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Olivier carried the whole poached salmon to the table A punch was made for the children, who, unsupervised, stuffed thepré hold her réveillon, the party that spanned Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, an old Québecois tradition, just as her rave;re had done in this very sa in circles Clara wound her arm round the tiny waist

‘Can I help?’

‘No, dear I’ sure everyone’s happy’

‘We’re always happy here,’ said Clara, truthfully, giving E salt She’d been crying this night and Clara knehy At Christmas homes were full of the people there and the people not there

‘So when do you plan to take off your Santa beard?’ Gabri asked, sitting next to Ruth on the worn sofa by the fire

‘Bitch,’ muttered Ruth

‘Slut,’ said Gabri

‘Look at that’ Myrna sat on the other side of Ruth, her bulk al the other two off the sofa Myrnawo each other’s hair ‘Those girls think they’re having a bad hair day Just wait for it’

‘It’s true,’ Clara said, looking around for a chair The roolish She eventually sat on the floor, putting her overflowing plate on the coffee table Peter joined her

‘What’re you talking about?’

‘Hair,’ said Myrna

‘Save yourself,’ said Olivier, reaching out to Peter ‘It’s too late for us, but you can get away I understand there’s a conversation on prostates at the other sofa’

‘Sit down’ Clara pulled Peter down by his belt ‘Those girls over there all think they have it bad’

‘But wait ’til menopause,’ confirmed Myrna

‘Prostates?’ Peter asked Olivier

‘And hockey,’ he sighed

‘Are you guys listening?’