She stopped him hurriedly. ‘Alex, it’s all right. It’s finished. It doesn’t matter any more. Let’s leave it.’
The washing-up was done. Alex looked up at the sprig of mistletoe that Jimmy had fixed overhead.
‘Do I get a Christmas kiss?’ he asked, speaking lightly to take the sting out of the refusal he expected.
‘Of course,’ she said.
Moving quickly, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He had a brief sensation of her sweetness, the faint tang of the perfume he’d bought her, the warmth of her breath against his face. Then she was gone before he could catch her.
At the end of the day the last cracker had been cracked, the last silly joke read out, the last paper hat reduced to a crumpled wreck. Jimmy opted for an early night. Mitzi, already asleep, was carried to bed, and Bobby went without protest.
‘I’m going up now,’ Corinne said to Alex, who was drying a cup in the kitchen.
‘I’ll stay down for a little,’ he said. ‘There’s a late film I want to see.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight.’
He kissed her cheek and she put her arms gently around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. He held her close, swaying back and forth a little in a gentle rhythm.
‘It’s been a lovely day,’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you for everything, Corinne. Thank you for making it possible, and not driving me away.’
‘I could never want to do that,’ she said, raising her head and looking into his face.
It was once more the face she loved, not distorted by anger or masked against her as it had been in the worst days of their failing marriage. For a moment she saw again the vulnerability that had always been there beneath the arrogance, and which had touched her heart.
It touched her now and she turned away quickly.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
He brushed his fingertips across her eyelashes and found them wet.
‘Sometimes I feel like doing that,’ he said. A tremor went through him. ‘I miss you so much.’
‘I miss you too. The love doesn’t just switch off.’
‘Even though you’re trying to make it?’ he asked.
‘I’m working on it. I don’t pretend it’s easy.’
He kissed the top of her head.
‘Goodnight,’ he whispered.
She went upstairs and he was left alone.
Midnight. The clock in the kitchen chimed. The room was in darkness except for the tree lights that still glowed and flickered.
Santa smiled at the figure in the doorway. ‘Have you come to say goodbye?’
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,’ Bobby said. ‘You’re supposed to have gone back to the North Pole by now.’
‘That’s one of the advantages of being the boss. You can change the rules to suit yourself. I thought I’d pop back to see how it was going.’
‘It’s been brilliant.’ Bobby sighed happily. ‘He’s still here. He liked the picture and everything. He even remembered what it was.’
‘Did you think he wouldn’t? Yes, well, I suppose you couldn’t be blamed for thinking that.’ Santa’s voice was gentle as he added, ‘Let’s face it, he’s not much of a father.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Bobby said instantly. ‘He’s the best.’
‘Doesn’t spend as much time with you as he should, though, does he?’
‘He’s very busy. He has lots of other things to think of. But he always comes back to us, because he loves us best in all the world.’
For a moment Santa seemed lost for words. At last he said, ‘I know he does.’
‘Did he tell you?’
‘I just know. He loves his family so much that it hurts, but he’s not good at saying things.’
‘And we love him best in all the world too,’ Bobby said firmly. ‘I do, and Mitzi does, and Mum does.’
‘Well, I don’t know-’
‘She does. I know she does.’
There was a silence before Santa said, ‘Never mind that. Tell me about Mitzi. Did she have a good day?’
‘Oh, yes. Dad gave her that Marianne doll with the riding habit-the one she asked you about the other day. You must have told him.’
Santa grinned. ‘Let’s just say that I can give him a nudge in the right direction. That’s not always easy, because he’s a stubborn fellow who doesn’t listen as often as he ought.’ Seeing Bobby about to flare up, he added quickly, ‘Now, be fair; you know that’s true.’
‘Sometimes,’ Bobby conceded.
‘Always,’ Santa insisted.
‘Now and then.’
‘All right, I’ll settle for now and then. You’re quite a negotiator.’
Bobby giggled. ‘That’s what Daddy says. He says he wants me working for him when I grow up.’
‘I thought you wanted to be an artist?’
‘Couldn’t I be both?’
‘You could. But it’s better to be what you really want. Your way might be better.’
‘Will you be back again, after tonight?’
‘I don’t know,’ Santa said. ‘Christmas is passing.’
‘But it’s not gone yet. Tomorrow’s still sort of Christmas. Dad won’t leave tomorrow, will he?’
‘No, he won’t. And if you have him, you don’t need me.’
‘It’s different. I can talk to you.’
‘And not to him?’
‘Not about everything. He minds too much, you see, and I don’t want to hurt him.’
Santa spoke gruffly. ‘How do you know he minds so much?’
‘Because he tries so hard to pretend that he doesn’t,’ Bobby said simply.
Santa turned away. ‘Goodnight,’ he said huskily. ‘Go to bed now. Wait for what tomorrow may bring.’
Bobby moved towards the door. As he reached the hall he paused a moment, wondering if he really had heard a noise. But all was dark and quiet. After a moment he sped upstairs.
Alone by the tree, Santa did not move but stood with his head bent, as though trying to bear up under a heavy load.
‘Are you all right?’
He turned quickly. Corinne was standing there.
‘Of course I am.’ He added feebly, ‘Ho-ho-ho!’
‘You seemed a bit tired.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a great responsibility being Father Christmas. It’s scary.’
‘It must be.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m glad you came back. He needed to talk to you again.’
Abruptly Santa asked, ‘Did you know he was protecting his father?’
‘Yes. He always talks about him protectively. Nothing is ever Daddy’s fault. If he ever lost that faith it would hurt him more than he could bear.’
‘Actually not discussing things in case his father can’t cope? This is a nine-year-old child.’
‘Nobody really knows what Bobby is thinking,’ Corinne said. ‘Except maybe you. He tells you things he can’t tell anyone else.’
‘Not even you?’
‘He’s protecting me too. Santa Claus can help because he’s not involved. And my husband-’
‘Your husband’s a thick-head, and don’t let him tell you any different.’
‘He’s not that bad.’
‘Yes, he is. Take my word.’
