He remembered the state the kitchen would be in after Christmas as a kid. There’d be mountains of plates, pans, cutlery and glasses, and his mum would almost be permanently attached to the sink. He sighed and dried his hands on a tea-towel, looking at the apron hanging on the back of the closed kitchen door, remembering how she used to wear it like a uniform. Those Christmases were long gone. From the minute his dad had uprooted the whole family to London from the sleepy town of Athenry in Ireland, misery had decided it liked their company. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he smiled after unlocking the screen to see a photo of Claire, pulling a silly face as she held her niece. They’d swapped messages on and off all afternoon and it sounded like she was having a great Christmas. He couldn’t say the same for himself. His dad had refused to entertain the idea of spending the day at Danny’s spacious home, preferring to stay in his cramped, gloomy flat instead. Danny had toyed with the idea of trying to get his dad to move somewhere nicer again.
