I knew why Jaimie was doing this, of course. Because he wanted to outdo Harriet. To put all Harriet’s trips to see Father Christmas into the shade, so the only way she could outdo him next year was to fly the girls to Lapland. And I had a sneaking feeling that if she didn’t fly them to Lapland, then Jaimie would do so when his turn came round again. Even though Emily would be ten then and surely sceptical about Father Christmas at that age, if she wasn’t now.
I felt a bit like an alien from another planet when we reached Thursford. An alien who’d been suddenly sucked up into a giant, shaken-up snow globe. I hadn’t been anywhere like this since I was Emily’s age. No, I had never been anywhere like this. Because places like this hadn’t even existed when I was a kid.
If they had, I had no doubt I’d have been as excited as Olivia obviously was, standing there with her mittened hands clenched into fists, open mouthed at all the amazing illuminated creatures and palm trees as far as she could see. This part of the Thursford experience was billed as an “Enchanted Journey of Light,” and it was certainly living up to its name.
Maybe I hadn’t been anywhere like this before. Maybe I didn’t have much experience with children. But I had been a child once. I had experienced the magic and anticipation of Christmas. And Thursford was magic and anticipation by the dumper truckload. All I had to do was dive in.
“Olivia,” I said, pointing. “Look at that giraffe! Shall we go and see it?”
She took off at a run, and I laughed, running after her. But by the time I reached the giraffe, she was already running on towards a lion. “Wait for me!” I cried, laughing.
“Don’t go off on your own, Olivia,” Jaimie called after us. “We need to keep together.”
When I joined the lion, Olivia was still there. She pointed. “Look, Beth, the mummy lion’s got a baby,” she told me.
I crouched down next to her. “So she has. Isn’t it adorable? D’you think it’s a boy or a girl?”
“A girl. She’s called . . . Lexie.”
“Is she? What a lovely name.”
As we gazed at Lexie together, somehow Olivia’s hand crept up into mine, giving me a start. It was the first time she had ever held my hand because she wanted to. Without being forced to because we were crossing a road.
Hardly daring to believe it, I froze, the lion cub blurring in front of my eyes, my entire attention focussed on not blowing the precious moment by punching the air or jumping up and down with joy. Any hint of crazy, over-the-top hand-clinger behaviour was likely to cause Olivia to bolt. And having her willingly hold my hand was such a bloody hard-won achievement that I wanted it to last forever.
It didn’t, of course. Olivia dropped my hand and took off as soon as her fascination with the lion cub came to an abrupt end. But as I followed her to join Emily and Jaimie, it didn’t matter. Olivia had held my hand once, so she would do it again.
All I had to do now was win over her sister.
The joy stayed with me right the way through the Enchanted Journey of Light, and on inside to the automated displays on either side of the pathway that wove through the Magical Journey leading to Father Christmas’s grotto.
There were snowmen and giant teddy bears, elves with banging hammers busy making toys for Santa. The famous dancing penguins. Just as she had done outside, Olivia kept running on ahead to see what was next, and Jaimie kept calling her back to point out some unnoticed detail, keen to make the experience last.
Emily made slower progress, examining each display carefully. It was a perfect opportunity to spend some quality time with her.
I went over to join her in front of a display of animated polar bears. Her long dark hair was lying silkily against her red coat, her dark eyes taking everything in. She really was the most beautiful child. Or she would be if only she smiled more often. I so wanted to connect with her, to find a way to stop her viewing me as some kind of threat. I just needed to find some common link, that was all. Animals were the obvious answer.
“The polar bears are so sweet, aren’t they?” I said.
Emily nodded but didn’t answer.
I tried again. “Look, that one’s carrying a basket. I wonder what she’s got in it?”
“If it were real life, she wouldn’t have a basket,” Emily said.
She wasn’t wrong. “That’s true,” I said. Then, desperate to keep the conversation going: “What d’you think a polar bear would put in a basket if it did have one?”
The look Emily gave me could only be described as pitying. I wasn’t at all surprised when she moved on to the next display without answering, leaving me there on my own, feeling utterly foolish and despondent. Good one, Beth. How had I expected her to reply to such a ridiculous question? I think a polar bear would put seal guts in their basket, Beth.
And just like that, much of the happiness and confidence from Olivia holding my hand evaporated. I joined Emily at the next display anyway, telling myself sternly that today was about the girls, not me. That there would be other times to connect with Emily, once she’d got over thinking I was a prize idiot who speculated about the contents of a fictional polar bear’s basket.
Maybe all my attempts at positive thinking paid off, because suddenly Emily said, “Fish pie.”
I looked at her, ridiculously pleased she had spoken but not having the faintest idea what she was on about. “Fish pie?”
“I think the polar bear would have fish pie in her basket.”
I smiled, feeling as if I’d won the lottery. “Excellent suggestion.”
As you’d expect, there were children everywhere in the Magical Journey. Children older than Olivia and Emily, as well as younger children too. All gazing in wonderment at the displays. Or gaping boggle eyed from their buggies or their fathers’ arms or charging along in their all-in-one zip-up suits to stop and point at something. “Mumma, look!”
Thursford was definitely the very last place on earth for a person with a rampaging biological clock.
I might not have found being a sort-of stepmother easy, but that didn’t mean I’d be a bad mother. If I had a baby, we’d learn together, I knew we would. There wouldn’t be anyone else’s shoes to fill except my own, for one thing. No ghost of Harriet.
But I couldn’t have a baby by myself, could I? Jaimie had promised we would revisit the subject of having children in six months’ time. By then I would be thirty-six. And that was old to start thinking of having a baby. My chances of conceiving would be even slimmer than they were now.
Just then my hungry gaze was caught by a particularly gorgeous baby girl with a mop of bright red hair. She was staring at me over her father’s shoulder. When I waved to her, she gurgled, bashing her father with the toy she was holding, and her dad looked round to see what had caught her attention. I looked away quickly, moving on, remembering Mark’s wedding, when Rosie had chided me for devouring the children.
Finally, we reached the end of the displays, and it was time to meet Father Christmas. A teenage boy who was dressed as an elf ushered us through a doorway, and there he was in his glittering grotto, complete with a long white beard, a red suit, and a bulging sack of presents at his side.
The costume department had made an effort, I’d give it that. The beard looked real, not like some of the cotton wool held on by elastic confections you sometimes saw. But I still didn’t like him much. Not that it was anything personal. I’d just associated Father Christmas with disappointment since I was four years old, that was all. And Mark was entirely to blame.