In the Stable, by Andrew Motion

Richard’s only task was to keep his father happy. Then disaster struck

RICHARD’S ELDER BROTHER had left home years ago – a rebel angel. Since then, there had been just the two of them.

His father lived for the garden: a cushiony lawn spreading down to the orchard where the grass was left uncut, a herbaceous border of the untidy English kind along one side, and beyond that a copse of oak and maple, which flooded with bluebells in spring. After dark, he lost interest in life, drinking gin in front of the TV until bed.

As for Richard: people in the village at the end of the lane thought he did nothing. He earned a pittance as a beater during the shooting season. He made jam with plums from the orchard. He looked after the pony, and sometimes rode it over the fields nearby. He ran errands. Everyone liked him well enough, but why did he keep to himself so much? How come he’d never got married? Perhaps he wasn’t right in the head? The questions buzzed, and Richard flapped them away. He knew what his job was, and that’s all that mattered. He lived quietly, so that his father could live quietly. The old man had a temper, and the smallest surprise set him off.

But Christmas is Christmas, and when Richard woke at first light, he felt a flutter round his heart. It was ridiculous. There was nothing special to look forward to. They might open a bottle later, and he’d bought a turkey. There’d be no presents, though, no fuss. Nothing like that had happened for a long time. He wiped the sleep from his eyes, climbed out of bed, and called across the landing to his father in the room opposite.

‘It’s OK, Dad; I’ll do it.’