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Adam was a Christmas Eve baby. The first year they were together for his birthday, he was so unexpectedly short with her at Bistrotheque, so passive and enervated and so unlike himself that Coralie asked for the bill early and escaped alone up Mare Street.

She was still upset the next day when Adam, dressed only in a Santa hat, brought her up coffee in bed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I hate my birthday,” he said.

“I never realized how much.” As the next one approached, his thirty-ninth, she cautiously raised the issue of their plans.

“Just time with you, and with Zora,” he said.

“Nothing special. I mean, that is special. The most special, and exactly what I want, and only that.”

When Zora’s term finished, Adam and Coralie picked her up straight from school.

Her small rucksack was loaded with important items: five pens, two notebooks, a little skateboard from a set of LEGO Friends, a fawn soft toy dog with enormous eyes, some shriveled conkers, and a slim work of Usborne nonfiction called Animals at War .

Coralie took a week off work, and none of Boris Johnson’s inner circle had time to meet Adam on background for his book, so the three of them chose the tree, made mince pies, and baked little FIMO ornaments with a weird chemical smell.

They took Zora to the frigid “big slide park” in Victoria Park, to ice-skate at Somerset House, and to John Lewis on Oxford Street for a dress to wear to The Snowman .

All these things only took up a few hours a day.

The rest of the time Zora watched PAW Patrol or Ben she was also loving and sweet: She slipped her hand into Coralie’s while waiting to cross the road and avidly consumed classic books from Coralie’s Australian childhood, like Magic Beach and Where the Forest Meets the Sea .

When asked to make a family tree for school, she happily and proactively included Coralie (as well as Marina’s new husband, Tory Tom).

If she cried, it was because she was tired or injured.

When she was clingy or moany, it meant she was getting ill.

She could be comforted easily with a cuddle from Adam, an unnecessary Band-Aid (“sticking plaster”), or a snack.

Still, there were times, only a few, and she wasn’t proud of them, when Coralie felt a creeping exhaustion at the thought of another early dinner, of trying discreetly to communicate adult things to her adult boyfriend over the shiny-haired head of a six-year-old.

In the packed Pizza Express, after the abortive trip to The Snowman , she found herself wondering what Stefan from the office and Marcus were doing at that moment.

Not a “Spot the Difference” with crayons on a child’s menu, that was for sure.

At least (she knew it was bad to look forward to this) Marina was picking Zora up the next day.

They’d have a child-friendly birthday lunch together for Adam beforehand—pasta, probably, or sausages.

Then they, the grown-ups, the Happy Couple, alone at last, could have a proper adult dinner together.

That reminded her, she had to pick up the oysters from Fin and Flounder.

“Look, his bow tie’s missing half the bow.” Zora circled it. “Eight differences.”

“Oh no,” Adam said.

Coralie’s heart, already racing, started to pound. “What?”

“Just something on my phone.”

“Text it to me. Zora, do you want the bathroom? I’m going before the food comes.”

“I went to the bathroom at The Snowman .”

“I wasn’t sure if you really did, or if that was your escape plan.”

“It was both. I needed the toilet, and I was too scared of Jack Frost.”

“Okay.” Coralie waved her phone. “Back in a tick.”

She read his text in the cubicle: The GGs arrive tomorrow. It ended with a sad face. She sent a sad face back. When she looked in the mirror afterward, she found she was doing one for real.

At the table, the pizza had arrived. A bit of basil or something green had been left on Zora’s by mistake. Coralie whisked it off before she saw.

“Guess what, sweetheart,” Adam said brightly.

“What?”

“Move the glass closer; don’t crane your neck for the straw. Lovely news. Granny’s coming tomorrow!”

“The GGs? Or Irish granny?”

“The gay grannies!”

“Can I wear this furry dress to show Sally?”

“Sit a bit closer to the table. If there’s no pizza on it, of course you can.”

“But are they coming for your birthday, or Christmas, or both?” Coralie was thinking of her menus.

The birthday dinner was oysters followed by a fish stew with more than thirty (30) Great British Pounds’ worth of preordered monkfish.

It was a recipe from the Moro restaurant cookbook, with peppers, almonds, and saffron.

She could double the sauce, divide it into fish and non-fish.

Anne and Sally’s bit could have chickpeas.

(They were vegetarians.) Would that work?

But Christmas? It wouldn’t be an option to simply make the chicken stretch.

She’d have to make all new dishes, unless she just went overboard on the sides.

God, Pizza Express was so loud. “Why didn’t they say yes when we invited them in November?

Do they know we won’t have Zora on Christmas morning? ”

“What’s it like being so famous?” Adam asked his daughter. “Everyone wants Zora.” He mimed fighting over her, pulling her one way and then the other. “My Zora…No, my Zora! The GGs would steal you away to Lewes in a heartbeat.”

“Only Sally.” For a moment, Zora’s look was pure Marina, penetrating and totally assured. “Not Granny. May I have my pudding now?”

···

It became clear, when at eight thirty Zora was still struggling to get to sleep, that The Snowman had been a bigger mistake than they’d realized.

The cold made Zora think about Jack Frost and how the shadows in the room could be him.

Adam was sitting with his legs stretched across her open bedroom door updating his fantasy football.

“Fucking bloodbath, fucking Reds, ruining my life,” he muttered.

“Lose, lose, lose—I can’t hack another season like this.

If we don’t crush Burnley, I’ll off myself. ”

All Zora needed was five straight minutes of calm attention. An hour of keyed-up physical presence but mental and emotional absence wasn’t cutting it.

“Is that Cora-nee?” It was Zora’s voice. She didn’t sound the slightest bit tired.

“I’m here.” Coralie stepped over Adam’s legs. “I can’t see a thing. Call out to me.”

“Cora-nee, Cor, Corrr…” She trailed off in a funny gargle.

“Zora, Zora, I can hear a pigeon in your room!”

“Coooor!”

“No wonder you can’t sleep, look how messy your blankets are.

Sit up straight.” She fluffed up the pillows and straightened the duvet.

Behind her, she could hear Adam’s knees crack as he heaved himself up and lumbered down the stairs.

“Where’s Sparebitty?” The special rabbit kept at Marina’s was called Rabbitty.

Sparebitty had been purchased as a secret backup in case Rabbitty got lost. Zora got wise to this, and now Rabbitty was kept in Camden, and Wilton Way fell under what Marina called “Sparebitty’s jurisdiction. ”

“She slipped behind the bed.”

“Sparebitty! Naughty!” Coralie pulled her out and tucked her under Zora’s arm. She sat on the edge of the bed. She could see Zora’s eyes glittering at her. Her nose was so sweet and upturned at the end. “What’s going on in here?”

“I’m not tired.”

“I am. What about you, Sparebitty? God, look at her.” She made the rabbit shake with snores. “Can you hear that?”

Zora smiled, delighted. “Like Dada.”

“Turn her on her side, that’s what I do to Daddy.

” Zora carefully did so. “What did you mean today when you said Granny wouldn’t want to steal you away?

” Zora’s face was blank. “Remember?” Coralie said.

“We were having pizza, and Adam said the GGs wanted to sneak you away with them, and you said Granny wouldn’t. What was that about?”

“Granny likes taking me, but she also likes giving me back.”

“You’re so interesting, Zora—you should write about that tomorrow.” (Zora maintained a semi-regular diary where, in perfect cursive, she confided secrets like “Today Oscar got 2 blue cards” and “I do the lessins but I cant relly swim.”)

“Tomorrow isn’t coming,” she sighed. “I can’t sleep.”