The tree without

Since last Christmas, John and Edie have been watching their tree, which they keep outside, with the mixture of helplessness and pride familiar to mothers of sons. They first decided to have a tree that was to enjoy a full life, roots and all, in its pot, five years before.

‘I thought it might have happened, and it has,’ said John, from behind the tree, more accurately from within it, which he was attempting to fit through their front door. ‘It won’t come without a fight, this year. It’s even prickly on its smooth bits. Did we like it once?’

Edie saw where this might end, with a lot of spiteful lopping and some vinous remorse. ‘Leave it outside,’ she said. And, to make certain, ‘I remember you saw an outside tree once, do you remember? You liked it.’

John had seen such a tree, when first he had lived in a city.