The second shoebox was Michael’s, and in it he found a troop of a dozen or so mounted toy soldiers.

‘Camel Corps,’ George said, though Michael wasn’t listening. ‘Afghans, I think. Just promise me you won’t lick them. I know that might seem a peculiar thing for me to say, but they are made of lead and one must be careful.’

Michael took one in each hand and started playing with them on the coffee table, clomping their lead feet along the wood, one camel chasing the other.

There were more presents in the sack – a li-lo for George from Mrs Keene, and a garden gnome for him from Capability. A reclining garden gnome, hands behind his head, with a red nose, a blue hat and his blue trousers significantly tented at the front.

‘Oh my goodness,’ George said. ‘Well, this one’s certainly glad to be here.’ He patted the gnome on the head. ‘Won’t we have some fun finding the right spot for him in the garden?’

Finally, George drew two thick envelopes from the bag. He handed one to Mrs Keene, telling her she wasn’t to open it until she was properly ensconced at her sister’s at Sheen. Capability was given the other, with similar instructions for his arrival in Manchester, where he was planning to visit his family.

We went home soon after that, when my mother noticed the rain had stopped. It was night and the wind had picked up and the air was a cold slap to the face after a house warmed by fires and oil heaters. We left George’s looking as if we’d robbed the place, laden down with umbrellas and presents in odd boxes. My father’s map buffeted around when the wind gusted, but he held onto it.

Michael was wide awake after his nap, and I ended up doing a long reading from Swallows and Amazons to settle him down. The pounding in my head became a headache. It felt as if there was a fist in there, rhythmically trying to punch its way out. A battering ram, swinging and connecting.

In the bathroom down the hall, my mother was dissolving Aspro in a glass of water.

‘They’re a lot stronger than your everyday Benson & Hedges,’ my father said, blaming her headache on the cigar. ‘But it’s Christmas. And what a day. Quite the sense of occasion, your friendly neighbourhood horse’s hoof. Not surprisingly. Made a real bloody Christmas of it.’

After three chapters, I told Michael he could lie there with the light on and a pile of picture books to read.

I took Aspro myself and went to my room. I opened the envelope from George. The notes were fives, not ones. I counted them out onto the bed. There were a hundred of them.