Christmas on Rosemary Lane. Ellen Berry

out working, dinner for the boys could mean tinned tomato soup and packets of Monster Munch or whatever else they could plunder from the under-stocked kitchen. James had vivid memories of Rod making some kind of ‘pudding’ out of jelly, doused liberally in contraband brandy and set alight. He’d been in awe of his big brother back then.

      Although Kenny had various stints of working as a lorry driver, a gardener and a labourer, he always came back to being a woodsman. A couple of acres of forest adjoined their house, and Kenny was often to be found out there, sawing and chopping, then delivering logs all over Burley Bridge and beyond.

      Throughout late November and December, Kenny would have virtually decamped permanently to the woods, as he had a seasonal business selling Christmas trees. James and Rod would be enlisted to help with the felling and the dragging of the trees into a makeshift hut, where the young boys were allowed – thrillingly – to use the netting machine. It felt good, the three of them working together when James and his father had little to do with each other the rest of the year. They were a team then. It’s why James had a certain fondness for Christmas. It certainly wasn’t down to any mince pie-making endeavours on Kenny’s part.

      Perhaps his father’s attachment to wood – and to forests – had influenced James’s own life choices, as once he’d left Burley Bridge and finished his apprenticeship, he had carved out a living as a furniture maker. From building tables and shelves, he graduated towards fitting out boats when his first commission had proven a success. James enjoyed being on the water and seeing a project through from his first visit, when he would start with basic dimensions and often go on to design the whole interior. It was creative, satisfying work. His love life was less successful; he and his ex-wife, Michaela, had split up two years ago, and now they shared the care of their nine-year-old son Spike. But on the whole, life was manageable.

      It’ll all be a panic over nothing, he tried to convince himself as he turned off the motorway towards Burley Bridge that night.

      After Reena’s call, James had tried to carry on fitting out the narrowboat he had been working on for the past week. But he’d been unable to concentrate. What the hell was going on with Rod? They weren’t close, and never had been really. As for Rod’s marriage to Phoebe, a terrifically capable sort, and a national champion swimmer in her youth, all James knew was it had ended messily with Rod somehow acquiring a black eye and his beloved racing bike being smashed up. After that, Rod had moved back in with their father and rarely seemed to see his three children.

      Despite still being ‘highly successful’ in various businesses – which he never seemed keen to divulge any details about – his brother now seemed to have no income at all, as far as James could gather. Still, as Kenny had started to show signs of confusion, it had been a godsend really, to have someone living with him until a long-term solution could be figured out. ‘Dad’s just a bit ditsy,’ was how Rod preferred to describe their father’s current state. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

      As he neared Burley Bridge, James wondered if he had over-reacted wildly by rushing over on this bleak, wet night five days before Christmas. However, there had been no answer on his father’s landline either, and there was no one local he felt he could ask to look in on his dad. James’s childhood friends had scattered all over the country, and he knew Kenny wouldn’t have taken kindly to anyone popping round anyway, checking on his welfare. It had seemed as if there had been no other option than to throw some clothes in a bag, apologise to his client for the delay to the job, and set off. Three and a half hours it took normally, but tonight James had managed it in under three.

      As he approached the village, James tried to calm himself in readiness for whatever situation he might walk into tonight. He drove slowly through the quiet streets, noticing how sparkly and festive everything looked. It hadn’t been quite as pretty as this when he was a kid. Now all the shop windows glowed with nativity scenes, and lights were strung from the Victorian lamp posts. James thought of Spike, who was currently at his mum’s place. He was spending Christmas with her this year so James had planned to visit his father, though not quite this early. The thought of being apart from Spike was never easy at this time of year.

      The pitted road rose sharply from the village, cutting between steeply sloping fields, then curving through the woodland that Kenny still owned, although it was only minimally tended these days. The shed his father had built, in which to store Christmas trees ready for purchase, was rotting badly and should probably come down at some point. It was almost impossible to believe how successful they had been, back in the day, when numerous garden centres offered not only a variety of firs but vast selections of Christmas gifts too. The fact was, quite simply, that Kenny Halsall’s Christmas trees had been the best around.

      As his father’s house came into view, standing alone on a muddied stretch of lane, James noted that the living room light was on, which reassured him a little. Illogical, perhaps, but it suggested that Kenny was home, at least. He had always been pretty diligent about switching off all of the lights before he went out. While his heart was still beating he would never waste a single watt of electricity.

      James climbed out of his car. He knocked briefly on the front door and pushed it open. ‘Dad?’ he called out.

      ‘Who’s that?’ his father boomed from the living room.

      ‘It’s me – James.’

      ‘What? Who is it?’

      ‘It’s me, Dad. Hi!’ He stepped into the room where his father was sitting in an armchair with a newspaper spread out over his lap, gawping up at him.

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      I’m your son, not the bailiff, James wanted to say, but instead he feigned a bright smile and perched on the sofa. ‘Just thought I’d come a bit earlier than planned for Christmas,’ he said, wondering how best to broach things. He wasn’t afraid of his father – not anymore – but he was keen to avoid conflict as far as possible so he could locate his brother and have some kind of discussion of what to do next.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Kenny asked.

      ‘Dad, I’ve tried to call but you never pick up the landline. And I’m not sure what happened to that mobile Rod bought you.’

      ‘Oh, I lost that,’ he muttered.

      ‘Right – okay. So, how are things?’ James asked, taking care to maintain a cheery tone.

      ‘Um, all right, I suppose,’ Kenny replied.

      ‘So, where’s Rod at the moment? Any idea?’

      ‘I’m … not sure.’ His gruffness had subsided a little.

      ‘Erm, Dad,’ James ventured, ‘Reena called me today. You know, Reena who owns the yellow house?’

      ‘Uh-huh?’

      ‘Well … she sounded a bit worried. She said there’d been some kind of business at the cottage?’

      Kenny frowned. ‘Oh, she’s a nuisance, that woman. Always sticking her bloody oar in.’

      ‘She’s always seemed perfectly pleasant to me,’ James said quickly. ‘She was just concerned that you’d been over to the house, and her guests said you’d, um …’

      ‘Is that why you’re here? To check up on me?’

      ‘Of course not,’ James replied, his jaw tightening.

      ‘What would I be doing at her place?’

      ‘I’m just telling you what Reena said.’

      ‘Well, I don’t know what she’s on about,’ Kenny muttered.

      How to proceed from here? They fell into silence, and Kenny scratched at his beard and flicked his gaze down to the newspaper. While he looked reasonably presentable in a navy cable-knit sweater and brown corduroys, the facial hair was always a worry. On previous occasions James had noted all manner of food residue clinging to it. Beards were like dogs, he often thought: if you were going to have one, you had to be