‘I knew you’d be here,’ he whispered.

The red-clad figure by the tree turned and smiled at him through his huge white beard.

‘Come in,’ he said.

Bobby moved closer. In dim light, and on his feet, Santa looked bigger than ever.

‘Did you have trouble with the chimney?’ he asked. ‘I was afraid it might not be big enough.’

Santa looked down at his wide girth. ‘You mean with there being so much of me?’

‘I wasn’t being rude.’

Santa laughed, not a ho-ho-ho, but a kindly, understanding sound.

‘It’s not as bad as some places I’ve tried,’ he said.

‘What about when there’s no fireplace?’ Bobby asked. ‘How do you get in then?’

Santa tapped the side of his nose and winked. ‘Trade secret,’ he said.

He sat down in the armchair, put down the can of beer he was holding and signalled for Bobby to sit. Bobby plonked himself down on the floor.

‘You know how I got so fat?’ Santa asked.

Bobby shook his head.

‘In their kindness, people leave more out for me than I can possibly eat.’ He indicated the hearth. ‘How about you have the milk and we’ll split the tarts and biscuits? I’ve had most of the beer and it was great. Whoever left that was a genius.’

‘It was my idea,’ Bobby said eagerly. ‘Mitzi insisted on putting out a glass for you as well. I said you wouldn’t be bothered, but you know what girls are.’

‘Actually, Mitzi was right,’ Santa confided, holding up a glass with beer in it. ‘Drinking from the can is awkward when you’ve got a beard.’

He poured milk from the carton into the other glass and the two of them sat sipping and sharing tarts.

‘So what happened?’ he asked. ‘Did your dad show up?’

‘Yes, just like you said. A day early. How did you know?’

Santa hesitated. ‘Inside information.’

‘Do you know everything?’

‘No,’ Santa replied at once.

‘So you can’t tell me how long he’s going to stay?’