‘MUM, it’s the best Christmas tree we’ve ever had. A tree fit for Santa.’

Bobby was nine, old enough to have his own ideas about Santa, kind enough not to disillusion his adults.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it, darling?’ Corinne agreed, regarding her son tenderly.

The tree was five feet high and covered in tinsel and baubles which had been fixed in place by eager, inexpert hands. Perhaps the star on top was a little wonky, but nobody cared about that.

‘Do you think Dad will like it?’ Bobby wanted to know.

‘I’m sure he will.’

‘You will tell him I did it, won’t you? Well, Mitzi helped a bit, but she’s only a little kid so she couldn’t do much.’

‘She’s six years old,’ Jimmy said, from where he was standing behind Corinne. ‘It’s not that long since you were six.’

‘It was ages ago,’ Bobby said indignantly.

Jimmy grinned. He was a cheerful young man with a round face that smiled easily, the kind of man who seemed to have been designed by nature for the express purpose of being an uncle.

He was in the army, on two weeks’ leave, and had gladly accepted Corinne’s invitation to spend Christmas. They were only third cousins, but, with no other family, they had always clung to their kinship.

‘You thought you were a big man at six,’ he reminded Bobby.

‘I was,’ the child said at once. ‘And I’m an even bigger one now. Put ’em up.’

He lifted his fists, boxer-style, and Jimmy obligingly responded with the same stance. For a moment they danced around each other, Jimmy leaning down to get within the child’s range.