“Next!” Mum called. And I watched Duncan turn, and leave the stage.
“It’s behind you!” came a familiar cackle, but I still fell for it and turned around.
Miranda and Errol smiled at me. They both looked concerned for some reason. Errol had belted his Santa jacket too tight: the broad shoulders hung off his slight frame but the front fastening strained over his modest pot belly. “The packet of biscuits, boy,” Errol said, as if I should have realised that’s what he meant.
Miranda said nothing but held out a fresh packet of Garibaldi to me, like some kind of consolation prize. Voices around the room were returning to normal level, and the twins were chasing a pair of Chihuahuas around the room in a game all four participants were enjoying way too much.
Mum’s hand rested briefly, gently, on my arm.
Duncan didn’t come back into the room again.