In the qui­et vil­lage of Canaan, To­ba­go, where goats had a sense of di­rec­tion some­times bet­ter than some peo­ple, and news trav­elled faster than a blue band maxi, three of the most mis­er­able boys ever to walk bare­foot had made a de­ci­sion: this year, San­ta Claus was not get­ting away.

Their names alone were enough to make them sound like re­tired An­gli­can el­ders.

There was Agnes boy, Hezeki­ah, thin like broom­stick, al­ways squint­ing as though life owed him mon­ey.