Rosie and I were four, and Mark was seven. It was a sunny day in late October, and we were all out in the park at London Fields. I can’t remember what Rosie and I were playing—one of our “let’s pretend” games, probably. Anyway, our mums were sitting on a picnic blanket in their coats, and us kids were a short distance away from them but clearly within sight. Mark had pedalled off on his bike to see some friends. Then, suddenly, he came pedalling quickly back, his face bright red and his legs pumping up and down. When he got close, I saw he was trying desperately not to cry.
“Father Christmas’s not real!” he shouted. “It’s all a big fat lie. Stephen Thomas just told me. He says it’s just our dads. He saw his dad put the presents under the Christmas tree last year.”
Message delivered, he pedalled away again, leaving Rosie and me to stare at each other in dumb shock. Father Christmas not real? Could it really be true? By a sort of silent mutual consent, we didn’t discuss it, just traipsed back to our mothers with quiet, miserable faces. We refused to answer when Sylvia asked, “What on earth’s up with you two?”
When Mark pedalled up shortly afterwards in the same sorry state, our mums shook their heads at the unpredictability of children and took us home. But one afternoon, just before Christmas, I was at Rosie’s house, and Mark presented us with proof of what I’d instinctively known was true ever since that day in the park.
“Come and see what I’ve found,” he said, whispering so Sylvia—who was downstairs in the kitchen dealing with the weekly wash—wouldn’t hear.
We followed Mark into Sylvia and Richard’s bedroom, where we found their huge, dark wooden wardrobe standing open. Mark half climbed inside, lifting up an old blanket. “Look,” he said to his sister. “You asked Father Christmas for a My Little Pony, didn’t you? Well, there it is!”
I watched as Rosie lifted the box from beneath the blanket and peered through the plastic at the gloriously maned pony inside. She was smiling at first, happy she was going to get the toy she had asked for.
“If Mum and Dad wrap this up and say it’s from Father Christmas, that’s proof it’s all a lie,” Mark said.
Just then, Sylvia called up to us from downstairs. “Are you kids all right up there? You’re being awfully quiet.”
Mark snatched the My Little Pony toy from his sister’s hands and shoved it back under the blanket. Leaving him to close the wardrobe, Rosie and I trailed out of the bedroom, Rosie sucking her thumb—something she hadn’t done in ages.
It wasn’t Mark’s fault. He’d just been so devastated to find out the truth that he’d needed to share the misery to feel better. And on Christmas morning, when Rosie opened her My Little Pony toy from Father Christmas, she didn’t say anything about anything. But she never did love that horse as much as she’d expected to, and somehow Christmas lost some of its sparkle.
But Olivia and Emily’s sparkle about Christmas and Father Christmas was still fully intact, and I watched as they quietly answered Father Christmas’s questions about what they wanted for Christmas. Noticed the polite way they smiled as they accepted their gifts. They were awed by him—even cynical, too-old-for-her-age Emily.
Jaimie, of course, was beaming, snapping away on his phone while the girls and FC smiled dutifully for him, confident his girls would remember this moment forever.
But then it was time to leave, and I watched any awe Emily and Olivia had felt dissolve as soon as the wrapping paper was ripped off and cast aside, the presents approved of but quickly forgotten.
It was a relief when it was time to get back in the car for the drive back to Ely and I was free to stop smiling my fake smile.
“All right?” Jaimie asked, placing his hand on my knee after the girls had fallen asleep in the back.
I covered his hand with mine. “Mm-hmm.”
“I think they liked it, don’t you?”
“How could they not? It was magical, as billed.”
“The elves were a bit grumpy, though, I thought.”
I assumed he meant the teenagers dressed up in elf outfits with ridiculous fake pointed ears, not the mechanical toy-making elves.
“You would have been grumpy, too, at their age.”
“I’d have been glad to have been earning some cash.”
“It was all fine. The girls didn’t notice any teenage angst. Honestly. They loved every minute of it.” I thought about confiding in him regarding my faux pas with Emily at the polar bear display, then thought better of it. Emily might not be as sound asleep as she appeared to be. Besides, I knew what Jaimie would say. Try not to take it so personally. Hang in there; she’ll come round eventually.
“What time’s everyone arriving tomorrow?” Jaimie asked.
“About twelve.”
Mark, Grace, and Rosie were all arriving the next afternoon—Rosie to stay for a few days, and Mark and Grace en route to Norwich to see her sister again. I was really looking forward to seeing Rosie. I still hadn’t got used to not seeing her two or three times a week like I used to. But Mark and Grace? Not so much. I’d felt unsettled after their last visit. But that had been months ago. Surely things would be easier this time.
“I was thinking of asking Grace if she wants to take a look at my property after lunch. She could come with me when I drop the girls off. Then we could go straight on to Fordham. If that’s all right with you?”
It actually sounded like heaven. With Grace and the girls gone, it would be like the old days round at Mark’s flat—just me, Rosie, and Mark. Though without the sounds of the crowd from the football ground next door.
“Of course that’s fine. It will be good for you to get her opinion.”
“I hope she’ll like what I’ve done.”
“Of course she will. You made a big success of the last place, after all. You know what you’re doing.”
“I do seem to, don’t I? It was always a risk, quitting teaching. But thanks to Grace, it was a considered risk. You have to go for your dreams, don’t you?”
What I really felt like doing was falling asleep like the girls. To fill the distance between Thursford and home with oblivion. Clearly it was not to be. Jaimie wanted to talk, which was fair enough, since he was the driver. But I wished he didn’t want to talk about this. It was depressing. My dream had always been to be a veterinary nurse. In fact, my role at Dalston Vets had pretty much been my dream job. Perhaps it was time to ring round all the local veterinary surgeries again to see if any vacancies had come up.
“Thanks for coming along today,” Jaimie said. “It meant a lot to me. You mean a lot to me. I hope you know that.”
I smiled, shoving aside my miserable thoughts. “Thank you. You mean a lot to me too.”
That evening, Jaimie presented me with an early Christmas gift in a sparkly silver bag.
“Here,” he said. “I got you this.”
“I can’t open this,” I said. “It’s not Christmas yet.”
“I’ve bought you something else for Christmas. This is just a little something extra.”
“You spoil me.”
He shrugged. “You deserve to be spoiled. Go on, open it.”