Martha put her ear to her son's bedroom door. Faintly, she heard the rustling as he turned the pages of the final 'Harry Potter' novel. He was a big fan of the young wizard's adventures and was taking his time rereading all the novels in sequence. Martha thought this was the third time he'd been through the series and she wished J.K.Rowling would hurry up and write a new novel ... although, Martha was very glad Miss Rowling had written the 'Harry Potter' series: any books capable of nurturing children's interest in reading were all right by Martha.

Gently rapping her knuckles on the room door, Martha waited for Nicholas' quiet ‘Come in!' before entering. He may only be eight years old but Nicholas appreciated his privacy.

‘Hi, sweetheart' Martha said to her son, ‘Time for bookmark in, lights out. Remember what day it is tomorrow.'

Nicholas sighed, but picked his bookmark from the top of his bedside cabinet and inserted it into the pages of his book. The book went on top of the cabinet and Nicholas scooted down under his quilt, tucking it up under his chin.

Martha, standing now at his bedside, turned the nightlight down to its dimmest setting then switched off the bedside lamp. Then she tucked the quilt under her son, ensuring he was wrapped up warm against the cold winter's night.

She looked down at Nicholas, seeing his blue eyes peering up at her beneath the fringe of jet-black hair. She smiled then, a surge of motherly love and pride welling in her chest. Leaning down, she kissed her beautiful, intelligent boy on the forehead.

‘Sleep tight, Nicholas.'

‘Don't let the bed bugs bite', he replied, completing their nightly ritual.

Martha kissed him again, just because she wanted to, and then turned to walk from the bedroom.

His small, soft voice stopped her halfway to the door.

‘Mum?'

Martha turned, hearing the question in Nicholas' voice.

‘Yes, sweetheart?' She made her way back to the side of his bed, kneeling beside it to look into Nicholas' eyes. Concern flared as she saw the dampness in his eyes. ‘Nicholas? What's wrong, sweetheart?'

Nicholas buried his face in the quilt and Martha could hear quiet sobbing.

‘Oh, sweetheart! Please, tell me what's wrong. You know you can talk to me about anything that bothers you. Would you maybe like your Dad here, too?'

Nicholas rubbed his eyes dry with the quilt, and then looked at his mother. Martha almost wept at the anguish she saw on her son's face.

‘No. Please, don't tell Dad!'

Martha was confused. Normally, if Nicholas had any problems - which, thankfully was a rare occurrence - he preferred to have the wisdom of both parents to call on. Still, Martha nodded her understanding. ‘Okay, Nicholas. It's just me. Now, tell me what's wrong. Please.'

‘It - it's Dad. I - know that - that he is really dressing up - dressing like Santa. You know ... to put my presents at the bottom of my bed.'

Martha's eyes filled, a tear spilling down her cheek. Here was her little boy - only eight years old! - worried about upsetting his father. Any other child, Martha felt, would have been more concerned about Santa Claus not actually existing ... but Nicholas was thinking of his father!

Martha couldn't help herself; she leaned down and hugged her son tight to her bosom. She felt her son's quiet sobs, each one chipping away at her heart as though determined to break it.

‘Hush, Nicholas. It's okay. It's okay, sweetheart. I won't tell your Dad that you know.'

Nicholas spoke quietly, around his sobs.

‘I didn't mean to find out, Mum! I - I saw him, last year! I was thirsty and went for a drink of water. I wasn't sneaking! Honest!'

Martha hugged him tighter, her love burning bright.

‘I know you weren't sneaking, Nicholas. You're not a sneak. It's okay, sweetheart. I love you lots. Dad loves you lots, too. You know that, don't you?'

Martha felt Nicholas nod, felt her cardigan get damp as it absorbed his tears.

‘Dad was - Dad was buttoning up his - Santa jacket and putting his hat on. I didn't mean to see him, Mum! I promise!'

Martha rocked him in her arms. ‘It's okay, Nicholas. It'll just be our little secret.'

It amazed Martha that her son had held onto this secret for a whole year. It must have been weighing heavily on his mind, the poor soul. If it wasn't impossible, Martha would swear she loved her son even more than ever.

‘Don't tell Dad I know, Mum. I wouldn't want to upset him!'

Martha's tears flowed freely then. Nicholas was showing a maturity beyond his years, showing a love for his parents that Martha thought incredible. He was showing a responsibility that eight-year-olds just shouldn't have! Nicholas was certainly his father's son. Her little boy was becoming a man.

Martha rocked her son, hugged him harder, and tried to squeeze all her love into his eight-year-old frame.

‘I won't tell him, sweetheart. If you want; when you think the time is right, would you like to tell him?'

Nicholas nodded, and then sat back from Martha's grasp, wiping his eyes. ‘But not yet, Mum. I think this will be his last Christmas, though. Do you think he'll be upset?' Fresh tears poured down his small face, but he seemed to have passed the worst.

‘I think your Dad will be very proud of you for understanding. And he'll always love you. And he'll always be your Santa Claus. Just because it's your Dad, doesn't make the gifts any less special. It doesn't mean the time is any less magical.'

