Merry Christmas


Evelyn found that even scrunching up her nose made her sunburn throb. She’d put on sun cream just like she’d been told by all of the Aussies that worked at the front desk, yet she still ended up looking like a leg of ham. Added to this, Bondi Beach had been windy and sand got in all of their food.

Sitting in front of the computer, waiting for the Skype call to connect, she wondered why she had felt the need to get so far from home this Christmas. It was probably her parents. Whose parents get divorced when their kids are in their forties? At forty-seven, Evelyn was the oldest, and she hadn’t been prepared to deal with another Christmas with all the aunties asking when she’d settle down – especially not now.

The call clicked in.

‘Oh, God! Evelyn, did someone pour boiling water on you? You look awful.’

Merry Christmas.


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