‘Oh, yes, Dad, yes. Like the one in the square in the town.’

‘Well, perhaps not quite as big as that, but . . .’

‘They’re expensive to buy, Matthew. There’s some fir trees on the old marsh. You get one of them,’ Esther began and then she saw the disappointment written plainly on both their faces.

‘They’re not the same as a real Christmas tree off the market, Mam,’ Kate said.

‘It’s me first Christmas back home, Esther. Let’s have a proper tree, just this year,’ Matthew added.

She sighed inwardly. Really, she thought, half-amused, half-exasperated, it was like having two children instead of one. Aloud she said, ‘You pair! Ya reckon ya can twist me round ya little fingers!’ But she was smiling as she added, ‘Oh, very well, then, but dun’t you go mad, Matthew. Promise?’

‘I promise, Esther.’

When they arrived home the following day, Esther could see at once that his promise, so lightly made, was also easily broken. Kate was dancing around him in excitement and the tree was so large that Danny, who had been invited to go with them into town in the motor car, was having to hold one end whilst Matthew struggled to drag the tree through the door, the full extent of the branches being wider than the doorway. But seeing the children’s joy and Matthew’s pride in his purchase, Esther hadn’t the heart to spoil their fun by scolding.

They set it up in a tub in the corner of the living room and Kate hung paper decorations and painted fir cones on its branches.

‘Teacher showed us how to make these at school, Mam. There, doesn’t it look pretty?’

‘Yes,’ Esther nodded. ‘I must admit it looks splendid.’

She felt Matthew’s arm around her waist and involuntarily she stiffened. He did not seem to notice as he said close to her ear, ‘You’re not such a bad old girl, Esther Hilton, in spite of your shrewish tongue.’ He planted a swift kiss on her cheek, turned away, took his cap down from behind the door and winding a muffler round his neck, he left the house and headed in the direction of the Seagull.

Esther watched him go. Shrewish tongue, eh? Was she sounding to Matthew like her Aunt Hannah had seemed to her? Only concerned with work and duty, and devoid of any capacity to enjoy herself?

Kate interrupted her thoughts. ‘Mam, when can I hang me stocking up on the mantel?’

It was late when Matthew staggered in – too late to help Esther fill Kate’s stocking with an orange, some nuts and sweets. And lastly, just one main present – a doll with a china face and a cloth body for which Esther had painstakingly made the tiny clothes on her Aunt Hannah’s sewing machine.