I am fuming as I bend to secure James's hood around his ears. My mother's irresponsible behaviour knows no bounds and it's not the first time James has been dragged into it either. I vividly recall, when James was a baby, my shock when Martin had come to tell me that my mother had given James into the care of that convicted juvenile felon, Angie Grappie. She has just never considered anyone but herself and now even going so far as to drag my son out into the freezing cold while she smokes right next to him!

James is completely unaware of my anger and is instead puffing out huge breaths, fascinated by the little clouds of vapour that appear when he does so. Whilst it might be fun for him, it's making it difficult for me to achieve my goal and I am rather curt with him. He immediately freezes and stares up at me with his blue eyes wide and uncertain. I am instantly filled with remorse and I hug him fiercely. My mother hasn't been in the village five minutes and already she has this effect on me.

On the way home we stop at the little bakery to get some bread rolls to have with lunch but the minute we enter it's not the array of breads I notice but the delicious pasties for which the bakery is famous. Martin would have a fit if I brought one of those home but I am so hungry and so angry and a pastie would go a long way in assuaging both these conditions. So James and I share a chicken and vegetable one as we walk slowly past the Platt and up the steep hill leading to the surgery. It's half twelve when we finally get there and I am feeling tired and crabby and dying to put my feet up.

It's quiet when we enter the kitchen via the back door and I quickly throw the empty pastie packet into the bin before slipping out of my outdoor jacket. I hear James gasp and I look up to see the look of utter delight on his face as he stands on the step leading to the sitting room.

"Mummy look."

He is pointing towards the fireplace, beside which now stands the Christmas tree. It's been securely anchored in a big bucket, around which has been wrapped the green felt cloth I had bought for this purpose in Wadebridge. A huge box of Christmas decorations sits to one side, waiting for James to begin placing them on the tree. It's an impressive tree and dominates our little sitting room, making it look even cosier than it already is.

I turn as I hear Martin enter the kitchen carrying a broom and a dustpan, a refuse bag wedged under his arm and Buddy following closely behind him. Before I can move, James has launched himself forward and flings his arms around Martin's leg.

"Daddeeee."

"Hello James." He edges forward with James still clinging to his leg. "How was the village Hall of Horr…?"

"Martin!"

He dips his head. "Yesss. Umm...did you enjoy yourself, James?" He leans forward to prop the broom against the cupboard and puts the other things on the floor.

James doesn't answer but instead tugs on Martin's hand, drawing him towards the sitting room.

"Can we do the tree now Daddy?"

I nod as Martin looks enquiringly at me.

"Yes. We can start in a moment."

I sense Martin's scrutiny. He can probably see that I am tired and is going to lecture me about resting and I steel myself in anticipation as he walks closer. He puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my face up and his eyes narrow as he gazes down at me.

"You have crumbs on your face."

"Oh." I quickly brush them away, hoping he hasn't noticed that they are pastry crumbs, but I don't think he is fooled as he dips his chin and peers at me from under his brows and I am relieved when he merely grunts 'mmm' and turns his attention to his son.

I sink gratefully onto the sofa, slipping off my shoes before tucking my feet under me and settling back to watch the tree being decorated. Buddy sneaks up beside me and flops down, his gaze lovingly directed at Martin.

James begins by unpacking the box and it's as if he and Martin are on the same wavelength, without any discussion ever having taken place between them. Each item is carefully examined then laid out on the carpet in orderly piles, the various balls and ornaments are grouped in colours and sizes, the tinsel likewise and the fairy lights laid out and the strands untangled. Once they have done this, they solemnly discuss a strategy for how they will arrange the decorations on the tree. Martin suggests they start by testing the lights before putting them up but of course, this is preceded by a cautionary lecture about the care one should have around electricity and plugs. Eventually Martin switches them on and hundreds of little bulbs burst into a bright blaze of light, and as they begin blinking on and off, James chuckles with delight. A very complicated procedure then begins as Martin attempts to thread the yards and yards of lights over and through the prickly branches. There's lots of grunting and muttering going on and every now and then I can see him wince, but his face remains a picture of stoic determination. His little helper is more in the way than anything else but Martin keeps himself under control even when his long arms become entangled in the branches. Buddy whines softly when it appears as though the tree has swallowed his beloved master but he soon reappears albeit it with a few pine needles clinging to his hair and jacket.

James exhibits the same considered way of making decisions as his father, a trait that will no doubt stand him in good stead but probably not on this occasion because it has slowed things down enormously. Martin is infinitely patient though, the only sign of his impatience, the clenching and unclenching of his hands at his sides.

I suspect Martin has had no experience with this kind of thing because as far as I know, he never spent Christmas holidays with his parents, and only the long summer holidays with his Aunty Joan. The rest of the time he stayed at boarding school. What that must have been like is just too awful to imagine. Staying behind in a gloomy dorm with an equally gloomy and, no doubt, resentful housemaster, couldn't have been much fun.

Soon the tree starts to fill up, the balls are spaced and the colours evenly distributed. Each glittery fairy and leaping reindeer has been given its place and James, having been stood on a chair, stretches to hang a piece of golden tinsel as high as his little arms will go while Martin watches hawk-eyed. Only the very top remains to be done, and James looks up at his father.

