This time exactly thirteen years ago I was sitting in the tower of Christ Church St Lawrence in Sydney, drinking cider with the bellringers and my dad. Twelve years ago I was at a Catholic mass in Thetford, Norfolk, with my Uncle Arthur.

Three years ago I was in labour at California Pacific Medical Center.

Tonight I took Claire and Jules to the Christmas pagaent at Holy Innocents. Claire was an angel. She wore cardboard wings and a tinsel crown with her blue velvet dress. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

When we got home she started running a fever. We gave her Tylenol and she slept for a while, then woke up screaming, threw up horribly and sobbed for an hour. I held her while she cried in pain. Her hair was drenched in sweat. I was so afraid.

She’s fine. She fell asleep again and woke up cool and calm, demanding television and apple juice. Jeremy just put her to bed. Implausible resilience of the young. I’m so relieved, so glad that she’s all right, so grateful to have her, my funny brilliant rock star of a daughter.

In five minutes she’ll be three years old.

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