‘If you don’t want a coat, what would you like for Christmas?’ I asked. A moulded female torso without arms or legs was perched on a shelf above us, its blank face topped with a red Santa hat. It wore a frilled bra printed with red love hearts. Each heart was round and full, as if it might burst.

‘I don’t want anything. Really.’ Kathryn glanced at the bra.

‘Not even that?’ I said, trying a smile, pointing at the love hearts.

She shifted her shoulder bag further across her chest. ‘Especially not that,’ she said.

In the menswear section, my wife ran her hand over a rail of red sweatshirts. I hooked one out. ‘Too bright,’ Kathryn declared.

I followed her to the next rail, where I selected a padded checked shirt, the kind you’d expect a lumberjack to wear. ‘Not smart enough for him,’ was her response.

I found a sweater with a single giant snowflake on the front and offered it to her. ‘Christmassy,’ I ventured.

‘A bit babyish.’

‘What about this?’ It was a white shirt with a button-down collar.

Kathryn stuck out her bottom lip. ‘It’s like his school shirt.’

‘It’s smart.’

‘I don’t think he’ll like it.’

‘I like it.’

‘I was thinking of something more like this.’ She displayed a turquoise-coloured T-shirt with a pair of lips, puckered into a kissing shape, printed on the front. The lips were big and black, and they pouted at me.

‘Will he like that?’

‘I think so,’ said Kathryn.

‘It’s a bit – loud. Isn’t it?’

‘Luke’s got one like it.’

‘So that means he’ll like it.’

Kathryn slung the T-shirt over one arm and sighed. ‘You’ve got to let him be himself, Howard.’

The pain behind my eyes had reached my jaw. ‘I know that.’

She shook her head and laughed softly.

‘What?’ I asked.

She looked over towards the escalator and bit her lip. For a moment we both stood absolutely still, listening to Judy Garland giving it her all over the tannoy.

I waited for a response.

Then Kathryn stepped closer to me and touched my elbow. ‘You’ve got to let him grow up. In his own way.’ She looked me in the eye, and I was surprised to see that her look was soft, almost pleading.

‘Do you know what I mean, Howard?’

‘Yes.’

‘Even if it’s not a way you think is – right.’

‘Let’s not talk about this here.’

‘We’ve got to talk about it somewhere.’

She tried to catch my eye again, but I stared at the sizing chart in front of me, which showed a man’s bulky silhouette marked with arrows. Large. Medium. Small.

A sales girl approached. ‘Can I help you with anything? We’ve got a special offer on boys’ boxer shorts.’