though I was only pretending for Vita and Maxie’s sake. I knew who filled the Christmas socks. I thought he was much more magical than any bearded old gent in a red gown.

I felt past the socks to the space underneath. My hand brushed three parcels wrapped in crackly paper and tied with silk ribbon. I felt their shapes, wondering which one was for me. There was a very small square hard parcel, a flat oblong package and a large unwieldy squashy one, very wide at one end. I hung further out of bed, trying to work out the peculiar shape. I wriggled a little too far and went scooting right over the end, landing on my head.

‘Ssh! Shut up, Maxie! It’s OK, don’t cry,’ I said, crawling past the presents to Maxie’s little mattress.

He doesn’t want to sleep in a proper bed. He likes to set up a camp with lots of blankets and cushions and all his cuddly toys. Sometimes it’s hard to spot Maxie himself under all his droopy old teddies.

I wrestled my way through a lot of fur and found Maxie, quivering in his going-to-bed jersey and underpants. That’s another weird thing about Maxie, he hates pyjamas. There are a lot of weird things about my little brother.

Where the Wild Things Are was Dad’s favourite book. The little boy in it is called Max, and he tames all these Wild Thing monsters. That’s where our Maxie got his name. Reading the book to him was a big mistake. Our Maxie couldn’t ever tame Wild Thing scary monsters. He wouldn’t be up to taming wild fluffy baby bunnies.

‘The Wild Things are all shut up in their book, Maxie,’ I whispered. ‘Stop crying, you’ll make my nightie all wet. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!’

‘No, none whatsoever,’ said Vita, jumping down the bed and pouncing on the presents. ‘Yay! For dear Vita, love from Santa. And here we are again – To darling Vita, even more love from Santa. And there’s this one too, To my special sweetheart Vita, lots and lots and lots of love from Santa. Nothing for you two at all.’

‘She’s just teasing, Maxie. Don’t let her wind you up. Shut up, Vita. Be nice, it’s Christmas. Leave the presents alone. We open them in Mum and Dad’s bed, you know we do.’

‘Let’s go to their room now!’ said Vita, scrabbling at the bottom of the bed, scooping up all three parcels and clutching them to her chest.

‘No, no, it’s not time yet. Mum will be cross,’ I said, unpeeling Maxie and jumping up to restrain Vita.

I always hated it when she said my daddy. It was a mean Vita trick to remind me that he wasn’t really my dad.

He always said he loved me just as much as Vita and Maxie. I hoped hoped hoped it was true, because I loved him more than anyone else in the whole world, even a tiny bit more than Mum. More than Vita and Maxie. Much more than Gran.

‘Half past six then. Mum and Dad were out till late last night, they’ll be tired.’

‘They won’t be tired, it’s Christmas! Stop being so boring, Em. You just want to boss me about all the time.’

It’s almost impossible to boss Vita even though she’s years younger than me and literally half my size. She’s the one who’s done the bossing, ever since she could sit up in her buggy and shriek. It is a royal pain having a little sister like Vita. You have to learn to be dead crafty if you want to manage her.

‘If you come and cuddle back into bed I’ll tell you another Princess Vita story,’ I said. ‘A special Christmas Princess Vita story where she gets to fly to Santa’s workshop and has the pick of all his presents. And she meets Mrs Christmas and all the little children Christmases – Clara Christmas, Caroline Christmas and little Charlie Christmas.’

I had her hooked. She got back into bed. Maxie grabbed an armful of teddies and climbed into our bed too. I lay between them, making up the story. Princess Vita stories were very boring because they always had to be about sweetly pretty show-off Princess Vita. Everyone adored her and wanted to be her friend and gave her elaborate presents. I had to go into extreme detail describing each designer princess gown with matching wings, her jewelled ten-league trainers, and the golden crown the exact shade of Princess Vita’s long long curls.

Our Vita wriggled and squirmed excitedly, and when I started describing the golden crown (and the pink diamond tiara and the ruby slides and the amethyst hair bobbles) she tossed her head around as if she was adorning her own long long curls. She hasn’t really got any. Vita has very thin, fine, straight baby hair like beige cotton. She’s been growing it for several years but it still hasn’t reached her shoulders.

My hair is straw rather than mouse, and thick and strong. When I undo my plaits it very nearly reaches my waist (if I tilt my head right back).

