A heated debate then took place about what they should do. Lavinia and Tom thought it best for the children to open their stockings in their rooms. Sunday was keen to see them all open their presents downstairs, but eventually she was outvoted and it was decided that the children should hang their stockings on the ends of their beds as they had on previous years.

‘Makes sense to me,’ Cissie muttered, spooning sugar into her coffee. ‘It’s allus worked that way before.’

Sunday shrugged, conceding that her old friend was right.

An hour later, the tree was finally finished and stood in all its somewhat haphazard splendour. The tiny candles clipped to the branches in their tin holders were twinkling. Zillah had lit them, but had warned the children in no uncertain terms that they must never attempt to light them if there wasn’t an adult present. Now the children gazed at the sight in awe and Sunday felt a lump rise in her throat as she watched their faces. At times like this she was more determined than ever to try and make their childhoods as happy as she could, unlike her own, with its terrifying memories. She only wished that she could take in even more orphans, but she knew that to do that would not be fair on the ones who already lived here.

‘All right, children, it’s really time for your baths now.’ Sunday clapped her hands and tried to ignore the disappointed young faces. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said kindly, ‘the tree will still be here tomorrow.’

And so somewhat reluctantly, the children began to file up the stairs.

At 10 p.m. Sunday retired to use the bathroom and was devastated to find that once again, her hopes of having a child of her own had come to nothing. Her monthly course had started.

When she entered the bedroom, Tom immediately noticed her downcast face and guessed what had caused it. She reacted the same way every month.

‘It’ll happen in its own time, pet,’ he assured her gently, taking her in his arms and planting a tender kiss on her sweet-smelling hair. ‘And it’s not as if we haven’t already got a rook of children to pour our love onto, is it?’

‘I know that.’ Sunday sniffed to hold the tears at bay. ‘But I so want to give you your very own child.’

‘Do you know what? So long as I have you, I don’t care.’ He gave her a squeeze. ‘A baby would be a bonus but it’s you that matters the most to me.’ And as she stared up into his expressive, deep brown eyes, she saw that he meant every single word he said.

On Christmas morning Treetops Children’s Home was a hive of activity and excitement. When the children woke, whoops of delight echoed around the house as they opened the stockings they had hung at the end of their beds and which Santa Claus had filled, during the night while they slept.