‘It’s okay just this once. I don’t want to burn the milk. You go down, I’ll listen out for you. Go on.’ She watched him run uncertainly out of the room and down the stairs; she had undone all the chains and deadbolts earlier, when she’d put the list out, so that all he had to do was turn the lock.
Putting down the milk, she tiptoed to the top of the stairs, hearing the audible gasp as her child saw who was standing on the doorstep.
‘Well, hello there. You must be Jasper,’ she heard Sam say in an altered voice.
She bit her lip, feeling a peak of hysteria that he was actually here, a rush of affection for his kindness. She couldn’t believe he was doing this for her.
‘May I come in?’
‘Mama!’ Jasper called excitedly, his voice bubbling with undisguised joy. ‘It’s Sinterklaas! Sinterklaas is here!’
Fleeing back to the hot milk on her tiptoes, tiny giggles escaping her too, she was stirring the hot chocolate when they both emerged a few moments later. ‘Hmm?’ she asked distractedly. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Sinterklaas!’
‘No, it can’t be, darling.’ She looked up casually, feeling her heart somersault at the sight of Sam standing there, disguised again – robe, mitre, sceptre, big book; white beard, white eyebrows, white wig. Only his hands and those eyes revealed the younger man in disguise, but they weren’t the sort of finer details five-year-olds clocked. ‘Oh! Sinter!’ she exclaimed in fake astonishment.
‘Good evening. You must be Jasper’s mama.’
She went over to him, clearly able to see the laughter in his eyes too as she drew closer. ‘Yes, I am.’ She placed a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. ‘How good of you to visit us.’
‘Well, I’m seeing all the children on Bloemgracht today.’ He looked down at Jasper again. ‘I’ve got my book here to tell me who’s been good and who’s been naughty. Have you been a good boy, Jasper?’
Jasper nodded with the same awed solemnity Lee had seen in Tomasz.
‘Shall we have a look then?’
Jasper nodded again.
‘Please, take a seat,’ Lee said, ushering them towards the armchair. The sofa cushions were crushed from where she and Jasper had been lying watching the film. She picked up the remote and turned off the TV; the credits were still rolling. ‘Before you begin, Sinter, would you like a drink? A cold glass of milk, perhaps?’
Sam’s head turned and he pinned her with a bemused gaze. It was all either of them could do not to burst out laughing. ‘No, thank you. I just had some milk in the last house.’
‘I’ve already put my carrots out for Amerigo,’ Jasper said, pointing to the tiny filled clog by the fireside.
‘And he’s been enjoying those very much, Jasper, thank you. He does get very tired leaping from roof to roof each night. It’s not easy when you have to stay so quiet.’
Jasper nodded, sympathetically. Horse hooves were clippity-cloppity at the best of times.
‘So, let’s see what we have here,’ Sam said, heaving open the book. ‘Jasper, Jasper, Jasper . . . ah yes, here we go.’ He read the sheet of paper Lee had left out for him. The crinkles appearing at the edges of his eyes told her he was trying not to laugh again. ‘Right. So, I see you chased a cyclist into the canal.’
‘No, I was chasing the pigeon,’ Jasper said earnestly. ‘The man got in the way.’
‘Oh.’ Sam looked up at him from beneath his fluffy eyebrows, laughter evident in his eyes. ‘Well, that was very silly of him.’
‘I just wanted to stroke the pigeon. It had velvety fur.’
‘Feathers,’ Lee corrected gently.
‘It sounds like you’re a loving boy, then,’ Sam said, looking back at the sheet. ‘What else? Hmm, and you – oh, you turned your mama’s hair blue?’
‘I was making magic potions . . .’ He glanced at Lee worriedly. ‘But I forgot to tell mama I used her shampoo.’
Sam looked at her, almost shaking with laughter.
‘It was fine. Nothing an emergency trip to the hairdresser couldn’t sort out.’ Lee grinned, ruffling Jasper’s hair and trying not to burst into hysterics too.
‘But I’m a good boy, I am,’ he said worriedly. ‘I climb into bed with mama every night and hold her hand when she has the nightmares.’
Lee’s smile faded.
Sam’s shaking stopped too as he looked across at her. ‘Oh. Well then . . .’
‘And I never cross the road without her and I always wear my helmet and I don’t run whilst