‘Please put Prince Maxie into the story,’ Maxie begged, nuzzling his head against my neck. His hair is the same length as Vita’s, coal-black with a long fringe. If he’s wriggled around a lot in the night it sticks straight out like a chimney brush.

‘Princess Vita has a brother called Prince Maxie, the boldest biggest boy in the whole kingdom,’ I said.

‘As if!’ said Vita. ‘Bother Prince Maxie. Tell about Princess Vita’s trip to see Santa.’

I ended up telling two stories, swerving from one to the other, five minutes of Princess Vita, a quick diversion to see Prince Maxie defeating the seven-headed dragon spouting scarlet flames, and then back to Princess Vita’s sortie in Santa’s sleigh.

‘How do you know there aren’t any more hiding in their caves?’ Maxie asked.

‘Oh yes, there are lots and lots, all huddled down in the dark so you can’t see them, but they come creeping out at night all ready to get you,’ Vita said gleefully.

‘Will you stop being so mean to him, you bad girl!’ I said. ‘I’ll torture you!’ I got hold of her stick wrist and gave her a tiny Chinese burn.

‘Didn’t hurt,’ Vita laughed. ‘No one can hurt me. I’m Princess Vita. If any monsters come bothering me I’ll give them one kick with my ten-league trainers and they’ll beg for mercy.’

‘OK, let’s get you begging for mercy. I’m going to tickle you,’ I said, scrabbling under her chin, in her armpit, on her tummy.

Vita giggled and kicked and squirmed, trying to burrow under the duvet away from me.

‘Tickle tickle tickle,’ said Maxie, his hands shaped into little claws. He stabbed at Vita ineffectively. She was in such a giggly heap she squealed anyway.

‘Yeah, look, she’s cowering away from you,’ I said. ‘But there’s no escape, little Vita, the tickle torturers are relentless.’

I reached right under the duvet and found her feet. I held one captive with one hand and tickled the other.

‘Hey, hey, who’s being murdered?’ Dad came into the room, hands on his hips, just wearing his jeans.

‘Dad!’ We all three yelled his name and jumped at him for a big hug. ‘Merry Christmas, Dad!’

‘You wish, little Vita,’ said Dad. He caught her up and whirled her round and round.

‘No, little Maxie, we’re going to toss you like a pancake,’ said Dad, picking Maxie up and hurling him high in the air. Maxie shrieked in terror, but bore it because he didn’t want to be left out.

I didn’t want to be left out either but I knew there was no way Dad could whirl or toss me. I sat back on the bed feeling larger and lumpier than ever. Dad pretended to take a bite out of Maxie pancake and then set him free. Dad smiled at me. He bowed formally.

I jumped up and Dad started doing this crazy jive with me, singing a rock ’n’ roll version of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’. Vita and Maxie started jumping around too, Vita light as a feather, Maxie thumping.

‘OK, let’s go and wish her happy Christmas,’ said Dad. ‘Bring the presents into our room.’

‘There’s one each for all of you,’ said Dad. ‘That one is for my number one son.’

‘I’m your number one daughter, aren’t I, Dad?’ said Vita, elbowing me out of the way.

My name isn’t really Emerald, it’s plain Emily. All the rest of the family called me Em. I loved it when Dad called me Emerald.

I loved being treated like a grown-up too. Vita and Maxie weren’t allowed anywhere near the cooker and couldn’t so much as switch on the kettle.

‘That would be great, darling, but if you start faffing around in the kitchen your gran will wake up.’

‘Ah. Right.’ We certainly didn’t want Gran climbing into Mum and Dad’s bed with us.

‘Come on then, kids. Let’s get the Christmas show on the road,’ said Dad. He yawned and ran his fingers through his long hair. My dad’s got the most beautiful long hair in the whole world. It’s thick and dark and glossy black, like Maxie’s, but Dad’s grown his way past his shoulders. He wears it in one tight fat plait during the day to keep it neat, and then it’s all lovely and loose at night. It looks so strange and special, so perfect for Dad. He gets fed up with it sometimes, saying he looks like some silly old hippy, and he’s always threatening to get it cut.

