Christmas Present, a story for the season

CHRISTMAS PRESENT Cate McKay-Haynes

Christmas Present Cate McKay-Haynes Illustrated by Johnny, Libby, Tom and Daisy

Christmas Present

We often get cut off in the top villages when even the tractors can’t get through the snow into town. Sometimes we lose power too and use candles, torches and old oil lamps. We’re used to it and all us kids love it, especially when it means no school.

So long as we have wood for the fire and the pub stays open even the adults don’t mind. This year when the weather darkened the week before Christmas we were ready and by Christmas Eve there was a party mood, everyone up at the pub singing carols, cut off from the world and all in it together. Even Dad was in good spirits and took me up there for crisps and a coke.

We sometimes did that now Mum didn’t really cook. She was brilliant at it and the kitchen used to be my favourite place, all clouds

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of flour and warm spicy smells. Even stinging with with onions, Mum’s eyes were always happy when she was cooking. Chatting, popping a raisin in my mouth or smudging cocoa on my nose, I loved being there with her. But since she lost the baby she sort of lost her smile too and didn’t do anything much. Dad and I tried to cheer her up, mucking about, taking her flowers and hugging her as much as she’d let us. But she thought it meant we didn’t care as much as she did. I did care, even though I never got to see the baby who was going to be my sister. I bet I’d have loved her as much as I love Mum and I’d really wanted a sister too. Dad didn’t mind what it was, he said, he just wanted it to be healthy. But it wasn’t healthy and Mum said it was a cruel world that let a baby be born and never even take a breath. Sometimes I felt like she could hardly breathe herself, afterwards.

We did ask her to come out with us. I got her scarf and boots ready and warm, just in case, but she said she’d rather stop at home.

Mum

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So Dad and I went to the pub and she stayed in by the telly, staring at the fire. I felt sorry for Dad too. He was really funny and my friends always said they wished he was their dad. He made people laugh, he was good at that. He said he knew Mum would get better and maybe we’d have another baby one day. But it’s been ages now and nothing’s changed. It’s like Mum’s gone away, even though I know she’s there at home. I knew she was just sitting and staring in silence. I wished she was in the pub with us, joking and cosy with

Gabby

the snow flying outside like angel wings. That was my Christmas wish, to have my Mum back how she was in the days when she wore sparkly Christmas earrings and winked at Dad under the mistletoe.

But I didn’t tell Dad because he couldn’t make it come true. It would make him worry and look sad. And I needed someone to be happy with me on Christmas Eve.

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The pub door opened and in the tumble of giggling kids there was my best friend Gabby. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘check out those people in the car park.’ My fingers squeaked on the window rubbing a clear space on the foggy glass.

Rod

There were two people standing in the snow talking to the only person in the world I didn’t like. No-one liked Rod because he didn’t like anyone back, and he really, really hated kids. He was angry when he came in.

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‘Can’t understand a bloody word,’ he said, ‘God knows how those two got up here. They get everywhere. Refugees or whatever they call themselves these days. Bloody chancers.’

The donkey

Everyone was looking out at the couple, standing there in the snow, unsure. Behind them, its head hanging low, was a grey donkey, like ours at the farm. Gabby thought it was their pet.

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‘Pet?’ said Rod, ‘No chance. You want to see how that lot treat animals. More likely their dinner!’

‘What lot Rod?’ said Dad. ‘You don’t even know where they’re from.’

‘Yeah, because they can’t talk English, that’s why.’

The landlord was outside now, he spoke a bit of Spanish he said, he’d sort it out. The couple looked dazed. Someone called out to be careful because they seemed dodgy to her but ‘They look knackered,’ said Dad and we all went out into the snow.

You could see they were tired, their eyes were all strain and shadows. And the lady was pregnant. She was massive. I couldn’t see how she was even standing up.

‘For God’s sake,’ someone said, ‘Get them inside’. But the couple hesitated.

‘That lot,’ said Rod, ‘they don’t drink’.

Dad said she didn’t need a drink, she needed a bed.

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He was looking at Bob the landlord, who had a few rooms but he said the pub was full for Christmas. He had family staying too, his mum who was 93 and all the little cousins who’d already hung up their stockings. He couldn’t turf them out, he said, looking uncomfortable.

‘Dad,’ I said, ‘we’ve got baby stuff. Nappies, Mum’s yoga ball thing.

And the new clothes.’

‘We can’t, love,’ said Dad and squeezed my hand, ‘it won’t do your mum any good,’ and for a moment he looked as tired as the strangers.

But then the woman made a noise, a low groaning sound and Dad rolled his eyes.

‘Alright.’ He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and pointed over the field.

It was hard for them, wading in snow up the lane, especially with her wearing that long skirt. She kept stopping and making the

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noise. I knew it meant her baby was coming soon but my Dad always knew what to do. He always made things better. Except when we got to the door he suddenly said, ‘We can’t. Your Mum… we can’t.’ He turned to the man. ‘It’s not fair to her. It’s not fair.

I can’t.’

Dad was almost crying and I held his hand. ‘Let’s take them in the barn, Dad. It’s warm and we can go and explain to Mum and then take them inside.’

Mum’s friend Sarah, who was coming over to see her said she’d go in and talk to her. When she came back she was upset.

‘Was Mum angry?’ I asked.

‘No, love. Not angry. A bit sad, but not angry.’ She looked at the woman who was on all fours. ‘Well, she’s not going anywhere now anyway.’ she said.

