I’m drunk. It’s 11 a.m. on Christmas Day.
The kids are playing with their new toys beside the tree. The small turkey is roasting. I’m in the kitchen.
I’ve just poured my third gin. It’s as bitter and cold as me.
I glance at the missing fourth plate and see you, building Lego with the kids last year, making us all laugh. I think of the day you left.
But then I look at our children, and tip out the gin.
Resolutely, I grab my Mum mug from the cupboard, heap in coffee, and brace myself for a long day.