That’s how Dad met Mum. He went into her hairdressing salon at the top of the Pink Palace on the spur of the moment and asked her to chop it all off. She took one look at him and said no way. She said she didn’t usually go for guys with long hair but said it really suited Dad and it would be a shame to spoil such a distinctive look. That’s what she said. I knew this story off by heart. Dad liked her paying him compliments so he asked her if she’d come for a drink with him when she finished work. They ended up spending the whole evening together and falling madly in love. They’ve been together ever since. Just like a fairy story. They don’t live in an enchanted castle because Mum doesn’t earn that much money as a hairdresser and Dad earns less as an actor, though he has his fairy stall at the Pink Palace now. He works very hard, no matter what Gran says.

We tiptoed along the landing so as not to wake her. She has the biggest bedroom at the front. I suppose that’s only fair as it’s her house, but it means Mum and Dad are squashed up in the little bedroom, and Vita, Maxie and me are positively crammed into our room. Gran suggested one of us might like to go and sleep in her room with her but we thought that was a terrible idea.

Gran snores for a start. We could hear her snoring on Christmas morning even though her bedroom door was shut. Dad gave a very tiny piggy snore, imitating her, and we all got the giggles. We had to hold our hands over our mouths to muffle them (not easy clutching Christmas stockings and slippery parcels!). We exploded into Mum and Dad’s bedroom, dropping everything, jumping on the bed, snorting with laughter.

Mum sat up, startled, her hair hanging in her eyes. ‘What . . .?’ she mumbled.

‘Oh darling, happy happy Christmas,’ said Mum, flinging her arms round him and running her fingers through his hair.

‘Give me a Christmas kiss, Mum!’ Vita demanded, pulling at her bare shoulder.

‘Happy Christmas, kids. Big big kisses for all of you in just a minute,’ said Mum, wrapping her dressing gown round her and climbing out of bed.

We couldn’t be mean enough to start opening our stockings without her. She kept us waiting a little while. She came back smelling of toothpaste and her special rosy soap, her face powdered, her hair teased and sprayed into her usual blonde bob.

‘Come on, babe, come and cuddle up,’ said Dad, hitching Vita and Maxie along to make room for her.

He ruffled Mum’s hair like she was a little kid too. Mum didn’t moan, even though she’d just made it perfect. She waited until Dad was helping Maxie with his stocking and then she quickly patted her hair back into shape, smoothing down her fringe and tweaking the ends. She wasn’t being vain. She was just trying extra hard to look nice for Dad.

We had this tradition of opening presents in turn, starting with the youngest, but this wasn’t such a good idea with Maxie. He was so slow, delicately picking out the first tiny parcel from his stocking, prodding it warily and then cautiously shaking it, as if he thought it might be a miniature bomb. When he decided it was safe to open he spent ages nudging the edge of the sellotape with his thumbnail.

‘I don’t want to rip it, it looks so pretty. I want to wrap all my presents up again after I’ve seen what they are,’ said Maxie.

‘Here, son, let me help,’ said Dad, and within a minute or two he’d shelled all Maxie’s stocking presents out of their shiny paper.

Maxie cupped his hands to hold them all at once: his magic pencil that could draw red and green and blue and yellow all in one go; a silver spiral notebook; a weeny yellow plastic duck no bigger than his thumb; a tiny toy tractor; a mini box of Smarties; a little watch on a plastic strap; a green glass marble; and a pair of his very own nail clippers (Maxie always wants to borrow Dad’s).

‘I’m unwrapping mine!’ said Vita, spilling her goodies all over the duvet, ripping each one open with her scrabbly little fingers. She found a tiny pink lady ornament in a ballet frock; sparkly butterfly hairslides; a set of kitten and puppy stickers; a miniature red box of raisins; a weeny purple brush and comb set; a little book about a rabbit with print so tiny you could hardly read it; a bead necklace spelling I LOVE VITA; and her very own real lipstick.

‘I hope Santa’s given you a very pale pink lipstick,’ said Mum. ‘Go on then, Em, open your stocking.’

I was getting too big to believe in Santa but he still wanted to please me. I found a little orange journal with its own key; a tiny red heart soap; a purple gel pen; cherry bobbles for my hair; a tiny tin of violet sweets; a Miffy eraser; a Jenna Williams bookmark; and a small pot of silver glitter nail varnish.

‘I love that colour,’ said Mum. ‘Santa’s got good taste, Em. I wish he’d leave me a stocking.’

They weren’t really special enough. We always made our presents for Mum and Dad, and so they looked like rubbish. Maxie did a drawing of Mum and Dad and Vita and me, but we weren’t exactly recognizable. We looked like five potatoes on toothpicks.