Nicholas sniffed, wiping his nose and eyes with his pyjama sleeve - as kids do. ‘Okay, Mum. Thank you. I'm going to go to sleep now.' With that, he huddled under his quilt again, pulling it up around his shoulders.

Martha helped tuck him in, and then gave him a hard kiss on the forehead.

‘Have a Merry Christmas, my little man', she said softly.

‘You too, Mum. Love you lots.'

‘Love you more.'

Martha stood up, watching her son settle down, seeing calmness come to his features now that he'd spilled the secret that had haunted him for a whole year.

‘Love you more', she whispered, before walking from the room, closing the door softly behind her. She stood there for a few minutes, listening as Nicholas' breathing slowed and settled into the rhythm of deep sleep, and then she wiped her face dry with her hands.

Walking slowly down the dark corridor into the brightly lit living room, Martha smiled at the scene she saw. Nick was lying on the couch, grunting with the effort of trying to zip up his red Santa trousers. Leaning over her husband, she patted his bulging stomach.

‘You getting too big for that, honey? Maybe you should cut down on the milk and biscuits.'

Nick grunted again, finally succeeding in closing up the zipper.

‘Yeah ... maybe I should, Martha. However -', Nick struggled to a sitting position, his face red with exertion, ‘- It may be easier for now if you just let my trousers out a tad. For next year, though.' He sighed, and wiped a stray bead of sweat from his forehead. ‘So, how's our wonderful little boy? I take it he's sleeping?'

Martha looked at her red-faced, white-bearded husband. How could she tell him of Nicholas' revelation? It wouldn't be fair - either to her husband or her son. As Nicholas wished, Martha decided to give Nick this one, last Christmas.

‘Okay, honey. He's fine. He was reading that ‘Harry Potter' book. Again.' Martha raised an eyebrow as she looked at Nick's belly straining against the big, black belt around his waistband. ‘If you leave those clothes out in the morning, I'll let your trousers out later.' Martha looked to the jacket and hat, hanging on the back of the door into the kitchen. ‘What about those, you think they'll still fit?'

‘They'd better! Can't have Santa Claus looking like he wears hand-me-downs!' Nick laughed, his huge stomach threatening to burst the zipper of his trousers as it heaved in and out with the laughter.

Martha held out her hands, helping her husband to his feet. They stood facing one another and Martha felt another huge surge of love, this time for the husband she'd known forever.

‘You got a hug for Santa?' Nick asked, his eyes twinkling under his white fringe.

Martha stepped into his arms, wrapping her own around him. ‘Santa can have as many hugs as he wants. If Mrs Claus thinks he's been a good boy, he could perhaps get a kiss, too.'

Nick leaned his head down, his lips lightly brushing hers. ‘Aren't I always a good boy, Mrs Claus?'

Martha kissed him fiercely, held him tightly. They kissed and hugged until they felt their lips might begin to fray. Martha stepped back, holding Nick's hands, looking into her husband's bright blue eyes.

‘Always, honey. Always and forever. Now, haven't you something important to do?'

‘Sure have', Nick replied, releasing Martha's hands and walking to get the jacket and hat. He slipped the hat on his head, pulled the jacket around his shoulders. With Martha's assistance, he finally managed to button up the jacket.

‘Mrs Claus is going to be busy letting out Santa's clothes for next year, I think!' Martha said, her voice bright with laughter.

Nick scowled. ‘Santa wouldn't be Santa if he was super-model thin!'

With a wink, Martha pointed to the glass of milk and two digestive biscuits Nicholas had left on the mantelpiece for Santa. ‘Never going to happen, Santa' she said, her voice twinkling.

Nick chuckled, reaching for the milk. ‘That boy knows how much I love milk and digestives.'

‘Everybody knows you love milk and digestives!' Martha replied, watching as Nick gulped down the milk and chewed on the crumbling biscuits. ‘And take your time, you big glutton!'

Soon, Nick was finished the snack. He walked to the front door and stepped into his big, black boots. ‘Be home soon, love. Don't wait up.'

‘Take care, honey. Love you lots.'

His hand on the doorknob, Nick turned and kissed Martha's cheek. ‘Love you more', he said, then opened the door. A flurry of snow pushed into the house, Nick momentarily staggering in the gust. ‘Wow! A white Christmas after all!'

With Martha huddled up against the doorjamb, peering out the almost closed door to try keeping the heat in the house, Nick trudged to the waiting sleigh. With another of his now regular grunts, he hoisted himself into the large front seat.

‘Rudolph, you old git! Let's paint the town red!' called Nick, taking the reins in his huge hands. The lead reindeer turned to look at him, snorted loudly and lit up it's glowing red nose.

Martha smiled as Nick turned to check on the massive sack that took up two thirds of the forty-foot sleigh, then watched as the reindeers took the strain and the sleigh began to slip across the snow.

Nick waved over his shoulder and Martha returned the wave. ‘Bye, honey' she called, as the sleigh leapt into the air. Nick didn't hear her, too busy bellowing to the reindeer.

‘Away, Rudolph! Away, Donner! Away, Blitzen! Away, Comet! Away, Vixen! ...'

His calls fading, Martha watched the red glowing nose slowly fade from view as the sleigh gained speed and height.