‘That would be really nice.’

‘It’s upstairs.’ Bobby went to the door, then hesitated. ‘You won’t go away?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

Bobby vanished and reappeared a moment later with a large, flat object that he put into Santa’s hands, switching on a side lamp so that he could see.

It was a picture of a family sitting under the trees by water, evidently having a picnic. There was a man in a red shirt, a woman in a green and white dress, a small boy of about five and a toddler in a pink dress. It had been painted in water-colours by an inexperienced but talented hand.

‘Did you paint this?’ Santa asked in a strange voice.

Bobby nodded. His eyes were on Santa’s face.

‘I think you should definitely give it to him,’ Santa said at last.

‘You think he’ll understand?’

‘You put a lot of work into it, and he’ll think it’s wonderful that you took so much trouble to please him.’

‘But will he understand?’ Bobby asked with a touch of desperation.

‘Yes,’ Santa said decisively. ‘He will.’

‘Everything?’

Santa put his hand on the child’s shoulder. ‘He’ll understand everything that you want him to understand,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’

A smile of pure, blinding relief broke over Bobby’s face.

‘You’d better go and wrap it now,’ Santa said. ‘I have a lot of other houses to visit.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

At the door Bobby paused and looked back. ‘I didn’t used to believe in you. But I do now.’

He vanished quickly.

The brilliant sunlight flashed and glinted off the water and bathed the river-bank with warmth. The man and the woman picnicking under the trees leaned back in the welcome shade and smiled at each other with secret knowledge.

‘That was good,’ he said. ‘The best I ever tasted. Happy birthday, darling.’

She didn’t answer in words, but she blew him a kiss. Her arms were curled around the two-year-old girl sleeping in her arms, but her eyes, full of love, were on the man.

‘It’s not much of a birthday for you, though,’ he mused, ‘having to do the catering for a picnic.’

‘You helped.’

‘Did I? Oh, you mean when I dropped the butter?’

They laughed together.

‘Wouldn’t you rather have had a big night out?’ he asked. ‘Fancy restaurant, champagne, everything of the best?’

She looked down at the little girl sleeping in her arms. ‘You’ve already given me the best,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Yes, this is as good as it gets.’

Suddenly she chuckled.

‘What?’ he demanded, looking around. ‘What?’

‘It’s that bright red shirt you’re wearing. It’s so un-you. You’re usually so sober-suited.’

‘On the contrary, this is the real me. The suit is a uniform, although sometimes it gets to feel like a second skin.’

‘So the truth is that you’re a bit of a devil?’ she teased.

He winked. ‘You know more about that than anyone.’

He shifted position to get closer to her, but then something that came into view made him leap to his feet.

‘Bobby, not so near the water. Come back here.’

He dashed over and scooped up the five-year-old child, who chuckled with delight as his father carried him back to the picnic.

‘Whadaya mean by giving your old man a heart attack, eh?’ he demanded as he sat down beside his wife. ‘What’s the big idea?’

As he joked he buried his face against the child, who screamed with laughter.

‘Don’t scare him,’ the woman protested.

‘He’s not scared of me. He’s my boy. Aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said the little boy firmly, putting his arms around his father’s neck.

The man turned his head to smile at the woman. ‘Do you have any idea how much I love you?’ he whispered.

She gave a soft laugh. ‘Not a clue. You’ll have to tell me.’

He leaned sideways to kiss her, and she leaned towards him. It was awkward because they were each holding a child, but they managed somehow between love and laughter. And the little boy in his father’s arms went contentedly to sleep.

Alex awoke with a start and found that he was already sitting up. The dream had been so clear, like being taken back four years to relive the moment.

He’d seen it all again-the trees, the water, the sun. More than that, he’d felt again the blissful contentment of that day.

This is as good as it gets.

That had been his feeling. When had he known it since?

He’d thought of it as something between himself and Corinne. Who would have imagined the little boy was imprinting it all on his mind, to carry there for years until his hands had the skill to reproduce it, like a silent reproach to the adults who had let the happiness slip through their fingers?

He discovered that he was shaking and pulled himself together. He’d been lucky. He’d remembered in time.

Bobby looked in. ‘C’mon Daddy. We’re opening presents!’

He pretended to lie down again. ‘Already? I was hoping for a lie-in.’

‘Daddy!’