Vita did a family portrait too. She drew herself very big, her head touching one end of the paper and her feet the other. She embellished herself with very long thick hair and silver shoes with enormously high heels. She drew Dad one side of her, Mum the other, using up so much space she had to squash Maxie and me high up in either corner, just our heads and shoulders, looking down like gargoyles.

I felt I was too old for drawing silly pictures. I wanted to make them proper presents. Gran had recently taught me to knit, so at the beginning of December I’d started to knit a woollen patchwork quilt for Mum and Dad’s bed. I knitted and knitted and knitted – in the playground, watching television, on the loo – but by Christmas Eve I had only managed eleven squares, not even enough for a newborn baby’s quilt.

I sewed the prettiest pink square into a weird pouch done up with a pearly button. It was too holey for a purse but I thought Mum could maybe keep her comb inside. I sewed the other ten squares into one long scarf for Dad. It wasn’t exactly the right shape and it rolled over at the edges but I hoped he might still like it.

‘I absolutely love it, Em,’ he said, wrapping it round his neck. ‘I’ve wanted a long stripy scarf ever since I watched Dr Who when I was a little kid. Thank you, darling.’ He stroked the uneven rows. ‘It’s so cosy! I’ll be as warm as toast all winter.’

I felt my cheeks glowing. I knew he probably hated it and didn’t want to be seen dead wearing it, but he made me believe he truly loved it at the same time.

Mum gave him a V-necked soft black sweater and he put it on at once, but he kept my scarf round his neck.

‘What present?’ said Dad, teasing her. Then he reached underneath the bed and handed her an oblong package. She felt the parcel and then tore off the wrapping. A pair of silver shoes tumbled out, strappy sandals with the highest heels ever.

‘Oh my God!’ Mum shrieked. ‘They’re so beautiful. Oh darling, how wicked, how glamorous, how incredible!’ She started kissing Dad rapturously.

‘Hey, hey, they’re just shoes,’ he said. ‘Come on then, kids, open your big presents.’

He helped Maxie unwrap an enormous set of expensive Caran d’Ache colouring pens and a big white pad of special artist’s paper.

‘But he’s just a little kid, Frankie. He’ll press too hard and ruin the tips,’ Mum said.

‘He will,’ I mouthed at Mum. Maxie had already totally ruined the red and the sky-blue in my set of felt pens. I couldn’t help feeling envious of Maxie’s beautiful set, so superior to my own.

‘My turn, my turn, my turn!’ Vita shouted, tearing at her huge parcel. One weird long brown twisty thing poked through the paper as she scrabbled at it, then another.

Dad had taken us to the circus in the summer and Maxie had spent most of the evening under his seat, terrified of the clowns.

‘That’s “The Sugar Plum Fairy” from some ballet. We did it in music,’ I said.

Vita tore the last of the paper away to reveal the huge sweet head of a furry reindeer, with two twisty plush antlers sticking out at angles. She had big brown glass eyes, fantastic long eyelashes, and a smiley red-lined mouth with a soft pink tongue. She was wearing a pink ballet dress with a satin bodice and net skirt.

‘I love her, I love her!’ Vita declared, hugging her passionately to her chest.

The reindeer had long floppy furry legs with pink satin ballet slippers, but she couldn’t stand on them. I lifted the net skirt and saw a big hole.

‘You got it, Emerald,’ said Dad. ‘Here, Vita, let’s get to know her. We’ll see if she’ll introduce herself.’

He pressed her pink nose again to stop the ballet music and stuck his hand up inside her.

‘Hello, Princess Vita,’ he made the reindeer say, in a funny fruity female voice. ‘I’m Dancer. I was one of Santa’s very own reindeers. Maybe you’ve heard of my fellow sleigh artistes, Dasher and Prancer and Vixen? Then there’s the so-called superstar, Rudolph, the one with the constant cold. Such a show-off, especially since he got his own song. Of course I was always the leading runner, until I realized that all that sleigh-pulling wasn’t such a good idea. I have very sensitive hooves. Santa was devastated when I gave in my notice but we artistes have to consider our talent. I am now Princess Vita’s dancing companion and trusty steed.’

Dad made Dancer bow low and then twirl on her floppety legs. Vita clapped her hands, bright red with excitement.

