When I was four, I wanted a small wooden train set that I'd seen in the window of a large toy shop in the decent part of town. I passed the shop everyday on my way back home with my mother from school and everyday I'd ask her if we could stop whilst I pressed my nose to the window of the shop and watched in jealous silence as other children, richer children, dragged their parents into the shop to buy them one.
For three weeks in the run up to Christmas, my mother and I stopped to do this and for three weeks I admired the little blue carriages with their silver clasps to attach them all together and the bright gold writing on the side of the little train. There were red trains as well, but I didn't like them as much, they had big green clashing, Christmasy lettering on the side and I far preferred the little dignified blue ones.
On Christmas day I unwrapped my present and sitting amidst the bright wrapping was the little red train. My father never noticed my crestfallen look but my mother did and, although I quickly replaced it with the expected happy look, she moved to wrap her arm around my shoulders.
"I'm sorry baby," she cooed into my ear quietly. "It was the only colour left." I tried not to feel disappointed, but at four you're a selfish little bugger and my mother clearly saw that I was unhappy with the little train. My mind kept straying back to the pretty blue one I'd admired for so many weeks.
In the evening, after dinner, my father went to the pub down the road and my mother scooped up my train in one hand and caught my little fingers in her other and took both myself and the present out into the merrily decorated hall.
There was a small cupboard under the stairs where our shoes were normally kept; my mother put my train in the cupboard and told me to turn around. She made me face the wall and told me to count to ten, as though we were playing hide and seek and I spoke slowly, stumbling over the number eight. I turned around at ten and at my expectant look she threw up her hands in mock shock and cried "Goodness, is that ten already!", then smiled at me and opened the cupboard. She withdrew a little blue train with silver clasps and gold writing with a cheery 'ta-da!' and I stood stunned for a moment until she pressed the train into my hand and ushered me off into the lounge to play.
"No little boy should get the wrong present on Christmas," she tutted "Now go amuse yourself until daddy gets home, mommy has the dishes to clear away."
