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After gathering some more clothes and toiletries, he decided to have another hunt for any kind of next of kin. Worried that he was invading her privacy, he poked through kitchen drawers and then her bedside table, but found nothing of any note until he pulled out a drawer beneath the bed and found a plastic bag filled with wrapped Christmas presents. Surprised, he pulled them out and put them on top of the bed. Each one had a neatly written label, folded and sealed with a little reindeer sticker, the gum of which had come unstuck.

Picking open one, he read, ‘Dear Philip, Merry Christmas, love Grandma and Grandpa.’

From a gentle shake of the rectangular box, he got the impression it was Lego. There were others too, addressed to the same members of the family who had sent the Christmas card. One, addressed to ‘Our dear daughter’, felt like a soft-covered book. Feeling something that felt like a metal clasp over the pages, Jacob took a chance and gently unwrapped it, finding a leatherbound diary inside. The year, however, was 2022. If Nora had bought a diary for the coming year, that meant this present had been wrapped nearly four years ago.

Gently pressing down the tape that had lost most of its stickiness, Jacob stared at the pile of presents. Then he sat down on the bed, pulled out his phone, and did a little bit of searching.

After a few minutes of searching, he came across an obituary for a Robert “Bert” Shapton. He had died in November 2022, perhaps not long after Nora had wrapped the Christmas presents. Poor Nora must have suffered some kind of breakdown afterwards, the presents never being sent, her life entering a downward spiral which had culminated with her collapsing in her hallway, alone and forgotten.

Her daughter’s name was Rita Crennick, according to the obituary. Jacob was able to find her on social media with a short search. His elation turned to horror, however, when he realised that the family now lived in Texas, USA.

Retrieving the Christmas card from where he had left it in the hall, he peered again at the blurry postmark, the stamp with a Christmas robin design he had thought was just a Post Office gimmick. Straining his eyes, he was just able to make out the letters U.S.A. Nora’s daughter’s family lived abroad.

Rita Crennick’s profile was locked, but her son Philip’s profile was public, so Jacob sent the boy a message, asking for him to pass it on to his mother. He then gathered up Nora’s things and headed for the hospital.

The snow had stopped, but now covered the town in a blanket of white that glistened in the street lights. Some people had appeared with shovels to clear the pavements, but others were in a more Christmassy mood and had taken to the streets only to hang fairy lights around front garden fir and pine trees, or to build snowmen with their children. Jacob pushed his bike, the snow crunching underfoot. With each step, the weariness he had felt all day began to lift; the sparkle of each Christmas light shaking a little more weight off his shoulders.

It would be all right. One way or another, everything would be all—

The growl of a powerful engine appeared at his shoulder. He slowed down, stepping away from the kerb as a large car pulled in beside him, a big, powerful Mercedes, snow spraying up from its tyres. A rear window was wound down. Jacob smelled incense over something like pipe tobacco, then reluctantly turned to face the man peering out at him from a luridly glowing interior.

‘You.’

Jacob grimaced. There was no way to escape; he could tell from the size of the tyre tread that this vehicle was equipped for all weather, and there were no alleyways or junctions nearby. He turned to face his stepbrother, peering out from the back seat of the car, still wearing a wide-brimmed hat.

‘James?’

‘I wondered if you were still in town. You never left, did you?’

‘I had no reason to.’

‘You lacked the ambition. Or maybe the skills. Or maybe both.’

Jacob opened his mouth to drop one of the lines he had wanted to say to his stepbrother for a long time about how he had treated what was left of their family, his mother in particular, but now that he finally had the opportunity, he could no longer see the point. He had said enough at the time, and it had had no effect whatsoever. Some people were impervious to criticism, and saw nothing outside the exoskeleton they had built around themselves.

Instead, all he said was, ‘I didn’t want to leave my mother.’

‘A noble excuse. Tell me, how is waiting on tables? How does it feel to have a flat so small you can reach out and touch both sides with your fingertips? How does it feel to be pushing a bike in the snow while I sit beside you in the back of a car that cost a decade of your salary?’

‘I’m paid by the hour,’ Jacob said. Then, looking up as snowflakes began to fill the air once more, he added, ‘To be honest, it feels pretty good.’

James scowled. ‘I work with illusion; you work with delusion. Nothing has changed.’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Anyway.’ James flicked a hand and three pieces of paper spun through the air, landing in the snow at Jacob’s feet. ‘A peace offering. Since I’m prepared to forget.’

Jacob stared at his feet. The car window rose and the car roared off. Jacob waited until it had turned at the next corner, then bent down and picked up three complimentary tickets to James’s show, water beginning to soak through the words printed in black ink.