They saved the parcel from Germany to open after Christmas dinner. Georgie and Clara said they wanted to have their first Christmas dinner in their own little house but would be round later with Jimmy. So it was the four of them: Uncle Eb and Aunt Hatt, Margaret and Annie, and sitting round the table in the cosy room felt especially precious since they all knew it was soon to end. And it was the first time in a long while that Christmas had not been overlain by a pall of grief – their mother had died just before the season, and at home it could never feel anything but bleak and sad.

There was a little tree, perched on an occasional table in one corner, groaning with decorations made of papier mâché and glass, folded paper and bows. The ceiling was draped with paper streamers, the hearth almost invisible under the weight of red ribbons and greenery, adding to all the trinkets that decked the place every day of the year.

‘Just think,’ Aunt Hatt said, pink-cheeked, as roast beef with all the trimmings gave way to her brandy-soaked pudding and a generous tot of port, ‘next year we won’t be here. Oh, Eb – just think! We had Georgie as a baby in these rooms and we won’t be here any more!’ She teetered on the point of tears.

‘Well, the business’ll be here,’ Eb said. ‘You’ll be back most of the day anyway – and think of that new bathroom.’

‘Oh!’ Aunt Hatt sighed dreamily. ‘The bathroom. And those curtains for the bedroom . . .’

Once they were all replete, Eb sitting back, rubicund of face and convex of tummy and lighting his pipe, Aunt Hatt went into the office and fetched the parcel from Germany, and her giant pair of scissors.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Presents in a moment – but first let’s see what’s in here.’

They cleared a space at her end of the table and all watched as Aunt Hatt cut the strings, pulling away the crisp paper, under which were layers of tissue. Eventually a rectangular box emerged, over a foot long, silver, decorated with scrolling leaves and patterns of flowers and birds all set with coloured stones.

‘Well,’ Eb said tipsily. ‘That looks a bit of all right, whatever it is.’

Aunt Hatt was turning it this way and that. ‘Look –’ She tugged on the little silver knob at the front and a flap came down. ‘I think it’s a musical box.’

Margaret and Annie leaned in closer as she turned a little mechanism inside, which provoked the startling development of a flap on the top shooting open and a bright green bird appearing. It rotated, rocking back and forth to a twinkly tune. They all laughed in delight.

‘Let’s have a look, Hatt – pass it over,’ Eb said. ‘I bet we could make one of those.’