Remember The Christmas...

...when Cesca and Newton learned about family

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Hands on hips, I gaze at my H brother Newton across the kitchen. Tell me you’re kidding.” I keep my voice down because seven-year-old Eleanor, who adores Newton, is in the lounge, going through the Christmas ornaments.

Newton hunches his shoulders. Cesca, don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”

“But we thought Drake had that job!” I swallow a lump in my throat. It would have meant we wouldn’t be counting the pennies this Christmas, and I’d be able to re-join the squash club in the New Year.”

Newton’s company leases high-tech stuff to big concerns. He’s doing OK, and my husband Drake had been euphoric to get the chance of a generous salary plus commission and company car. I’d thought we were going to have a taste of Newton’s standard of living.

Newton frowns, hiding the kindness that exists beneath his brusque exterior. I was taking Drake on to deal with a specific company,” he explains defensively. I couldn’t forecast they’d go bust. I’m sorry.”

I turn away, blinded by disappointed tears. Easy to say when you're going home to your lovely posh flat in your upmarket car.”

After a frozen moment, Newton throws open the kitchen door and snaps, Money isn’t everything,” before slamming it behind him.

Horrified, I hurry after him, but he’s too quick, storming into his upmarket car and driving away.

I can’t believe what I said— and to Newton. He babysits, he helps Drake with the decorating, he dries up when I wash, he reads Eleanor stories of magic and miracle. He couldn’t be a better sibling, however gruff and reserved.

I, on the other hand, am impetuous and must learn to think before speaking. I feel about two inches tall.

“Where’s Uncle Newton gone?” asks Eleanor from the kitchen doorway.