I looked out of the window, chewing my already chewed lip. My wild boy, my salt-pickled Merboy, was sitting on his bed on Christmas Day with his selfish mother, offering to share his presents, his fingers working the paper. ‘No, I think you should open yours and we’ll have our own different Christmas Day that no one knows about. What do you think?’

His face cleared and he nodded.

‘Go on then, open them.’

Hyacinth had given him a white T-shirt with the words ‘John Player Special - for when you want the best’ printed on it. John laughed - laughed — and put it on over his pyjamas. Then he tore the paper from Harry’s present - a gull-winged cerise and black kite. Functioning ears are not required for either of these things.

‘Can we try it today? This morning?’ John’s face was open and thoughtless, his eyes fixed on the kite.

‘I think that’s an excellent idea.’ Merboy would have run from the room and clattered down the stairs, his mind filled with wind and tangled string. This boy asked if ‘we’ could try it. He won’t be going anywhere without his damaged mama.

‘What about your cards? Don’t you want to open them?’

HAPPY CRISTMAS SPECIAL!! GO BOY GO! I HOPE THAT THIS YEER IS GOOD FOR YOU!! WE MISS YOU ALREADY! LOTS OF LOVE, HYACINTH!

John sat and stared at the card, turning it in his hands. It had been signed by all the nurses and doctors on the ward. He put it gently on the bed and opened Harry’s card.

Merry Christmas, Special!

Tommy’s won’t be the same without you. I’ve been thinking of what to write to you for ages and I still haven’t managed to work out what I want to say. So I’m just going to write whatever comes into my head. I want you to know, Special, that you are precisely that. Special. You’re an amazing boy, a wonderful boy. A surprising boy. Miss Handel told me about the time in the pool when you kicked and kicked. You were angry and that’s fine, because you have every right to be. Stay angry, stay strong and stay on course. Love your mother because she deserves it. Love yourself because you deserve it. Dr W-W-W- Webster told me the other day that he thinks you’re going to be 6’ 7’. That’s BIG, Special. Make sure you’re big enough a man to fill your body. You can write to me or call me at the hospital, any time, if you ever think you might not be that big. Running out of pace — enjoy your life, Special. All this will pass.

Love, Harry xxx

PS. Please give your mother the letter that’s in with the card.

John read the card over and over, his lips moving as he read, his eyes focused. Then he gave me Harry’s letter.

Dear Joan,

You’ll have been in your new house for a few days now and I hope that it’s working out. I think you made the right decision to move away from the old cottage — too many memories for John there.