He grinned and allowed himself to be hauled downstairs in pyjamas and dressing-gown. ‘Sorry about this,’ he told Corinne. ‘I wasn’t given any choice.’

‘You and me both,’ she said, laughing. She’d managed to dress, but only in hastily flung on jeans and sweater, before getting to work in the kitchen.

‘Mummy, can we open the presents now?’ Mitzi cried.

‘Just a moment, pet. Let Uncle Jimmy come downstairs.’

When Jimmy had come cautiously down and settled on the sofa it was time to start. The children first, tearing off gaily coloured paper with excited screams.

Alex held his breath as Bobby opened the water-colour videos and then became totally still, so that Alex feared the whole thing had misfired. But then Bobby looked at him with eyes so full of incredulous joy and relief that Alex’s own eyes blurred suddenly.

With Mitzi he scored a double hit, giving her not only the Marianne book but a pair of riding boots. They were too large, but Alex immediately clutched his head, swore he couldn’t understand how the mistake had happened, and offered to change them as soon as the holiday was over, and Mitzi was happy.

‘Brilliant,’ Corinne murmured appreciatively when she had him alone for a moment.

‘Even those of us who are moronically stupid have our clever moments,’ he riposted.

‘Oh, don’t be smug.’

His gift to her was a small bottle of expensive perfume, one he’d bought for her in the past. He had thought it a safe present, but suddenly it seemed intimate enough to draw down her disapproval. But she only thanked him with an impersonal smile and said nothing more. He found himself strangely relieved, almost as though he’d been afraid.

Her gift to him had been as impersonal as her smile-a scarf of very fine cashmere, beautiful but meaningless. It told him nothing beyond the fact that she wanted the children to see them being friendly.

The present-giving was nearly over and there were only a few small items left around the base of the tree.

Alex found himself studying them in hope, but none seemed exactly right. The severity of his disappointment shocked him. He was grown up, for Pete’s sake! Grown-ups didn’t get upset because the right gift wasn’t under the tree.

Yet for a moment he was a child again, fighting back the tears because Mum had bought the wrong book and shrugged the mistake aside with, ‘Oh, well, it’s the same thing, really, isn’t it?’ And he couldn’t explain that it wasn’t the same thing at all because she had more important things to worry about than his feelings.

Then he saw his son gradually easing something out from behind an armchair, and relief swept him.

‘This is yours,’ Bobby said, holding out the brightly wrapped parcel.

‘Thank you, son.’

Alex unwrapped it slowly, revealing the picture inside-a water-colour of the happy family sitting by the river. As he gazed at it he became aware of his son watching him, full of tension, waiting for what he would say.

‘It’s beautiful, son. Did you do it?’

‘Yes, I painted it myself.’

‘But how do you recall that day? You were only five years old.’

‘You remember, Daddy?’ Bobby asked breathlessly.

‘Sure I do. It was Mummy’s birthday, and we went out for a picnic. You wandered too near the water and I had to run and grab you. That was a great day, wasn’t it?’

Bobby nodded. Corinne’s eyes were on Alex.

‘Do you remember?’ Alex asked her.

‘Oh, yes, it was lovely.’

‘You’ve even got the details right,’ Alex said, returning to the picture. ‘Right down to that red shirt.’

‘Mummy still has it,’ Bobby said.

‘Really? Well, that’s lucky.’

Corinne was suddenly doing something else. Alex couldn’t even be sure she’d heard the words, although they seemed to sing in his own ears.

Mummy still has it.

It changed everything. Suddenly he was no longer fighting darkness.

He put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

The rest of the day was standard-issue Christmas-turkey, plum pudding, crackers filled with silly jokes and funny hats, Christmas cake, more crackers. Alex faded contentedly into the background, doing nothing that might spoil the atmosphere.

There was the odd awkward moment. From somewhere Jimmy produced a sprig of mistletoe and wandered into the kitchen where Corinne was cooking. Alex heard a giggle, then a silence that tested his control to the utmost. But he forced himself to stay where he was.

And nothing could really spoil the one blazingly beautiful gift that had been given to him unexpectedly.

Corinne had kept the red shirt. He could live on that for a while.

Alex insisted on helping with the washing-up.

‘You can’t ask the kids and spoil Christmas for them,’ he explained. ‘And poor Jimmy isn’t up to it.’