‘Of course you’re not imposing,’ I said. ‘I’m pleased to see you.’

It was nothing less than the truth, I realized as I headed downstairs for a private conversation with my dad. I had enjoyed being back at home, and the holiday had felt like a genuine period of relaxation. The charge of termtime had dissipated slowly in a fug of TV and home cooking. My memories of the previous term and the anticipation of the next had kept the border between relaxation and boredom. Francis had been my spice – a little of him every day had kept the meat from tasting bland. With his return there came a return to excitement, and this unannounced entrance was perfectly in keeping with the image I had of him. I spoke to my dad, and we agreed Francis should join us at Christmas lunch; we would tell my aunt that his parents had gone overseas. She had a fondness for the abandoned that made this the perfect cover story, and meant that she would prevent anyone else from ‘bothering the wee mite with questions’. In the event, all my preparations were for nothing. The next day Jessica arrived to pick him up.

I saw her neat little Mini pull up in the drive, blocking my father’s car and sticking its boot out into the street. When she climbed out I felt an immediate pang of fear for my nascent plans, but I was also struck by how wrong she looked on my street. Her blonde hair was set in a gravity-defying wave, she had on a grey cashmere sweater from which her long white forearms protruded like new shoots, vital and smooth, and her whole air was inappropriate to the cracked and modest suburban pavement, like a peacock wandering among the pigeons at Trafalgar Square. My father was reading in his room, and I was able to intercept her before she rang the bell. I did not want him to witness any kind of scene.

‘James,’ she said with a tight little smile, ‘I hope you’re having a festive holiday.’

‘Silent nights and cold Christmas mornings. How about you?’

‘Well, it was very enjoyable until about six hours ago, when I heard that Francis was in trouble. You haven’t seen him, I suppose?’

‘Why didn’t you just telephone?’ I asked.

She ignored me. ‘May I come in?’

I saw that my powers of delay were unequal to the task. I could think of no credible reason for keeping her out. I showed her through to the stairs and pointed her in the direction of the guest bedroom. I then went to wait for them in the living room, returning to my TV programme. I was incredibly edgy, fearing for my father’s involvement like for a sleeping baby, but the whole conversation was managed without raised voices, and Jessica returned to the living room without his having been roused. She sat in the seat next to mine. The three armchairs in our living room were huddled in a crescent around the television, and I could not easily observe her without obviously turning my head.