One Christmas

Back on the WordCloud I started a group called Advent for Christmas-related posts. It was slightly popular, but back then we had an active wall and plenty of other groups, so it never flew especially high.

I posted a  children’s short story. It needs a good edit that I might give it one day, but i think it’s quite fun, so if you’re in need of some relaxation amongst all the frantic preparations, here it is.

One Christmas

Jessica pressed her face to the window and wiped a hole in the mist with her nose so that she could see out across the road. Snow was swirling around the streetlamp in front of the house. A white blanket had settled everywhere. There was even some snow balanced on the telephone line swaying to and fro outside in the bitter cold beyond her bedroom.

Last year she had longed for it: a white Christmas with all the family. She had moaned, ‘It’s not fair, Gran. Christmas is supposed to be snowy.’

Gran had smiled her secretive smile and said, ‘Never mind, Jess. Next year – I promise.’

Jessica had wriggled her toes and frowned: ‘How can you promise, Gran?’

‘Never you mind, Jess.’

Gran had been right; here was the snow.

The view through the window dissolved into sparkles as tears filled her eyes – the snow was here, but Gran had gone.

Jessica wiped her eyes and blew her nose on a tissue. Everybody had done a lot of crying in the last few months, even Dad. Mum hugged her and said, ‘Gran had such a happy life, Jess. Try to remember the good times.’

But here and now, Jessica wondered how it could possibly be Christmas without Gran. The window had misted up again. For an instant, she had the ridiculous idea that there was a horse in Mrs. Foster’s front garden down the road and she wiped the window vigorously. Of course, she was wrong. When she looked again it was so dark that she couldn’t even see Mrs. Foster’s garden properly, let alone anything in it. She flopped back down on her bed, and let herself drift away to sleep.

In the morning, Jessica got up very early and made breakfast for Mum and Dad. Dad said, ‘You should have more school holidays, Jess. It’s nice to be waited on.’

Mum looked at the toast on Jessica’s plate. She said, ‘Is that all you’re having?’

Jessica looked at her Mum and Dad. She said, ‘When Tom’s up, is it alright if I go round to Alice’s house? I won’t go out of the street.’

‘Well, OK,’ said Mum, ‘but make sure Tom knows where you are, and dress up warm.’

When they had gone to work, Jessica went and knocked on Tom’s door. She shouted, ‘I’m going round to Alice’s house. I’ll be back by lunchtime. I’ve got the key.’

She listened and after a few seconds she heard a sort of a grunt. ‘That must mean OK,’ she told herself. Tom was her older brother. He was seventeen and doing his ‘A’ levels. He was supposed to look after her because at twelve she was too young to look after herself. This struck her as an odd idea. Tom couldn’t cook, unless you counted cornflakes, he didn’t know how to tidy his room, and he couldn’t even get out of bed until the day was nearly over.

She put on her coat and scarf, tucked the front-door key into her pocket, and set off to her friend Alice’s house. For a while she shuffled her shoes through the snow making two long furrows behind her. She slowed down as she went past Mrs. Foster’s house, and casually, as though it was the most normal thing in the world, she crossed over the road and glanced into the garden.

A shiver ran through her, although she couldn’t really put her finger on why. There were dents in the snow; lots of them. But whatever they were they had been snowed on after being made. It was most likely just foxes playing. There was nothing to suggest they were hoof prints. What a daft idea.

Alice’s Mum made them mugs of hot chocolate and they had a big plate of pink wafer biscuits. They chatted to their friends on WhatsApp and thought up ideas to go on Alice’s Christmas present list.

‘My main present is an iPad,’ said Alice, ‘what are you getting?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Jessica replied, ‘My Dad says I should hurry up and choose before I drive him to distraction.’

