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“What do you mean you didn’t make it? Did you break down?”

No, we smashed into an immovable object and Matt was almost knocked unconscious by a biscuit tin.

“The snow was deep and yes, we broke down.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Their car wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “We’re in someone’s house. Such a nice woman. Her name is Mabel. She lives alone and was kind enough to take us in.” Not that poor Mabel had exactly been given a choice.

“You’re alone with a stranger?”

“I’m not alone, Mom. Matt’s here, and the girls, and another couple who also cra—broke down.” Her mother didn’t need to know that the car was possibly undrivable. “Mabel has cats so the girls are happy enough.” Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. Maybe she should have emphasised how much they were missing their grandparents. Why was it so hard to say the right thing? Mostly because she didn’t know what the right thing was. If she said the girls were miserable, she’d be lying, and also that would upset her mother. She had to accept that whatever she said, this wasn’t going to be a happy conversation.

She longed to be honest with her mother. We crashed, Mom, and that’s on me. I insisted on carrying on with the journey because I was worried about how sad you’d be if we didn’t make it. I already feel bad and now you’re making me feel guilty about something I can’t control. I love you but I feel torn in two.

She thought about Matt’s mother, who was always so relaxed and accepting. All she ever said was, How can I help?

Brooke rubbed her forehead, eaten up with guilt for making the comparison. She loved her parents very much. She loved her mother. But the pressure was almost unbearable.

“There are still three days until Christmas.” Her mother was brisk. “The storm will calm down tomorrow and you’ll be able to make it if you drive carefully.”

Brooke felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

How was she supposed to respond to that? This was the part of the conversation she’d been dreading. If she fudged it, it would simply mean that she’d be having the conversation again tomorrow.

She couldn’t face it. The thought of it would play on her mind and keep her awake. She’d rather get the pain over in one go.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, Mom. The storm isn’t showing any signs of letting up, and even when it does it’s going to take days to clear the roads and get everything moving.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to make it at all? But it’s Christmas, Brooke! Herb, did you hear that? They don’t think they’re going to make it.”

Brooke rubbed her fingers across her forehead. She knew it was hypocritical to feel frustrated because hadn’t she expressed the exact same sentiment herself?

She could hear the rumble of her father’s voice in the background saying, We don’t want them driving in this weather.

“But you’ve come all this way, and I’ve been looking forward to it for months.” There was a wobble in her mother’s voice, and Brooke felt a tightening across her chest.

She rested her hand on her ribcage.

Was she having a heart attack? Maybe she was about to drop dead from the stress.

Still, at least if that happened, she wouldn’t have to have any more of these conversations.

She took a sharp breath, shocked by her own thoughts. Enough. This was insane. She knew it was insane, but she didn’t know how to fix it without hurting them. She loved them, but she couldn’t carry on like this.

Maybe it would have been easier if she hadn’t been an only child. The weight of responsibility might have been lighter. Or at least she might have been able to share the load. Laugh sympathetically with someone who understood.

But she had to deal with this alone.

“I’ve been looking forward to it, too, Mom,” she said. “You’re not the only one who is disappointed.”

“We have a house full of food, and so many gifts, all wrapped and under the tree, ready. I’ve knitted matching sweaters for the girls. They’re going to look adorable.”

Brooke closed her eyes. Something else to worry about. Elsie hated looking like her sister. Brooke was going to have to coach her to say the right thing.

“I’m sure they’re gorgeous. Thanks, Mom.”

“We haven’t seen the girls since the spring. They’ll be grown up and off to college at this rate.”

Guilt, guilt, guilt. It was pouring down, a relentless flow, heavier than the snow falling outside the window and equally chilly.

The ache in her chest grew worse. “I don’t know what to say. I’m as disappointed as you, and so are the girls, but we have to make the best of it.”