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roared in the grate, bringing a much-neededwarmth to the room. It was the sort of scene that would have looked at home on a Christmas card. Idyllic. And that was what her family life had always been like – an utterly perfect surface, masking the myriad tensions that ran barely beneath it.
    As her boyfriend left her side, she grabbed her brother by the arm and held him back. ‘Rich,’ she whispered, ‘cool it. You’ve had enough to drink.’
    ‘A few glasses,’ he insisted. ‘Loosen up, Autumn. It’s Christmas, and the Prodigal Son has returned to great rejoicing. Jealous because the fatted calf is never served up for you?’ He took another deep swig from his flûte. ‘Oh, you’re vegetarian – wouldn’t touch it, anyway.’
    ‘You’re making a fool of yourself and we have company.’
    ‘Must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?’
    ‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ she said quietly. ‘Our parents have just spent an inordinate amount of money on your supposed stay in a rehab clinic. You might make some effort to pretend that you’ve actually been trying to give up drugs.’
    ‘I could give them up whenever I liked, my darling sister, but I’ve decided that I rather like a distorted picture of life. So much better than harsh reality, don’t you think?’
    ‘Sit down and shut up,’ Autumn said. ‘Let’s just get today over with.’
    ‘You’ve suddenly come over all assertive,’ her brother remarked. ‘Have the do-gooders group been sending you on training courses?’
    ‘Have I ever told you that you’re a very infuriating person to be around when you’re in this mood? Be nice. For me.’
    Richard looked at her, very slightly cowed. She just hoped he could stay civil throughout the rest of the day. Now she could see him closer up, Autumn thought he did, in fact, look even worse than he had before he went off to America. His face bore an unhealthy pallor, there was a sheen of sweat on his skin and a discernible shake to his hands.
    When they were all seated, Jenkinson brought in a large silver server with the roasted goose sitting proudly on top.
    ‘Fuck,’ Richard said loudly. ‘Don’t they even give you Christmas Day off, Jenks, old boy? What century is this?’
    ‘I won’t have that language at the table,’ their father said. ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, Richard.’
    ‘You treat people like medieval serfs and you think
I’m
the one with the problem?’ Her brother laughed without humour. ‘Let me cut up this damn thing.’ He lurched unsteadily to his feet and grabbed the carving-knife.
    Their father also stood up. ‘I think I should do that.’
    ‘No. No. No.’ Richard swatted him away and Mr Fielding reluctantly sat down again, glancing worriedly at his wife. Not only the goose, but the atmosphere, could have been cut with a knife.
    Jenkinson returned with a tray laden with dishes of steamed vegetables and roast potatoes. There was, thankfully, a nut roast too. ‘This is the vegetarian option, Miss Autumn,’ he said quietly to her.
    ‘Thank you.’ She gave him a grateful look.
    Jenkinson placed the dishes on the table and then beat a dignified but hasty retreat back to the kitchen.
    With a flourish, Richard speared the goose with the fork and then started to attack the huge bird with the knife.
    ‘Steady on,’ their father instructed.
    ‘Do be careful, Richie darling.’ Her mother’s face was ashen. ‘Let Daddy take over.’
    Addison looked on, uncomfortably. ‘Do you want me to give you a hand, mate?’
    ‘I know what I’m doing.’ The knife went slash, slash. It was times like this when Autumn was glad that she didn’t eat meat. Greasy lumps of flesh were hacked out of the poor bird. Her stomach churned over. Then the knife slipped, missed the goose completely and skidded across the table. Richard overbalanced and suddenly the goose parted company with its dish and shot into the air taking with it the dishes of vegetables and potatoes. The goose hit the floor with a