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silent.
    â€˜Esther! Lunchtime!’ Audrey called.
    I hardly slept that night, lying curled up with Pigotty at my centre like a large red cherry in a bun. In his basket in the corner of the room Laurence yelped in his sleep. I rose at six while the house was still asleep and got dressed. Downstairs in the kitchen I fed Laurence his morning meal of warm milk and Weetabix, putting a couple of spoonfuls in my own mouth before placing the bowl on the floor. I could barely bring myself to look at him, let alone stroke him, and my stomach was churning at the thought of what had to be done.
    Three hours later we were about to leave for London. Audrey had already put our bags in the boot of the Rover and now she was calling for me to come downstairs. I could just hear her voice, a faint, angry flutter in the dusty air of Granny Billings’s attic. I was sitting in an old armchair, hugging Pigotty tight. Now I got down from the chair,Pigotty still in my arms. ‘It’ll be lovely,’ I whispered in his striped cloth ear. ‘Just like a holiday.’ Gently, I lowered him into the old wicker shopping basket I had found on top of a trunk. ‘A real holiday, just for you.’ I opened the white chipped cupboard that stood in a corner of the room, the basket with Pigotty in my hand. On the top shelf of the cupboard lay a battered Panama hat. I put the basket down and standing on tiptoe, grabbed the hat from the shelf and placed it on Pigotty’s head. It was a real holiday hat. Next I put the basket with Pigotty on the floor of the cupboard. ‘Bye.’ I tried to smile. ‘Bye Pigotty.’ I covered the basket with an emerald-coloured silk throw, which had been draped across an old chair.
    â€˜Esther, where are you?’ Audrey’s voice was coming closer. It sounded annoyed.
    â€˜Got to go,’ I whispered, but then, instead of closing the door, I tore the throw off Pigotty and picked him up in my arms. Tears streaming down my face I sank down on the floor, hugging him close. ‘Oh, Pigotty, I’ll miss you so much.’
    â€˜Esther, wherever you are, come this minute or your father will hear about it.’
    I scrambled up from the floor and put Pigotty back in the basket. I straightened his hat, but I could not bring myself to cover him up completely with the throw so I just placed it gently around him, trying to pretend he was right in the middle of a soft green field. Then I closed the door.
    I thought I would never get the picture of his plump red face, his smiling, trusting face topped by that stupid hat, out of my mind. Laurence was unmoved by the sacrifice and continued to love everyone who crossed his path with equal and abandoned fickleness.
    â€˜Whatever happened to that large pig you used to carry around?’ Madox asked me months later. It was Christmas time and no doubt the big ham just delivered to the door had put him in mind of Pigotty. I frowned at my feet, feigning indifference. ‘Dunno.’
    â€˜Don’t know, darling, not dunno.’ Audrey entered the drawing-room with an armful of gilded fir cones. It was Madox’s turn to frown.
    â€˜I made this at school.’ I shoved the red-and-green Father Christmas in front of her as she stood arranging the fir cones in a large blue china bowl. ‘If you pull the string between his legs his arms and legs move up and down, look.’
    â€˜Lovely, darling,’ Audrey singsonged, but I could tell she was still looking at her arrangement of fir cones.
    â€˜You didn’t look.’
    â€˜Esther, don’t be a bore.’
    â€˜It’s very nice, Esther.’ Madox had got out of his chair and picked up the Father Christmas. ‘Where shall we hang it? In the window?’
    Now Audrey looked up. ‘Maybe not in here. It’s lovely, but I’ve got the drawing-room all gold and blue this Christmas. What about the kitchen? Or your bedroom, Esther, then you’ll be the lucky