As she was leaving Alice’s house, a movement caught her eye. At the end of the road, by the bus stop, a very tall, very fat man was waving his arms around. He was scary and a bit mad-looking. He had one of those beards which haven’t so much been grown for a few years, as not cut for a few years. His long overcoat almost reached the ground. Only the other day, Jessica’s Dad had said, ‘I haven’t seen any real old-style tramps for ages.’ Well, the man at the bus stop certainly looked like one in Jessica’s opinion. While she was looking, he turned and their eyes met. It gave her a very uncomfortable feeling and she hurried back to her house, locking the door behind her.

That afternoon as she sat watching television, Tom wandered in yawning. He scratched his armpit and stood leaning on the back of the settee.

‘Wassat you’re watching?’

Jessica pointed the remote at the screen and pressed a button. ‘Miracle on 34th Street,’ she read. Tom slumped down next to her and stretched out. He watched in silence for a while, and then he asked, ‘Any food?’

‘There’s boiled eggs and ham and salad in the fridge.’

Tom made no sign of moving.

‘Tom?’

‘What?’

‘You know Mrs. Foster?’

‘I know who she is – I don’t know her. She was a friend of Gran’s.’

‘Really?’ Jessica looked at Tom.

‘Yeah, a few years ago Gran was always round her house. Why?’

‘Nothing.’

But it wasn’t nothing. It made Mrs. Foster a hundred times more interesting.

‘Tom?’

‘What?’

‘There was an old tramp hanging around the end of the road earlier. Have you seen him?’

‘No. Tell Mum and Dad.’

‘Tom?’

‘What?’ This time there was a hint of irritation in his voice.

‘Do you know if anybody round here has got a horse?’

‘You’re mental sometimes. I’m gonna get some food.’

Tom hauled himself up and stalked off.

That night Jessica looked out of her bedroom window again. The snow had returned, falling heavier than ever. She peered into the darkness that surrounded Mrs. Foster’s house and wondered what this friend of Gran’s was doing now. She also wondered why she had never known they were friends. She was sure Gran had never mentioned her. It seemed so unlikely: Gran was, had been, kind and cheerful, but Mrs. Foster was…well, she didn’t know really, but she seemed very serious, and a bit frightening like some old people can be.

Her eyes grew tired as she stared. She began to see patterns in the shadows and a couple of times her head nodded.

Then she was awake – shocked – terrified!

The tramp, the fat old bearded man, was standing on the other side of the road looking towards where Mrs. Foster lived. It seemed to Jessica that by the time she was aware of him, he was already turning towards her. She wanted to duck down, but something held her paralysed. He looked straight at her.

His expression was blank, he neither smiled nor scowled. And no sooner had those hard eyes flickered over her, than he had turned back and marched away. Still unable to tear herself away, Jessica watched him go. He walked with great rolling strides that made him seem almost weightless in spite of his bulk. Then, without warning he was gone. He stepped into the darkness around Mrs. Foster’s house and it swallowed him completely.

In a flash Jessica was out of bed. She ran to the cupboard and fetched the ancient Teddy bear that Gran had kept her nighty in. She might be twelve but she needed it now. As she lay in bed hugging the bear, she realised with a sob, that it was her Gran that she needed, now more than ever.

In the morning she made scrambled eggs for her parents and nibbled at some toast.

‘This is very nice,’ said Mum, ‘but you don’t have to you know, you’re on holiday.’

‘I like cooking,’ said Jessica, ‘and I was up anyway – I couldn’t sleep.’ After a pause she finished, ‘I was thinking about Gran, and Christmas.’

‘Oh love, what are we going to do with you?’ said Mum.

There was a bundle of envelopes on the table by the front door. The top one was addressed to ‘Mr. And Mrs. Perkins.’ Flipping through them she saw one for everybody that they knew in the road, including Mrs. Foster; they must be Christmas cards.

‘Mum,’ she called, ‘would you like me to drop these cards off on my way to Alice’s house?’

‘That would be kind,’ Mum called back.