The lady was in the straw, and she was making sounds that scared me. Sarah told me to hurry inside and find towels and blanket and get her some water. I ran straight up the stairs. I didn’t go in to see Mum. I didn’t know what to say.

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The Kingsley triplets

Ted and the baby

Herbal remedies

The old Russian lady

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When I came back things had quietened down. Everything was still. The barn was sweet with hay and steamy breath. I always loved it there with the animals and I’d seen loads of calves born but never a baby. His eyes were shining and astonished like theirs, and he nuzzled his mum for milk just like they did. For a moment there was silence, as though the whole world had breathed out.

Then I heard voices and I looked up the track. There was a trail of lights, like stars, coming towards the house. Everyone who’d been in the pub was coming and more. The three boys from East Barn sledged over carrying herbal remedies from their mum. The old Russian lady came with a beautiful blanket and tears running down her powdery cheeks. Nick from the village shop brought chocolate coins and Ted, the boy who can’t talk properly ate too many and kept banging his drum. ‘Shhh’ said his dad, but no one minded.

It was loud and happy but somehow calm too.

By then, the whole village was up at our barn. Not Rod, obviously, who had gone home to email the local MP. ‘He’s not racist,’ said Dad, ‘he hates everyone’. And everyone else was there. Except Mum. I didn’t want to miss anything but I suddenly thought of her, all alone in the house.

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I wondered if she knew what was happening - we’d never had such a crowd there before and she must have heard the noise.

Although these days she seemed not to notice what was going on around her at all. Or maybe she was just avoiding everyone. I wanted to go back and see if she was OK, she’d probably let the fire go out and was just sitting there in the dark.

Thinking back I don’t know where the light came from. At first it was like it was coming from them, the new family. But now I think it was shining out of all of us.

‘I wish Mum was here,’ I said to Dad. And suddenly she was.

I saw her at the back and I could tell she’d been crying.

‘Thought they’d be hungry,’ she said and looked at me.

The baby

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I couldn’t believe it. She’d been making Dad’s favourite shepherds’ pie but I knew it wasn’t chopping onions that had made her cry. Somehow there seemed to be enough food for everyone and hot drinks appeared to keep us warm. The baby was wrapped in the lovely blanket, all embroidered with flowers and hearts and everyone wanted to hold him. His mother caught my mum’s eye and Mum caught her breath. Then Mum held the baby too. ‘Hello little one, you’re welcome here,’ she said. And smiled.

In the morning they were gone. Snow had fallen on snow and we had no idea which way they’d walked.

‘See, on the run, I told you,’ said Rod who was on hold to the police. ‘Serve them right if they freeze to death. Who takes a baby off in this weather? Bet they never left you any money either.’

Bob the landlord

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But they left something else, something better than money.

Mum’s smile stayed and when the year turned again there was another birth. On Christmas Eve Dad and I were in the pub like last year, but this time with all the people we love. This time it was my own Mum letting everyone hold a baby, my own little sister who was still so new we hadn’t given her a name yet. The pub was full again. Well, almost full, because this year Bob left a room spare and put a candle in the window shining out into the dark.

He says it’s a sign of welcome just in case there’s anyone out there in the cold who needs a place to rest. We talked about the family who came last year and wondered where they went, if they had a long journey and where they ended up. Bob said good luck to them, wherever they are now and for a minute we were all quiet.

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Then people asked what we were going to call the baby. We’d thought of her name as soon as we knew she’d be a girl though Mum and Dad said to wait until she was safely here. ‘She’s called Hope,’ said Dad. ‘Of course she is, of course,’ said Bob nodding and raising his glass. ‘To Hope!’ he called and everyone answered ‘To Hope!’.

Someone started playing carols on the old piano and soon we were all singing, especially Mum rocking the baby in time to the music.

It was such a happy sound, our voices carrying warmth out across the frosty hills under the glittering sky.

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Why I wrote this story In 2015 I have seen people do incredible things moved by events we see rolling relentlessly across the news. From nursing Ebola victims in Sierra Leone and helping refugees in Greece to arranging knitting sessions in Norfolk and sharing family recipes from Syria, there is so much generosity of time and spirit.

There are quieter stories too. They’re not headline news but I have admired the courage of friends who never imagined the path to being a family would be so hard, yet have not given up. I love them and hope 2016 brings all they wish for.

This year these things have resonated so I wrote ‘Christmas Present’. A family compelled to make an arduous journey and having to flee for their lives is an old story and there’s no sign of it ending. And the safe birth of a baby lifting spirits and restoring hope, that’s an old story too which has enough truth for most of us.

I have linked the story to two charities, one helping children affected by war in countries around the world, and one supporting parents who have endured the loss of a baby. The children wanted to help too so they made the drawings and my husband put it all together; this is a family effort. If you like the story, I’d love it if you’d give something to one of the charities so here is the link: www.justgiving.com/teams/ChristmasPresent However, there are many demands on us at this time of year, so please don’t feel an obligation to donate anything other than goodwill because above all, this story is a Christmas present. I hope you enjoy reading it and, if you do, please share it freely.

Thanks to my friend Cathy Mack, who cast an encouraging eye over the words.

Most of all, thanks to my children for being my favourite people in the world and also excellent illustrators. And to their dad for making it look smart and still being the fellow I hope to catch under the mistletoe this year.

Love Cate 20

Happy Christmas 2015

Designed & typeset by Fergus Partridge