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I hope it's OK.'
    Lissy is the only person in the world who has any idea how I feel about visiting home. And even she doesn't know it all.

FOUR
    But as I sit on the train down, I'm resolved that this time will be better. I was watching a Cindy Blaine show the other day, all about reuniting long-lost daughters with their mothers, and it was so moving I soon had tears running down my face. At the end, Cindy gave this little homily about how it's far too easy to take our families for granted and that they gave us life and we should cherish them. And suddenly I felt really chastened.
    So these are my resolutions for today:
    I will not
:
    Let my family stress me out.
    Feel jealous of Kerry, or let Nev wind me up.
    Look at my watch, wondering how soon I can leave.
    I will
:
    Stay serene and loving and remember that we are all sacred links in the eternal circle of life.
    (I got that from Cindy Blaine, too.)
    Mum and Dad used to live in Twickenham, which is where I grew up. But now they've moved out of London to a village in Hampshire. I arrive at their house just after twelve, to find Mum in the kitchen with my cousin Kerry. She and her husband Nev have moved out too, to a village about five minutes' drive from Mum and Dad, so they see each other all the time.
    I feel a familiar pang as I see them, standing side by side by the stove. They look more like mother and daughter than aunt and niece. They've both got the same feather-cut hair – although Kerry's is highlighted more strongly than Mum's – they're both wearing brightly coloured tops which show a lot of tanned cleavage, and they're both laughing. On the counter, I notice a bottle of white wine already half gone.
    'Happy birthday!' I say, hugging Mum. As I glimpse a wrapped parcel on the kitchen table, I feel a little thrill of anticipation. I have got Mum the
best
birthday present. I can't wait to give it to her!
    'Hi
ya
!' says Kerry, turning round in her apron. Her blue eyes are heavily made-up, and round her neck she's wearing a diamond cross which I haven't seen before. Every time I see Kerry she has a new piece of jewellery. 'Great to see you, Emma! We don't see enough of you. Do we, Aunty Rachel?'
    'We certainly don't,' says Mum, giving me a hug.
    'Shall I take your coat?' says Kerry, as I put the bottle of champagne I've brought into the fridge. 'And what about a drink?'
    This is how Kerry always talks to me. As though I'm a visitor.
    But never mind. I'm not going to stress about it. Sacred links in the eternal circle of life.
    'It's OK,' I say, trying to sound pleasant. 'I'll get it.' I open the cupboard where glasses are always kept, to find myself looking at tins of tomatoes.
    'They're over here,' says Kerry, on the other side of the kitchen. 'We moved everything around! It makes much more sense now.'
    'Oh right. Thanks.' I take the glass she gives me and take a sip of wine. 'Can I do anything to help?'
    'I don't
think
so …' says Kerry, looking critically around the kitchen. 'Everything's pretty much done. So I said to Elaine,' she adds to Mum, '"Where did you get those shoes?" And she said M&S! I couldn't believe it!'
    'Who's Elaine?' I say, trying to join in.
    'At the golf club,' says Kerry.
    Mum never used to play golf. But when she moved to Hampshire, she and Kerry took it up together. And now all I hear about is golf matches, golf club dinners, and endless parties with chums from the golf club.
    I did once go along, to see what it was all about. But first of all they have all these stupid rules about what you can wear, which I didn't know, and some old guy nearly had a heart attack because I was in jeans. So they had to find me a skirt, and a spare pair of those clumpy shoes with spikes. And then when we got on to the course I couldn't hit the ball. Not I couldn't hit the ball
well
: I literally could not make contact with the ball. So in the end they all exchanged glances and said I'd better wait in the clubhouse.
    'Sorry, Emma, can I just get past you