Jessica looked all around as she set out to deliver the cards. The Perkins family lived directly opposite and she had a good look at the snow on the pavement outside their house. There were no signs of any footprints at all. Even though the snow had been falling thick and fast she would have expected something. The fat old man was enormous; he must have left some impression. She posted the card and as she stepped back out she looked at her own footprints: clean, deep, distinct. It was almost enough to make her think she’d been dreaming.

She shuffled the cards so that Mrs. Foster’s was at the bottom of the pile. More time was needed to work up some courage before delivering that one. Her intention was to knock on the door and ask Mrs. Foster about Gran. The truth was that it was only half an intention and half a plan at the moment. She didn’t know whether she’d have the nerve to knock. If she did, she didn’t know whether she’d have the nerve to ask. And if she somehow found the nerve to ask, she hadn’t yet thought of a question.

Finally there was no more time for prevarication and Jessica stood in front of Mrs. Foster’s front door. It was a big door with only a mean little letter box, a fiddly door-knocker, and no sign of a bell. With a deep breath, Jessica reached up. The knocker was so stiff she could hardly move it. Well, there was her answer; the card was going to be posted with no door-knocking. She breathed out, and reached up again with the card. As she did so, the door opened.

‘Ah, Jessica – how are you, my dear?’

‘Mrs. Foster.’ Jessica had stepped back onto the path when the door opened, but she remembered her manners.

‘I’m very well, thank you. My Mum and Dad asked me to give you this card.’

‘Well, how very kind,’ said Mrs. Foster, ‘and I have a little something for you, to go under your tree.’

She turned and walked back down her hall, disappearing through a door at the end. Jessica was confused; Mrs. Foster’s voice was friendly and welcoming, but her face was thin, pinched and strict. It didn’t seem right. In fact, it seemed all wrong. From somewhere within the house she heard mumbling as though Mrs. Foster was talking to somebody. Then the mumbling stopped and Mrs Foster returned. She handed over two packages wrapped in very wrinkly Christmas wrapping paper.

‘There’s one for you, and one for your brother Tom. Be sure not to open them before Christmas.’ At this point she smiled, or rather her eyes narrowed and her mouth stretched. There was an awkward pause as Jessica wondered whether she should, after all, ask her questions, but before she had a chance, Mrs Foster said, ‘Well, we need to talk – you and I. I can’t at the moment because I’ve got company, but we will talk soon. Goodbye, Jessica.’

Without another word, she closed the door leaving Jessica standing open-mouthed in the snow.

Tom was slumped on the settee. On his lap was a folder marked Merchant of Venice Mr. Griggs essays. Next to him was a plate with a sandwich that looked like some bread around a handful of crisps. He was sniggering as he read something on his phone. The television was on.

‘Tom, are you watching this?’ said Jessica. There was no reply, so she pointed the remote and began flicking through the channels. Eventually she arrived back at the channel she had started with. She sighed, threw the remote onto the settee, and went out into the kitchen.

Mum and Dad were out for the evening – Christmas drinks at Dad’s office. Mum had left them a huge chicken casserole. Tom had eaten about two thirds of it already, but Jessica wasn’t hungry. She was unsettled. ‘We need to talk.’ What on earth had Mrs. Foster meant by that? It was about the weirdest thing a grownup had ever said to her, coming out of the blue like that.

With the lights on in the kitchen it looked black outside; the windows mirroring what went on inside. She watched herself mooching around – did a little dance – pulled a face – fired a shot from her finger and blew the smoke off the end. Then she turned the light off and was surprised to see that it was actually quite light outside, with a bright moon shining down onto their white, snow-covered garden.

On a whim, she ran upstairs to her bedroom and looked out into the road. It was magical: the moon and stars above, the snowy street below. Jessica could even see Mrs. Foster’s house clearly. There was something moving. In the driveway beyond the house, something was lurking in the shadows. She pressed her head to the window pane. For a moment she wondered whether to rush off and get Dad’s binoculars, but she was frightened of missing something.

