On Thursday the pressure of unfinished Christmas shopping finally broke down upon Rona in full measure, and gritting her teeth she went into the city to spend money. Self-consciously she felt that she ought to get at least two presents per person: she'd always become so giddy as a child when watching the pile of presents under the tree grow and grow, as her parents finished their shopping and as parcels arrived from relatives, but now that she was older she realised that most of the presents had been for her: the indulgence of a clan towards its youngest member. But now she was an adult, and other nieces and nephews had arrived since then, and she felt the responsibility of putting her adult income and adult generosity towards contributing to that great pile - partly because if she didn't do so, it wouldn't be so great, and she wasn't ready to be able to see the carpet beneath the presents just yet.

Also, she thought it was about time she started buying presents - or at least a present - for Miranda, a surprise to leave behind before departing for Sydney, and of course that meant that she'd have to buy one for Will, too, even though she didn't really want to, even though he hadn't earned his place in her affections to way Miranda had.

The crowds in the city weren't as bad as Rona had thought they would be. Still one week away from Christmas: no need for people to panic yet, she supposed. Even in Myer, which was having a one-day sale, even at lunch-time when she went in (having meant to go in earlier but having discovered, by the time she'd got up and had breakfast, that it was lunch-time already), the crowds weren't too bad. There wasn't even a queue at the Myer Christmas window (she lingered by it, still trying to understand the city's annual fascination with the animatronic display, but she couldn't fathom it. Maybe one day she'd understand). The shelves inside the department store were still full with gifts, and she didn't like any of them. Melbourne was the country's best shopping city, that was something her mother had told her more than once in their rare conversations, but how could a person look in every alley and laneway, find each hidden boutique? She didn't have the time, she had things to do (only two issues into her reincarnated zine, and she was already behind the schedule she'd set herself. She'd gone into the couple of bookshops she'd left copies in, and none of the copies had shifted. She literally couldn't give them away!).

It would start with a single breakthrough, this shopping. It always did, year after year, and year after year she panicked and forgot the lessons of the past, and then she'd suddenly see an object or have an idea, and she'd have her first present purchased or made or otherwise acquired (however she was doing it in a given year), and then she'd be away. It'd happen. She had faith. It always happened that way.

Knowledge didn't make the process any easier, though, she glumly reflected, as behind her a middle-aged woman declared triumph upon picking up a cut-glass decanter.