William’s first term ends in a sugar rush, as he and Martin chomp through Black Jacks, Fruit Salads and Bazooka bubble gum. Often, when he slides his hands into his pockets, they land in sticky sweet wrappers. Smiling, he sucks the goo from his fingers and runs to catch up with Martin, who is always striding a few paces ahead of him.

21

He wakes to ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’. Their flat is small enough to be filled with the noise coming from any one room and the smells of cooking from the kitchen. Today, it’s bacon and the rich coffee made in the metal jug from Italy. Pulled from the back of the cupboard to make the black syrupy stuff he loves to smell, the jug is synonymous with special occasions. His bedroom door swings open, the music and aromas increase, and Evelyn dances in with a tray, wearing her nightie, a Father Christmas hat, and green tinsel round her neck.

‘Happy Christmas to his Lordship.’ She moves towards his bed, hips swinging one way and the tray in her arms the other.

‘Happy Christmas, Mum.’ He grins, sitting up and putting his pillow behind his back. She places the tray on his lap; a mug of cocoa with a swirl of evaporated milk on top and a plate of bacon, eggs and fried bread.

‘I’ll be right back,’ she says, dancing out of the room. The music is turned up, and seconds later Evelyn returns with her own tray, identical to his, except with coffee instead of cocoa. She settles herself on the end of his bed and piles her fork with egg and bacon. William dips his fried bread in the deep yellow yolk. They both concentrate on the food, moving their heads to the music and smiling as they catch each other’s eye.

William, a faster eater after a term as a boarder, puts his tray on the floor and then reaches under his bed for the parcel.

‘You know, William,’ Evelyn says, taking her last mouthful, ‘whatever you’ve got me for Christmas will be a disappointment. You shouldn’t have bothered.’

William smiles, puts the parcel on the bed, lifts the tray gently from her lap and sets it on the floor next to his.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, ‘I know, all you want for Christmas …’

‘… is you!’ she finishes, as she has done for as long as William can remember. ‘But never more true than this year. Oh well, best get this palaver out of the way.’ She pulls at the wrapping paper, feigning boredom. The paper rips to reveal the corner of a picture frame. The facade, also part of their ritual, is dropped as she quickly sweeps the paper aside and studies the photograph, scanning the sixteen ruff-necked boys in purple and white. He sees her eyes land on him, standing next to Martin, holding his music at just the right angle.