Then, to her horror, the thing emerged from the shadows. It was the fat old man in the long overcoat. He must have been poking about looking for a way in. With his peculiar walk he loped up to the front door and hammered on it with a beefy hand. What happened next was so quick that Jessica could hardly believe her eyes. Mrs. Foster opened the door, the fat man waved his arms about madly, then he seemed to barge in through the door slamming it behind him.

Jessica’s heart pounded. She was so scared she could hardly breathe. She would have to phone Dad so she ran down stairs as fast as she could – only to realise that she had no idea of his work number. She phoned his mobile – it began ringing on the sideboard, and Mum’s phone was lying next to it. The police then! But the idea of phoning the police scared her even more. Tom would have to do it.

‘Tom, phone the police!’ she screamed at him.

‘Why on earth would I do that?’

‘Tom, PLEASE! That horrid old tramp has just barged into Mrs. Foster’s house. He’s probably going to murder her!’

‘God, you sound ridiculous. Of course he isn’t. What is it with you? You’re obsessed with Mrs. Foster and tramps. Oh yes, I suppose the tramp was riding a horse as well.’

Throughout this Tom’s eyes never wavered for a moment from his phone until Jessica shook him by the shoulders.

‘I’m serious, Tom. I really saw it happen. Please!’

‘Oh God, Jess! You’ve made me delete Kathy’s text, are you mad?’

‘Tom, at least come with me for five minutes to knock on her door – just to see that she’s alright.’

‘No Jess, and that’s final! I’m revising.’

Jessica was beside herself. She didn’t know what to do and had definitely stopped thinking clearly. She ran out into the hall, grabbed the front door key, and scrabbling about in the drawer of the hall table, she found Dad’s torch. Then she ran out into the road.

The cold hit her hard. How she wished she had put her coat on. But she was afraid if she went back to get it she would never find the courage to go out again, so she ran down the pavement until she was opposite Mrs. Foster’s house. The lights were out at the front of the house. She shivered. Should she knock straight away? If she did, suppose the horrible tramp answered? Better to take a look through the windows first. She crossed the road and crept round the side of the house. There was a window without a curtain. Carefully, staying as quiet as possible, she lifted the torch and turned it on. There wasn’t much to see; just a bare wooden floor with a thin carpet running along the middle, and a closed door. Easing herself slowly round to the next window, she peered in. There was the other side of the closed door she had seen before, and another door with a bright glow of light coming from underneath it.

Now, feeling faint from fear and the cold, she edged around, slowly, slowly, to find the next window.

‘Jessica?’

Jessica gave a squeal and dropped the torch, which went out.

‘Jessica, what on Earth are you doing? You must be freezing,’ Mrs. Foster pulled off the cardigan she was wearing and threw it around Jessica’s shoulders. ‘Come inside for goodness sake.’

Jessica was whisked through a door and into the warmth of the house. She stood and gaped at Mrs. Foster. Finally, in a tiny scared voice she said, ‘Mrs. Foster, you’re alright. I thought that awful old tramp must have got you.’

Mrs. Foster stared back at Jessica. At first her face wobbled, then it creased quite alarmingly, finally it relaxed into the first really nice expression Jessica had seen her manage and she laughed. She laughed a little at first, and then a lot; the laughter flowed. When the laughing had run its course, she patted Jessica on the head.

‘Oh, Jessica, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. It’s all my fault; I can see how it looks. We should have talked sooner – we really should have talked.’

Jessica felt embarrassed in spite of the reassurance. She was also feeling horribly confused.

‘You said that before – we should talk. What do you mean?’

Mrs. Foster pursed her lips. She walked round Jessica looking her up and down. Then she opened the door with the light shining under it.

‘OK, Nick – I think you need to explain things to her.’

Jessica was led in and there, seated in front of the fire, was the tramp. Only he wasn’t a tramp. On closer inspection he turned out to be cleanly and comfortably dressed in a vast green corduroy suit. Rivers of grey hair were combed back to his shoulders and a huge white beard tumbled over his chest. His hands rested on his round stomach with the fingers linked and he twiddled his thumbs as he regarded her with sparkling eyes.

