I went up to him and touched his shoulder, his restless eyes fixed on me and he smiled. The first time he has smiled in this house.

‘I've been up for ages,’ he yelled. I twisted three fingers of my left hand, as if turning a dial - something Harry said I must do every time John shouts, so that he can learn to temper his volume.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I must have slept too well.’

I reached out to tousle his hair but he slipped off the seat, limped to his wardrobe and pulled out three cards and three presents.

‘Happy Christmas, Mum.’

I stood by the window and stared at him. Christmas? ‘Mum?’

I stared at my gangling son standing in front of me, holding his presents.

‘Mum?’ He shifted his feet, his legs obviously hurting. I sat on the bed and cried. I could feel the mattress dip as he sat next to me.

‘Mum?’

I shook my head, unable to speak. He collected the pad and pencil from his bedside cabinet, held them out to me. My nose was running and my vision was splintered. I picked up a corner of the candlewick bedspread and wiped my face, took the paper and wrote:

I forgot ifs Christmas.

Is that why you’re crying?

Yes.

It doesn’t matter.

Yes it does. It does matter.

Not to me.

Then it should.

I don’t mind.

I looked into his clear, sapphire eyes, momentarily still.

You must always mind, John. Always.

He shrugged.

OK

Who gave you the presents?

‘Harry and Hyacinth.’ He spoke to me then, because he felt the storm had passed. ‘And there’s one for you.’

‘For me?’

He smiled, hesitantly, again. ‘To you from me.’ And he handed over a small, creased and crumpled parcel. ‘Sorry, I wrapped it, so it’s not very good.’

I tried to smile as I tore the paper, snot running from my nose. In the mound of wrinkled paper I unearthed an engraved, sterling silver compact of powder, a small mirror on a hinge attached to it. ‘When did you get this?’ My voice was sharp but that didn’t matter because John couldn’t hear its knife-edge.

‘Harry bought it for you. To give from me. Do you like it?’ He was troubled, frowning.

I wiped my nose with the bedspread once more and summoned a smile. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’ I kissed John on his scarred cheek. ‘And what are these?’ My voice wavered as I picked up the other presents but again John couldn’t hear its fluting.

He held up one, ‘Hyacinth,’ and the other, ‘Harry.’

‘Well, go on, open them, then.’

He sat for a moment, rubbing the paper. ‘When you said you forgot that it’s Christmas, does that mean you haven’t got any presents?’

‘Yes. I’m so, so sorry. I know what I’m going to get you, I just forgot that I needed to buy it.’

‘No — I meant we could share one of these. I’ve got two and you’ve only got one. We could share.’