‘Sometimes,’ Bobby conceded.

‘Always,’ Santa insisted.

‘Now and then.’

‘All right, I’ll settle for now and then. You’re quite a negotiator.’

Bobby giggled. ‘That’s what Daddy says. He says he wants me working for him when I grow up.’

‘I thought you wanted to be an artist?’

‘Couldn’t I be both?’

‘You could. But it’s better to be what you really want. Your way might be better.’

‘Will you be back again, after tonight?’

‘I don’t know,’ Santa said. ‘Christmas is passing.’

‘But it’s not gone yet. Tomorrow’s still sort of Christmas. Dad won’t leave tomorrow, will he?’

‘No, he won’t. And if you have him, you don’t need me.’

‘It’s different. I can talk to you.’

‘And not to him?’

‘Not about everything. He minds too much, you see, and I don’t want to hurt him.’

Santa spoke gruffly. ‘How do you know he minds so much?’

‘Because he tries so hard to pretend that he doesn’t,’ Bobby said simply.

Santa turned away. ‘Goodnight,’ he said huskily. ‘Go to bed now. Wait for what tomorrow may bring.’

Bobby moved towards the door. As he reached the hall he paused a moment, wondering if he really had heard a noise. But all was dark and quiet. After a moment he sped upstairs.

Alone by the tree, Santa did not move but stood with his head bent, as though trying to bear up under a heavy load.

‘Are you all right?’

He turned quickly. Corinne was standing there.

‘Of course I am.’ He added feebly, ‘Ho-ho-ho!’

‘You seemed a bit tired.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s a great responsibility being Father Christmas. It’s scary.’

‘It must be.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m glad you came back. He needed to talk to you again.’