‘So this is the girl!’

Cream, thunderclouds and barrel-organs; these words popped into Jessica’s head when she heard his voice. Never having heard a barrel-organ, she wasn’t sure why – but it seemed right.

‘Step a bit closer, Jessica,’ he said, ‘the old eyes aren’t so sharp these days – I can only see half way around the world.’ He looked at her seriously, but after a few seconds he burst out laughing and his laughter sounded as though all the people and animals and trees and flowers on Earth were laughing as well.

This was twice in a few minutes that Jessica had been in the firing line of uncontrolled laughter, and it wasn’t how she had expected the evening to turn out. She had been brave – a bit of a hero really.

‘It isn’t polite to laugh at people,’ she said.

‘No, said the man,’ as a calm returned to his face, ‘you’re quite right. So let’s be polite and talk seriously.’

He pulled himself a little more upright in his chair.

‘Do you know who you are?’ he asked.

‘Um, Jessica Waverly?’ said Jessica.

‘Yes, yes, very good. Let me put it another way, do you know who your Grandmother was?’

This was too much. Jessica’s face crumpled up and the tears started.

‘Cry for her, girl – she’s worth it. She was special.’ As these words fell from his lips, he rose from his seat, and lifted his arms. Jessica saw this, but she also saw, or thought she saw a terrifying darkness to either side of him. He looked at her, his arms dropped and he fell back.

‘I’ve scared you now, girl and I didn’t mean too. It isn’t often I do things that I don’t mean. I have a distant cousin whose name is also Nick. He would mean to scare you. He’s a bad one. Do you know what I mean by a distant cousin?’

Jessica shook her head.

‘I mean that he is a long way away from me.’

Jessica giggled through her tears.

‘Jessica, your Grandmother was not a common human. She wasn’t just a good person, she wasn’t just a kind person, she wasn’t just your best friend. Jessica, would it surprise you to discover that I knew your Grandmother for eighty five years?’

Jessica sat down on her bottom.

‘This one,’ he nodded at Mrs. Foster, ‘I have known for ninety three years.’ He let this message sink in for a few seconds before he burst out laughing again, ‘and she was only twenty one when we met.’

At this, Mrs. Foster stepped forwards. ‘Enough!’ she barked, ‘Jessica, I apologise for Nicholas; he is in a funny mood. Your Grandmother was my dear friend. But she was also very special – in ways that are hard to explain – so I’ll just say it.’ To Jessica’s amazement, Mrs. Foster sat down next to her on the floor. ‘Some people have a gift. It’s very rare but they people bring inspiration, opportunity, happiness, and all you have to do is meet them. Over the years people have met your Grandmother and their lives changed. Not a little bit. Their lives were transformed. People who were aiming to settle down and collect stamps – they became princes, they founded empires after meeting your Grandmother. She talked people out of suicide, ended wars, saved sinners. People who were at school with her, people who worked with her; they look back on those years with fondness. They may not even remember her name but it was the best time of their lives.’

She looked at the fat man. ‘He comes round once every year. The few people with your Grandmother’s gift, they give every day of their lives.’ There was a pause, ‘And I was only eighteen when I first met him.’

The fat man stood again, He tugged his waistcoat down over his stomach and walked to the fire where he rocked gently as he rubbed his hands together. His voice came again; quietly this time. ‘We thought it would be your mother. Your mother is an exceptionally kind person. She’s nourishing – that’s the word isn’t it, Vera?’

‘She is nourishing,’ said Mr. Foster, ‘but it isn’t her.’

