'If he does, it's not down to anything me or Jan have told him,' Toby replied directly.
'Poor little man!' Paula cried. 'You old Grinch, making him miss out on the magic of Santa!'
'What magic of Santa? Jan does all the thinking about what to get him, checking out cool toys on the Web. I get to battle through the Christmas crush in Toys R Us for the last few stocking fillers. Granddad Stefan sits up into the wee small hours whittling wooden farm animals for him, like the ones he made me and Pop used to make for him. Nanny Anna spends all year knitting him hats and gloves and jumpers, Granny Irene hits the shops in September to make sure he gets the must have movie spin-off tat before it sells out. It's the same for Dani now too - planned like a military campaign, months in advance; why should some made-up old fart in a red coat and fake beard take credit for all that?'
'Because kids love it!' Paula sighed. 'And it's traditional.'
'Do your kids still believe in Father Christmas, then?'
'No - but they are eleven and fourteen!'
Hilary smiled knowingly. 'I'm sure Toby's intention is to tell Marcus and Dani so many grim truths about Christmas - the dreadful conditions of the real people who make the toys, the horribly long hours and low pay of agency staff in warehouses, the gruelling delivery schedules of couriers - that they don't want presents at all and he's therefore spared the time and cost of buying them anything!'
'Looking at it that way, I wish I believed in Santa and elves,' Toby said. 'It would save a lot of soul-searching when I get my next iPhone.'
'I used to believe in Father Christmas,' Tricia said. 'In fact, I went on believing a lot longer than most of the other kids I knew, for a very special reason.'
'You've got to believe in miracles, what with you supporting Pompey and all that!'
'Shut up, Toby!' scolded Hilary. 'Let Tricia tell her story!'
'What about her song? Don't you have to tell a story linked to a Christmas song?' Sally asked.
'I wasn't aware we had set down such strict regulations,' Vaughan answered. 'Did Master Chaucer require a musical connection from the Knight or the Pardoner?'
'I didn't mean there to be a competition with rules at all!' Deepak protested.
'And I don't remember saying I was ready to tell a story either,' Tricia said.
'But you were going to say more about believing in Father Christmas, before Toby butted in.'
Tricia could see that her colleagues were waiting eagerly for her tale. She sipped her coke and began...
'When I was little, we used to go to church and then come back to a big family gathering at my Nana's house, with a fusion Christmas dinner of Caribbean and English food and loads of grumpy uncles, noisy aunties and louder cousins. The only peace was when the Queen came on - Nana would give anyone who spoke over the Queen a slap round the head and no tea. It was fun - if you like a bit of anarchy - only I missed my Dad who was often away at sea. I'm not sure how old I was when the first letter arrived, or if it was the one with the Singapore stamp, or from Egypt. It came a week before Christmas and I thought it was from Dad, but when I opened it, it was from Father Christmas.'
'How sweet!' Paula said. 'Your Dad sending a letter from abroad and pretending it was from Santa!'
'That was the thing, Paula - it really wasn't from Dad. His ship was in the South Altantic that year. We'd already had a card and parcel and when he telephoned, it was from off the Falklands.'
'So what was Santa supposed to be doing in the other places?' asked Toby. 'Picking up Duty Free?'
'The letters said he was finding special presents for children who'd been really good - like me - and sure enough, a couple of days later a parcel from wherever he was supposed to be would arrive. I got dolls from all over the world, puzzles and games and, when I was a little bit older, necklaces and pretty clothes. The letters would always praise me for something I'd done well - passing tests or winning at sports - and they came even when Dad was home for Christmas. My brother Tony and Steph, my sister, got letters and presents too, but while I wanted to believe they were real, by the time Tony was nine or ten he was embarassed by them.'
'How old were you then?'
'Twelve. Thirteen, maybe.'
'Thirteen!'
'I know, Toby. It sounds stupid; but the letters were really believable, and they all had the same handwriting.'
'So when did they stop?'
'One Christmas, Tony threw a strop and said to Mum and Dad that he didn't believe in them any more and wanted them to stop, and Mum cracked and agreed that they were fake. Dad gave me a big hug and said, "Well done for pretending for little Stephanie's sake, Patricia. You're a good girl!" But I hadn't been pretending and I was heart-broken. I went upstairs and got out the special box I kept the letters in, and tore them all up and chucked them in the bin.'
'Oh Tricia! That is so sad!'
'I know, Paula. The worst thing was that after I trashed them, I really wished I hadn't because they were so good, and I then I cried even more!'
'So where were the letters coming from?' Hilary asked.
'That was the clever bit,' Tricia explained. 'It turns out that one of Dad's best mates had children about the same age as me and Steph. Him and Dad served on the same ship for ages, but not long after me and the other bloke's first child arrived, they got posted to different vessels. They came up with this deal to be Santa to each other's kids - even when Douglas was home, he lived in Edinburgh so I got Scottish things, and of course Dad could get London souvenirs for Doug's bairns, but usually we got gifts from all over.'
'What a remarkably thoughtful arrangement,' Vaughan remarked. 'Apart from the lack of a satisfactory exit strategy.'
'You can say that again, and not just on my account..' Tricia laughed. 'Poor old Dad certainly didn't expect Douglas and his missus to end up with six kids when he made the deal!'
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