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back with a dish in his hands. “I mean, what is that?” He pointed to my forehead. “It looks like you’ve got a huge green pimple.”
    I put my hand up to my head and fingered the stick-on jewel that I had carefully placed on my forehead especially for dinner.
    “It’s a bindi, you moron,” I said. “It’s supposed to make me beautiful. It’s Indian.” I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t you know? The whole Bollywood look is really big right now.” Tiger had worn one to the day spa and it looked so good on her I just had to try it out.
    “Well, you look ridiculous,” said Josh. “I guess that’s pretty normal for you though.”
    I made a noise of frustration and lunged at him from across the table. Charlie put her hand up to catch the dish of potatoes he was carrying. “Watch out, Coco,” she said. “You nearly spilled it all.”
    Mum stuck her head around the door frame. “Coco!” she said. “Stop it, you three. Can’t you get on once in a blue moon? And especially on your birthday! Stop fighting. And does anyone know where Dad is? I heard him come in but I haven’t seen him yet.”
    “I’ll go and look for him,” I said, pleased to have a reason to get away. As I left the dining room I turned around and stuck my tongue out at Josh. He made a face at me and said, “Later... “
    I skipped out into the hallway.
    “Dad!” I called. The sound echoed up and down the corridor and the staircases. Our house was big, old and three stories high. Dad could have been anywhere. I headed down the hallway.
    “Dad! Dinner is ready. You have to come now. Mum says so.”
    There was a rustle and a creak from Dad’s study. I tapped on the door and stuck my head around. “Dad, are you in there? Did you hear me? Dinner’s ready. Are you coming?”
    He looked up guiltily from the sofa, where he seemed to be stuffing a stack of papers back into his briefcase. “Yes, I know. I’ll be there in just a second. I just have to sort this out and then I’ll come.”
    I ran back down the hall to the dining room and slid into my seat again. Josh had forgotten his persecution of my bindi and was now busy punching Charlie in the arm. A minute later Dad walked in. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that he had brought in his briefcase. He had a look on his face like he was squashing down something big. A flash of curiosity passed through my mind but then Mum had the food on the table and we were all sitting down, saying grace and eating and eating and eating.
    “That was the best ever,” said Charlie, leaning back and rubbing her belly. “I am so full.”
    “Well, you’d better leave room for cake,” said Mum, pushing out her chair and getting ready to leave the table. “It’s tiramisu.”
    Tiramisu is definitely my favourite cake in the world, and my mum makes it amazingly. Whenever I eat it I tell her I think she should go on a cooking show on TV, but she just laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t cook for judges,” she always says. “I cook for fun.”
    But it wasn’t quite time for tiramisu just yet.
    “No, no,” I said. “It’s always presents before cake.” We have a tradition in our family where there is always an extra present before the birthday cake as well as the ones in the morning.
    Mum reached around to a bag behind the door. “You’re right,” she said, handing me a pink package with a fluffy bow on it, and Charlie a green and white spotted parcel with a brown bow. “Happy birthday, girls,” she said.
    Dad nodded. “Happy birthday.”
    We both started opening. I like to do it carefully whereas Charlie just rips into the paper but we still manage to get to the gift part at the same time. When we were little, we always got identical gifts. Auntie Jo would always give us matching clothes and Uncle Peter usually found us a book each in the same series. It kind of took the surprise out of Christmas morning or birthday parties, so we worked out that if we opened the presents from the same