Page 122 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

She must have been exhausted.

How she’d walked me to school pretty much every morning while Mum slept in after working late shifts at the local pub.

And putting her theatre school dreams on hold.

How Mum and Anneka had dropped me off at university that day I’d met Will, and how she’d hugged me extra tightly before saying goodbye.

And here’s me thinking they were pleased to see the back of me.

Never once had Anneka complained or said ‘no’ to me or made me feel as if I was having a negative impact on her life. Sure, Jennifer Bell might be my biological mother, but both she and Anneka Bell were my mums. They’d raised me together, the best way they could – a pale and peculiar child who’d appeared in their lives out of nowhere. And, despite our many differences, they’d done a bloody brilliant job.

Why the hell hadn’t I seen it like this before?

I bolted into my room and opened my wardrobe, standing on tiptoes to reach the uppermost shelf. My fingers eventually found what they’d been grasping for, and I crawled under the covers of my bed with the photo album. I prised it open, the plastic-coated pages crackling thanks to the many years they’d been sealed shut.

I didn’t have many photos of my childhood, but the ones I did have were in this single album, which had ended up in my possession a few years ago when Mum and Anneka had been in the midst of a Marie Kondo decluttering phase. Much to Anneka’s dismay, Mum had handed the album to her, telling her it didn’t ‘spark joy’. No wonder, really, since it documented a period in Mum’s life that was probably the most painful for her. Anneka, in turn, had passed it to me to take care of so it didn’t accidentally end up in one of the local charity shops.

Tucked up in bed while the Strictly Come Dancing theme tune drifted in from the living room, I thumbed through the pages, noticing for the first time that Anneka herself was hardly in any of the photos. She must’ve been the one taking them. Mum was in a few images but, in most cases, one of her hands was always partially raised in front of her face, as if she didn’t want the moment – and whatever she was feeling – captured.

I, however, was in every single photo. And, without exception, I was grinning widely, my eyes burning with adoration for the girl behind the lens – my magical big sister.

I threw back the covers and returned to the living room, picking up my phone from the coffee table and calling Anneka.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure,’ she mumbled, obviously half asleep.

‘Anneka! You’re meant to try and stay awake to stave off the jetlag.’

‘Meh, I’ll survive – no dog walking booked in until the twenty-eighth. I don’t really plan to move until then, apart from taking Mum to the doc’s for a once-over.’

‘Yeah, about that – let me know if you want me to come, too.’

‘Oh! I’m sure we’ll be fine, but… thanks.’

‘So, I was wondering if you’re free on the evening of the thirty-first?’

‘Oh! Umm, a few work commitments in the morning, but after that I’m free as a bird.’

‘Great, so, uh, do you and Mum want to come round for New Year’s Eve? I can make up Tabbi’s bed for you both and you can stay over? She’s not due back until the second.’ I spoke quickly, my vocal cords not used to producing such a sequence of words without multiple silent rehearsals beforehand. But the spontaneity of my suggestion felt like the most natural thing in the world, because I wanted to spend time with them. I wanted to laugh with them and talk to them and appreciate them – to feel the unique wizardry of their energy, even though that would inevitably involve noise and frustration and mayhem.

‘Ooh, that sounds nice, Flo! It’s a yes!’

‘You don’t want to check with Mum?’

‘Well, if she’s got her own plans I can come without her, right? We’re not conjoined.’

‘Haha, yeah, of course.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I… really enjoyed our time together in New York, Anneka. Well, most of it, anyway.’

‘Yeah, me too.’

‘We should hang out more often,’ I said, fiddling with the bracelet she’d made me – I’d not removed it since she’d fastened it to my wrist back in our ridiculous hotel room.

Anneka cleared her throat in a way that almost sounded self-conscious.

‘I’d love that,’ she said eventually.

My priority for next year became immediately clear to me: be visibly there for Anneka just as much as she’d invisibly been there for me my whole life.

‘How’s Mum doing now?’ I asked.