Douglas, possibly because he was so young – or so Mrs Bridge reasoned – did not enjoy these trips. Each Christmas when he saw the basket being filled and trimmed he grew restless and obstinate; she did not know why, nor could she get him to explain. He did not want to go, that was clear, but she wanted him to appreciate his own good fortune, and not to grow up thinking he was better than someone else, so she insisted he go along to visit the poor family; he would ride in the back seat of the Reo with one arm resting on top of the Christmas basket, and he never said a word from the moment the trip started until they were home again. But he, like Ruth, remembered. This was why he hated to go. He could remember the very first visit. He had been just three years old when he first joined his sisters on the annual exhibition to the north end of the city – had it been to Strawberry Hill, where he had expected to see a bowl of strawberries on top of the hill? – no matter, he remembered how he had been sitting in the back of the Reo when the door was opened and a man leaned in and  took the basket away. Then, while the door was still open and snowflakes were falling on his knees, someone else leaned in – he could not remember whether it was a man or a woman – and quickly, neatly touched the cushion of the Reo.

Although many years were to pass before Douglas could understand why someone had wanted to touch the cushion, or why the memory of that gesture should persist, each Christmas thereafter when he saw the basket being filled and trimmed he grew restless and obstinate.