Page 88 of The Whole Package

‘About bloody time!’ Ina agreed.

‘Aye, where were you two?’ someone else yelled.

I stopped dead in the doorway, mortified. ‘Oh my God, will you all calm down! We were catching up, is that OK with you?’

‘Absolutely not,’ my mum said, breezing past me with a grin. ‘We’re no daft, Harri!’

Jamie leaned in beside me. ‘If only she knew what happened on her couch after our Edinburgh market trip,’ he murmured.

I elbowed him lightly, trying and failing not to smile. But my body erupted in goosebumps, knowing what I’d be unwrapping tonight.

‘Right!’ My dad clapped his hands. ‘Sit down, hen, before your dinner goes cold.’

‘Aye, c’mon,’ someone muttered.

‘Shut it, Davie,’ Mags snapped.

I let Jamie guide me back to the table, while my face still burned. Plates were shifted, chairs scraped and people squeezed in tighter to make space without a second thought. Like, it was the most natural thing in the world. Jamie pulled a chair out for me. I sat, and a second later, looked out at the chaotic room, packed full of people. All welcoming, all laughing, all ecstatic to be there.

Then I looked down at the dinner. Turkey. Stuffing. Roast potatoes, slightly uneven. Carrots. The gammon Mum had rescued after I’d abandoned it. Parsnips a bit overdone. Gravy already soaking into everything. It wasn’t Instagram perfect, but it was one of the best things I’d ever seen. And for a split second – I paused. Something in me caught the angle of the plate. My brain flickered, instinctively. Perfect the angle, filter it, add a cheesy caption and post.

I glanced up, but no one else had stopped.

‘Right, eat,’ my mum said, dropping into the seat beside me. ‘Ye need some food, Harri, ye look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, grinning.

‘Aye fuckin’ backwards,’ my dad chuckled, stuffing a forkful of turkey into his mouth.

‘I knew you two were riding! I bloody knew it!’ Mags announced loudly.

The entire table gasped, then roared into laughter. A woman grabbed her child’s ears, covering them.

‘Sorry, but I did,’ she said, utterly matter of fact. Laughter rolled around the table – easy, warm and familiar.

People were halfway through their meals, talking over each other, passing dishes without asking. Someone was arguing about pigs in blankets as if it were a legal case being heard in the High Court. Someone’s child got caught sneaking an extra Yorkshire pudding and immediately denied it.

My mum was laughing. Jamie was watching me, checking I was all right.

‘Go on,’ he nudged, pointing at my plate. ‘Before Sharon comes for your parsnips.’

I managed a smile. ‘After the day I’ve had, I’d fight her for them.’

Jamie tutted. ‘I’d pay to see that.’

‘You’d lose,’ my dad cut in. ‘She’d fucking sit on you.’ We both burst out laughing.

Then, I took a bite. And this time, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t think about it. Didn’t frame it. I just sat there at the table with everyone. And for the first time in as long as I could remember, it felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. I knew I belonged here, with this community, my family and Jamie.

Laughter rolled again – loud, messy, overlapping. Someone knocked over a drink. Someone else swore about it. My mum was already telling them to ‘leave it, I’ll sort it’ without actually moving.

I picked up my fork again, with gravy on my sleeve and laughter in my ears and I realised something: a real Christmas, with real people, exactly as it was, was more than enough for me.

For so long, I’d spoken into a camera. Good morning, my gorgeous friends, in that stupid fake voice. Always smiling, always filtering. And without any real friends to speak of.

But there were no good angles here, no captions, no pretending. Just . . . family. And a community coming together and helping each other out. And Jamie’s knee nudging mine under the table, a promise and an easiness to his touch that finally felt right.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect. But maybe it was never meant to be. And maybe that was the whole point.