We’ve Been Here Before – “Look what I’ve found—gorgeous, isn’t it?” Vera pulled a box of fairy lights from the shopping bag and waved it under Kieran’s nose. He glanced up from his phone, eyes flicking to the box. – “Mmm.” – “What do you mean, ‘mmm’? This is a dew-drop garland! Can you imagine how magical it’ll look on the tree? Like a cascade of twinkling light! I saw pictures online—people make their homes look like pure winter wonderlands.” Vera could already see it: their cosy living room, warm golden glimmers from hundreds of tiny bulbs, with the scent of satsumas and pine. The perfect British Christmas Eve. That special homeliness she’d tried so hard to create in their little flat. Kieran stared back at his phone. – “Fine, you bought it—good for you.” Vera sighed but said nothing. The result was what mattered. The tree stood waiting in the corner, ready for some sparkle. Vera unpacked the delicate copper wires, letting them trickle through her fingers like tinsel rain. All she had to do was wind them, carefully, around every branch. – “Kieran, will you help me? Honestly, it’s easier with two.” Her husband huffed, putting his phone aside and dragging himself up. He moved as if she’d asked him to shift paving slabs, not hang some fairy lights. – “Hold here—I’ll start at the bottom,” Vera instructed. For about twenty minutes, it went—well, as well as it ever does. Vera angled the wire between the needles, fussing about getting the bulbs perfectly even. Kieran held the tree and fed her lengths of cable. – “How much more? I’m knackered…” he groaned. – “Nearly done, just a bit.” But “just a bit” turned into forever. The wires tangled, the lights clumped, entire sections had to be redone. Vera wanted perfection, and perfect takes time. Kieran began shooting pointed looks at his watch. That evolved to elaborate sighs—a pantomime of long-suffering. – “Vera, it’s been over an hour, now.” – “So?” – “Just saying.” Vera bit her lip. Not now, she told herself. Not now… – “Help me tuck it here, please?” Kieran yanked clumsily. The bit Vera had just fixed swung loose and drooped. – “Careful!” – “I am being careful.” – “Careful? You’ve wrecked it! I spent thirty minutes faffing with that branch!” – “Thirty minutes? Want some tweezers, for precision?” Vera just fixed what he’d ruined, gritting her teeth. But after another forty minutes, Kieran had had enough. – “Tell me, why are we wasting all this time? It’s just a light string.” – “It is not ‘just a light string.’” – “Come off it. You just drape it, job done.” Vera turned to him, something hot and prickly rising in her chest. – “Drape it and walk away. Right.” – “There are more important things to get on with, Vera! Not arsing about with fairy lights.” – “Like what? Lying on the sofa scrolling your phone?” Kieran scowled. – “Don’t start.” – “No, go on! Tell me about all the important things! Because I can’t remember you taking an interest in anything in this home. Nothing seems to matter to you but food, TV, and sleep!” – “That’s not fair.” – “It is! I get creative, put effort in, try to make things lovely and welcoming for us. You couldn’t care less. You care about nothing, Kieran!” – “You’re kicking off because of some fairy lights, seriously?” – “I’m kicking off because you treat me like furniture! You ignore what I care about or what I do at all!” – “Oh, stop with the drama. Normal people string up their lights in ten minutes.” – “Normal people value their wives!” What followed was a torrent—Vera poured out months of resentment. His socks kicked off everywhere, the dirty dishes abandoned in the sink, how he’d forgotten her birthday last year until she’d cried herself dry while he watched telly. Kieran retorted—the nagging, the nit-picking, why can’t you just relax at home? The “dew drop” lights ended up draped, half-straight, half sagging, one corner dangling sadly like a burst balloon. The tree stood in the middle of their blazing row—awkward and forlorn. In the end, there was silence. Not forgiveness, not quite. Just exhausted silence. – “I can’t do this anymore,” Vera muttered as she walked out to the bedroom. She closed the door quietly. There was no energy left for slamming. She pulled her overnight bag from under the bed. – “I’m going to stay with Mum and Dad,” she told Kieran as she stuffed a jumper in. He frowned in confusion. – “Just for the weekend?” – “For now.” – “When’ll you be back?” – “I don’t know.” He asked no more whys or whens. Didn’t try to stop her. He just stood and watched as she packed. – “Fine,” he said. – “Fine,” echoed Vera. She spent Saturday and Sunday at her parents’ house, ignoring the odd message from Kieran: ‘Are you okay?’ came the morning ping. Vera glanced at the screen, then left her phone on the bedside. ‘Want to chat later?’ came the evening text. She ignored that too. Let him sit in the quiet. Let him consider—just a taste of what it’d been like for her in their silent flat for months. On the Sunday, she met up with her friends Lisa and Sarah at a cozy café on Baker Street, all cinnamon and squishy sofas—the perfect setting for a heart-to-heart. – “And he says: ‘Normal people do the tree in ten minutes!’” Vera laughed, sipping her latte. “Can you believe it?” Lisa raised an eyebrow at Sarah. – “Vera-love,” Lisa leaned in, eyes sharp, “you do know—it’s just the beginning?” – “How’d you mean?” – “Today it’s the lights. Tomorrow, it’ll be you he’s throwing aside.” Sarah nodded fiercely, earrings jangling. – “My ex started like that. First the little things, then he turned out to care about nothing but himself.” – “Men don’t change,” Lisa said, with the air of one who does podcasts on divorce. “That’s just the way they are. Bash your head against the wall or let go—it’s all the same to them.” Vera turned the cup over in her hands, something about this talk scraping against her heart—in a new way. – “Girls, it’s just a row…” – “A ‘row’?” Sarah actually laughed. “Darling, open your eyes! This is a warning—first of many. We’ve all been through it.” – “Exactly,” Lisa nodded. “Think hard. Why cling to something that’s already heading for the tip?” Vera glanced up and saw it, clear as day: the look in both their eyes—a brightness, but not of empathy or concern. Was it anticipation? Schadenfreude? Maybe even a sly delight at the thought of Vera joining their club. Both women were divorced now, living with cats and rerun after rerun. And in that instant, Vera realised: they weren’t helping. They wanted her in their circle too. – “Thanks, girls,” Vera smiled. “I’ll think about it.” But her mind was already elsewhere. Monday dragged on unbearably. That evening, Vera sat on the Tube, staring at her reflection in the window, not knowing what to expect on her return. The key turned in the door. Vera stepped inside— And froze. A soft, magical light poured from the sitting room. Hundreds of perfect little dew-drop bulbs twinkled on the tree—symmetrical, neat, enchanting. The garland was wrapped just as Vera had dreamed. At last, the festive magic she’d yearned for had found its way into their home. Kieran appeared from the bedroom, sheepish, hands awkward. – “Vera…” – “Did you do this?” – “Um… yeah. Redid it. Three times, actually. It’s murder, to be honest.” Vera stayed silent. She looked at him—at the tree—then at him. – “I’m sorry.” Kieran stepped forward. “I got it completely wrong. You wanted something lovely, and I—acted like an utter berk.” – “Kieran—” – “No, let me finish. I went to my mum’s this weekend. She… gave me a proper earful. Told me it’s important for you—to make home feel special. That I ought to notice, to appreciate. And I didn’t. Not even close. I’m sorry.” Vera’s eyes prickled with tears. – “Your mum said all that?” – “She did. And plenty more. About how the little things matter. About how I’ve been hurting you and not realising.” She let the tears fall. Didn’t even try to stop them. Kieran stepped closer, wrapped her tight in his arms. – “I missed you,” he whispered into her hair. “These days without you… I hated it.” – “So did I,” she breathed. They stood for a long time, holding on. The lights glimmered, dancing their golden glow on the walls. They welcomed New Year’s together—champagne, homemade salad, clementines, and the “dew drop” garland, at last shining in all its glory. The clock chimed midnight, the glasses clinked, and they kissed under the tree. – “Happy New Year,” Kieran hugged her close. – “Happy New Year,” Vera grinned. When Lisa and Sarah learned they’d reconciled, their congratulations were so brittle, Vera nearly laughed. “Well, glad for you,” Lisa muttered. “Let’s hope he really has changed,” Sarah added, heavy with subtext. Vera hung up and never called back. At last, it was clear: some friends can only commiserate with your misery—because celebrating your happiness, well, that’s another story entirely. Sympathy is easy. True joy for someone else takes a special kind of person. The right kind… Your own kind.