I felt envious again. Why couldn’t I have had a puppet? Then Dad and I could have had endless games together. Vita and Maxie had such special big presents this year. Why did mine have to be so tiny? It was just like one extra stocking present.

‘Aren’t you going to open your present, Emerald?’ said Dad. He slipped Dancer over Vita’s hand, showing her how to work her. Vita waved her wildly round and round. Maxie laughed and tried to catch Dancer. One of her antlers accidently poked him in the eye.

‘Hey, hey, watch out! Oh Maxie, for heaven’s sake, it didn’t really hurt,’ said Mum, grabbing Vita’s arm and pulling Maxie close for a cuddle. ‘Yes, Em, open your present. Whatever can it be?’

I undid the wrapping paper, feeling foolish with them all watching me. I got my mouth all puckered up, waiting to say Thank you and give grateful kisses. Then I opened a little black box and stared at what was inside. I was stunned. I couldn’t say anything at all.

‘Yes it is,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not fobbing off my daughter with anything less!’

‘Don’t be silly, Frankie,’ Mum said. ‘Real emeralds cost hundreds and hundreds of pounds!’

‘No they don’t. Not if you go to antique fairs and do someone a favour and find a little emerald for a special small girl,’ said Dad.

He unhooked the ring from its little velvet cushion and put it on the ring finger of my right hand.

‘But however much have you spent on all of us?’ Mum said, shaking her head as if she’d been swimming underwater.

‘Never you mind,’ said Dad. ‘I wanted this to be a special Christmas, one the kids will remember for ever.’

So Mum left it. We had a big Christmas cuddle, the five of us – six, counting Dancer – and then we heard Gran going downstairs to put the kettle on.

Vita insisted on having Dancer on her lap at breakfast time. Maxie held onto his felt tips too, balancing them across his bony knees. I stuck my hand out after every mouthful, admiring my ring.

Dad laughed and put his arm round her. ‘Now, Ellen, no po-faces, it’s Christmas. Come on, you old bat, you know you love me really.’ He gave her a kiss. She pushed him away, shaking her head, but she couldn’t help smiling. She actually burst out laughing when she opened her present from Dad. It was a pair of tight designer jeans.

‘And you’ve got almost as lovely a figure as your daughter, so flaunt it, eh? You’ll look great in the jeans, much better than those baggy old trousers. Try them on!’

‘Don’t think you can get round me,’ said Gran – but she changed into her new jeans after breakfast.

Dad was right. Gran had a really good figure, though we’d never noticed it before. From the waist down she didn’t look a bit like our gran. Dad gave her a wolf whistle and she told him not to be so daft – but she blushed.

‘I’m not going to wear them out of course,’ she said. ‘Still, they’re fine for the house.’

She had to go and change out of them again after Christmas dinner. We normally all eat separately. Vita and Maxie and I have our tea after school. Mum just has snacks while she’s waiting to have a meal later with Dad. Gran heats up her own Lean Cuisines and eats them off a tray when EastEnders and Coronation Street are on television. But Christmas is different. We all eat together with a proper tablecloth and Gran’s best white-and-gold china from the cabinet where she keeps her pink crinoline lady and the balloon-seller and the little mermaid with a green scaly tail and the little girl and boy in white china nightgowns.

We had crackers so we all wore paper hats and shouted out silly mottoes. Vita snorted with laughter while she was drinking her Ribena ‘wine’ and it went right up her nose and then spattered the white embroidered cloth. Gran would have gone mad if Maxie or I had done it, but she just shook her head fondly at Vita and told her to calm down.

Vita made a fuss about her Christmas dinner too. She wouldn’t eat a single sprout or parsnip and only one forkful of turkey. She just wanted a plate of roast potatoes.

‘Well, why shouldn’t the kid have exactly what she fancies on Christmas Day?’ said Dad, scraping everything off her plate and then piling it high with potatoes.

Maxie started noisily demanding a plate of roast potatoes too. Mum and Gran sighed at Dad for starting something.

‘Em always eats everything. It’s a wonder she doesn’t gollop the plate down too,’ said Gran.

She’d started to nag me about calories and carbohydrates and all that stuff, though Mum always got mad at her and said she’d turn me anorexic.

I took no notice and munched my way through my turkey and chipolata sausages and roast potatoes and mashed potatoes and parsnips and every single sprout and then I had a slice of Christmas pudding with green jelly and red jelly and cream and then a mince pie and then a satsuma and then three chocolates out of the Christmas tin of Quality Street.