"I can't reach."

For a moment Martin hesitates and I know he is thinking that it would be easier if he just did the last bit himself, but he suddenly unbuttons his jacket and, slipping it off, hangs it carefully over the back of the chair before putting his hands under James's armpits and hoisting him onto his shoulders, his little legs either side of Martin's neck. James clutches at Martin's ears and I hear him wince.

"Uhh...not so tight James."

James's face is a picture. He beams with delight as he twists around to look at me.

"Look Mummy."

"Yes darling. I see. You're as tall as your Daddy now, aren't you?"

Martin hands James the star and indicates where he should aim for and after a few attempts, it stays put and all that's left to do is add the last bits of tinsel. When it's all done Martin lifts James over his head and is about to set him down when he stops and I see him sniff the air around James's head. He straightens then leans forward again and sniffs some more and I see his lip curl in disgust. He hastily sets James down and asks him to fetch the dustpan which sends the boy rushing to the kitchen.

Slowly and deliberately Martin brushes glitter and pieces of tinsel from his sleeves, then reaches for his jacket and shrugs into it, all the while pointedly avoiding eye contact with me. I can see he is upset but I don't say anything.

"James's hair smells of cigarette smoke." His tone is accusatory.

It's no good denying it and it's also no good pretending he doesn't know it's my mother who is the cause of it, but I am also in no mood to get a lecture on my mother's bad habits. I fix him with my most truculent stare.

"Yes Martin. I will wash his hair, don't worry."

He adjusts his cuffs. "I did caution you to be extra vigilant when your mother was around…"

"Yes Martin…"

"Your mother is probably the most…"

"Yes Mar-tin! I don't want to hear another word about my mother."

I get up laboriously and stomp through to the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and topping it up with water. My relaxed mood has evaporated into yet another burst of unreasonable temper, with Martin once again on the receiving end. My mother, without even being present, has managed to upset the harmony of our home and whilst I know Martin has every right to be upset, just as I had been upset, I seem to have this inexplicable need not to have him bang on about it. I am fully aware of his abhorrence of smoking and the fact that my mother has been the one to raise his ire is just too galling for words. Also, if I have to be honest, it's because I feel a little guilty that I took my eyes off James for a second and my mother had the opportunity to disappear outside with him.

Martin comes to stand beside me at the counter as he prepares to make a cup of coffee. I imagine I can feel the disapproval radiating from him but when I glance sideways at him, he is his usual imperturbable self. As he places the little cup under the nozzle I notice, for the first time, the scratches on his hand and I reach out and brush my fingers gently over them.

"Those look nasty."

"Mmm...yes. Stupid pine needles. Actually they're quite a hazard, you know - could cause permanent damage if it got in one's eye."

"You did a great job with the tree, Martin, thank you. And with James."

He looks at me over the rim of his espresso cup as he takes a cautious sip and it suddenly strikes me that we have spent so much time together, the three of us, which we have not done for ages and I don't think we have ever engaged in such an unusual activity. Well, Martin hasn't at least except perhaps for helping James make cardboard stars.

"Not practicing for a while has had its advantages, don't you think?" I remark casually as I pour boiling water into my mug. "No patients walking in and out, no phone ringing - no interruptions all the time."

He frowns.

"I mean, you wouldn't really have had time to put the Christmas tree up with James if you'd still been practicing, would you?"

He waggles his chin in the air. "Louisa, I didn't spend ten years studying so that I could spend my time putting up Christmas trees."

"That's not what I meant. I meant that this little forced break has given you the opportunity to spend more time with James...doing...you know...stuff, without having other commitments or being interrupted all the time."

I step closer and slip my arms around his waist.

"You were so patient with him and I know it's hard for you because you just want to get things done. So...well done you."

I reach up and peck him softly on the lips and he puts his cup down on the counter and encircles me with his arms, a little awkwardly because of my expanding tummy.

"So...umm...we should bathe James before we go to the hall...", he murmurs softly.

I huff out an exasperated breath. "No Martin, He shouldn't be going out after having a hot bath, should he?"

"Well it will be a bit late when we get back and he shouldn't go to bed stinking of cigarette smoke."

"Oh it's not that bad! Honestly, one would think he'd had his head shoved in an ashtray the way you're carrying on."

Martin looks indignant.

"Louisa, your mother smoked in close proximity to our son and studies have shown that it takes a mere five minutes in the presence of secondhand smoke to have an effect on the arteries. There are also up to seven thousand toxic chemicals present in cigarette smoke, the remnants of which still linger in our son's hair. He wouldn't need to have his head shoved in an ashtray to be anymore affected than he is now. I don't think you realise how irresponsible your mother has been."

I lean back to look incredulously up at him. His gaze is unwavering and it's so infuriating and I feel my frustration bubble over as I extricate myself from his arms.

"I am going to have a rest now. If you are so determined to wash your son's hair, be my guest. But you'd better do it now - not just as we are about to leave the house."

I waddle off towards the passage door highly aware that it's not a very dignified exit but at least he will know that I am less than pleased with his lecturing.

"Uh...Louisa."

"What!"

"You've forgotten your tea."

"Urrrgghhh."