The fat man turned to face Jessica. ‘You see, Jessica, the magic trickles down through the generations. Sometimes it skips a few offspring – there have been times when it seemed to be gone altogether. But it always reappears, and when it does it settles on somebody—and then…’

Mrs. Foster finished for him: ‘Then that person lives the most wonderful life you can imagine, loved by all they meet, spreading goodness and light just as my friend, your Grandmother, did. It’s like the most natural thing in the world for them.’

‘Because it is,’ said the man.

Jessica had listened quietly and she still didn’t know what to say. Her mind whirled with all the talk and she wanted to ask questions, but what questions? Finally she decided on the easiest and most obvious; also the daftest.

‘Are you Father Christmas?’

‘Well now, there’s a question. I’ve been called many things in my life. A lot of nonsense has been spoken too. They say there’s a man who flies around the world and visits almost every child in a single night. Do you know, there was even a little girl once who called me a tramp?’ His eyes twinkled as he glanced at her. ‘Let me tell you something though, the magic we’ve been speaking about, there’s no doubt now, it came to you.’

‘Me?’ Jessica’s mouth dropped open. Her head whirled.

There was a great deal of talk that Jessica didn’t understand, and at last Mrs. Foster stood up and announced, ‘Jessica has to go home. She’s tired and she’s listened to more than enough for one day, Besides, her parents will be home in half an hour. We don’t want Tom announcing she’s been out all evening.’

‘Her brother fell asleep five minutes after she left the house,’ the fat man said, ‘At the moment he’s lying on the couch with his arms around a cushion. The cat has tried to join him three times but gave up when he referred to it as “Kathy darling” and tried to kiss it. The cat will never trust him again and Tom will never know why.’

Jessica yawned. Mrs. Foster walked to the door and said, ‘Come on now.’

The fat man raised a finger. ‘Just before you go Jessica, I’ve something to show you. Follow me.’

They went out into the corridor, and then through the kitchen to the garden.

‘You thought you saw a horse earlier,’ said the fat man, ‘well, say Hello to Rudolph.’

There, chewing on Mrs. Foster’s hydrangeas, stood a beautiful reindeer in full harness. It lifted its head and snorted imperiously as they approached, its antlers standing high, white in the moonlight.

 

 

It was Christmas day. Mum and Dad were sipping tea, Tom was slumped on the settee. He had woken up very rapidly when he caught sight of his new laptop. Jessica never had told her Dad what she wanted for Christmas, and he had bought her a phone which replaced the broken old hand-me-down one she had inherited from Tom. She loved it. She tore the cellophane from the box, cut the stickers holding it shut, and there it was, all new and hers.

‘Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!’ she shouted, grabbing her parents and smothering them with kisses. She even stopped off to give Tom a kiss on her way back to her pile of presents.

‘Gerroff!’ he whined, but he laughed a bit as well.

‘Wow, that’s smart,’ Tom said. Jessica glanced over to see him flipping through the pages of a leather-bound notepad. Beside him was a piece of old, very wrinkled wrapping paper. Quickly she searched through her presents and found the one from Mrs. Foster. She had thought of little else than Nick and Mrs. Foster in the week since they had met, but somehow she had forgotten the present.

She tore it open. It was a diary, also bound in leather, one page to a day. Then her heart missed a beat. There, tucked into the middle was a note, a single page, and she recognised the handwriting.

Dearest Jess,

I wish you all the happiness of this day. There were times when I wanted so much to tell you everything, and I wish I could be there today to share it with you, but that is not how it should be. I hope you enjoy keeping a diary as much as I did. I started when I was twelve, because that is how old I was the Christmas that I met Nick for the first time and learned the secret.

I have another present for you. In the loft you will find a chest, tucked away at the back. In the chest are all the diaries I kept over the years. I think you will recognise the excitement of the first few entries, but I want you to know that the best days were the days with the family and especially with you.

Listen to Mrs. Foster and to Nick when he is around. They are very wise. Listen to your Mum and Dad as well – sometimes good sensible people know better than wise magical ones.

Enjoy your life Jess. That is all I want for you.

Happy Christmas – Gran.