‘And how are you, Bella?’ asks Aunt Sofie. ‘How are work going?’

I begin to recite the classic answer to this question (‘It’s fine/it’s a lot harder than school/it’s nice not to have to do too much at my work’), and as I do Ben gets up and leaves the room. I excuse myself and follow him at my earliest opportunity, trying not to hate Claus and Sofie as much as I actually do. It baffles me sometimes that people can just have no idea about things.

I wander down the hallway and go to enter the kitchen, but stop when I see Ben and Mayres inside, standing in front of each other as if they’re having a sort of face-off.

‘Do you want us to talk about it or do you not want us to talk about it? You’re very immature, Ben.’

‘How am I being immature?’

‘You’re acting like a baby who just wants everyone’s attention of the time.’

‘I don’t want people’s attention, that’s the f – that’s the problem.’

Mayres rips her washing-up gloves off her hands.

‘Look, everyone’s aware that this is a difficult Christmas for you, but you could at least recognise that we’re trying our best.’

‘Trying your best? What d’you want, a fucking congratulations certificate?’

‘Language.’

‘Half the time you refuse to even acknowledge that I have a fucking illness, and the other half you try as hard as possible to make me feel like I’m the last person you ever want to adopt!’

And that’s when Mayres snaps.

‘GET OUT!’ She points towards the kitchen door.

‘Just…get out.’

Ben doesn’t say anything at all. He turns around, walks away, exits the room and finds me there. Mayres disappears out of view and Ben stands there, looking down at me.

‘I’m going to Marlon’s,’ he says, in what he tries to make a calm voice.

‘Oh,’ I say.

He turns around and starts putting his shoes on.

‘Please don’t,’ I say.

‘I can’t…’ He stands back up. ‘I can’t deal with-’ he gestures towards the living room and the kitchen- ‘all of that.’

‘It’s Christmas, though,’ I say.

‘Let’s be honest,’ he continuous as if he hadn’t heard me, ‘I’m just the joke of the family, anyway.’

‘You’re not.’

He reaches into the porch and grabs his coat and a gift bag of presents for Marlon. ‘This winter’s been the fucking worst.’

He picks up a spare key and opens the door. It’s raining. The cold comes in.

I want to cry. I want to do anything to stop him from leaving.

‘Can’t you at least spend Christmas with me?’ I say.

He turns back. His eyes are watery. ‘What does that mean?’

‘You spend most of your time with Marlon anyway.’

He starts to shout at me. ‘That’s because he treats me as something other than fucking mentally ill!’

I stay quit still.

‘I do too…’ I say, but my voice trails off.