Gran slapped my hand away when I reached in the tin for a fourth chocolate. ‘For God’s sake, Em, you’ll burst,’ she said. ‘Your stomach must be made of elastic. You’ll have to learn to stop shovelling your food up like that. I don’t know how you can. I’m totally stuffed. I’m going to have to take my posh jeans off and have a little lie down.’

‘Quit nagging Princess Emerald. It’s great that she’s got a healthy appetite,’ said Dad. ‘Right, ladies, us chaps will do the washing-up. You can all take a little nap. We’ll do the donkey work in the kitchen, won’t we, Maxie?’

Maxie took Dad seriously and started gathering Gran’s best china with a bang and a clatter.

‘Yeah, Gran’s got a point, little guy,’ said Dad. ‘Tell you what, you start drawing me a lovely picture with your new felt pens. Then I can get on with the washing-up in peace.’

Maxie lay on the floor, carefully colouring, his eyes screwed up and his tongue sticking out because he was concentrating so fiercely. He was much more careful with the points of his own felt tips than he was with mine.

Vita annoyed him for a while, running her fingers over the felt pens in the tin, playing them as if they were an instrument, but her roast potatoes took a toll on her. She lay back on the sofa, Dancer on her arm so she could use her velvety head like a cuddle blanket. Mum curled up in a corner of the sofa. She said she wanted to watch the Queen on television but her eyes started drooping and she was asleep in seconds.

I sat back, my hand stretched out in front of me, so I could admire my real emerald from every angle. I still couldn’t believe how wonderful it was. Dad said he’d got it at a bargain price but I knew it still must have cost heaps. More than Mum’s silver sandals or Gran’s jeans or Vita’s reindeer or Maxie’s crayons.

It must mean that Dad loved me just as much as Vita and Maxie even though I wasn’t really his daughter. I knew I loved him more than anyone. Far far far far far far far more than my own dad.

I hadn’t seen him for years now. I didn’t want to. We didn’t want to have any more to do with him, Mum and me.

I decided to go and help Dad with the washing-up, even though he’d told us all he wanted the kitchen to himself. I crept across the living room into the hall. I waved at my ring in the mirror above the telephone table. It winked its brilliant green light back at me.

The kitchen door was shut. I could hear Dad muttering inside. I grinned. Was he singing to himself as he did the dishes? I opened the door slowly and carefully, not making a sound. Dad had his back to me.

I thought he was talking to me. Then I saw the hunch of his shoulders, his hand up against his ear. He was talking on his mobile.

‘Yeah, yeah! Oh Sarah, I’m missing you so much too,’ he said. ‘Still, I can’t get out of Christmas, it means so much to Julie and the kids. I’m trying to make it happy for them, though dear God it’s such an effort now. Still, I’m planning on telling them soon. I can’t stay much longer. I’m going crazy. I want to be with you so badly, babe. I’m leaving them, I swear I am.’

He whipped round. I waited for him to tell me I’d got it all wrong. He wasn’t really talking to some girlfriend. He was acting a part, playing some stupid joke. Dad could always talk his way out of anything. I wanted him to tell me any old story, even if I knew he was lying.

He didn’t say anything. He just stood staring at me, biting his lip foolishly the way Maxie does when he’s been caught out. The mobile phone buzzed as someone spoke to him.

‘Call you back,’ Dad said and he switched the phone off. He held it warily, as if it was a hand grenade.

We stared at each other, standing freeze-framed. I wished I could rewind a minute so I could be back in the hall, happily waving my emerald ring around.

The room started spinning. I staggered to the sink and threw up all over the china in the washing-up bowl.

2

‘IT’S ALL RIGHT, EM, it’s all right,’ Dad said, holding me.

We both knew it could never be all right again. I retched and sobbed, unable to reply.

Gran came bursting into the kitchen, disturbed from her nap.

‘What’s going on? Oh, for God’s sake, you’ve been sick all over my best china!’

‘Who’s been sick?’ said Mum, coming in too. Vita and Maxie followed her.

‘Em’s been sick,’ said Gran. ‘I told you not to make a pig of yourself, Emily.’

‘Yuck!’ said Vita.

‘It smells!’ said Maxie.

‘You two, out of here,’ said Mum. ‘Go into the living room with your gran. I’ll clear it all up.’

About the Book

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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