I see him, that little boy, stood by the Christmas tree; his mouth is sort of upward turning, a pretend smile that does not reach his eyes. He’s played nicely with his brothers, carried the little one around and patted the other one like a doting dog. He’s eaten chips and held muffled conversation with the grown up strangers, he’s done his very best. Now it’s time for goodbye. We stand in a circle around the boy by the tree, wondering how to play out this moment.

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