‘You think he’ll back out?’ he asked at last.

‘I keep telling myself he’ll be there,’ Bobby said. ‘It isn’t for long. Just Christmas Eve until Christmas Day. He could spare us that, couldn’t he?’

‘I should think he could spare you more than that,’ Alex managed to say in a voice that he hoped didn’t shake too much.

‘Could you fix it?’ Bobby asked.

‘You want me to arrange for him to stick around for longer than that?’

‘Oh, no,’ Bobby disclaimed quickly, as though saying that nobody should ask for the impossible. ‘Just make sure he’s there for when he said he’d be.’

‘All right. It’s a promise.’

Bobby searched his face anxiously. ‘You really mean it?’

‘You think I can’t do it?’

Bobby shook his head, his eyes fixed on Santa with a look in them that was almost fierce.

‘You can do anything,’ he said, ‘if you really want to.’

The air seemed to be singing in Alex’s ears. He wondered if he’d imagined the emphasis in the last words.

‘Then I promise,’ he said.

‘Honestly? Dad will be here until Christmas Day, and he won’t leave early?’

Alex was swept by a mood of recklessness. ‘I can do better than that,’ he said. ‘He’ll arrive early, and he’ll stay longer than Christmas Day.’

He waited for the effusion of joy. It did not come. If anything, the fierce scrutiny on the child’s face intensified.

‘Really and truly?’ he asked. ‘Cut your throat and hope to die?’

‘Of course. When I give my word, I keep it.’

‘That’s what he says,’ insisted Bobby. And suddenly it was a child’s voice again, forlorn and almost on the edge of tears.

Alex put his hands on both Bobby’s shoulders.

‘He will be there tonight,’ he said. ‘You have my solemn promise. Word of a Santa!’

Bobby nodded, as though satisfied.

‘Now,’ Alex said, ‘tell me what you want for Christmas.’