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Christmas Eve was just a week away, and already the children of the little market town of Clarnthorpe were excitedly anticipating Santa's arrival, all speculating on what possible goodies he would have in his sack for them on that wonderful night.
Little Lucy Evans, 8 years old and still deeply missing her dad, who had been killed in military action whilst serving in Afghanistan at the beginning of the year, was one of those children who could barely wait for Christmas Eve to come. Like most of the kids down her road, she still believed in Father Christmas, and it was an annual treat in her household to wake up early on Christmas morning to find all her presents at the foot of her bed which dear old Santa Claus had left for her in the night while she was fast asleep. Yes, Lucy loved Christmas, but of course this year the holiday would be tinged with sadness, for it would be the first Christmas that she and her mummy would be spending without dad.
Trying not to get too upset again at the thought of her deceased father, Lucy forced herself to concentrate on the brightly decorated market around which she was strolling with her mother. Every stall was festooned with glinting tinsel and multi-coloured decorations and various Christmas cards, and the large Christmas tree in the middle of the market floor, its branches adorned with fairy lights, enhanced the general brightness of the yuletide atmosphere wonderfully. And to top it all, over the loud speaker Slade's evergreen classic 'Merry Christmas Everybody' boomed out.
"Hey, it's snowing outside," announced a plump middle-aged man, his overcoat dotted with flecks of white, as he came in through the market entrance and passed Lucy and her mother.
"Is it really?" Lucy's mother (whose name was Janice) said. "Mind you, it has been cold enough for snow, hasn't it?"
"Sure has," the man replied over his shoulder, brushing the flecks of snow from his coat with a gloved hand. "We might have a white Christmas, you never know."
"Yes," Janice agreed with a nod, "we might."
"Hope we do, Mum," her daughter said, her pretty blue eyes gleaming approvingly at the thought. "It'll give it the atmosphere."
Janice smiled down affectionately at her daughter and gently patted her on the head. "Yes, it will, love." Janice couldn't remember the last time they'd had a white Christmas in Britain. America always seemed to have one, though - if all those seasonal movies and shows, with their seemingly perpetual snowy landscapes, were anything to go by.
On the loudspeaker, Slade had now finished, to be followed by another seasonal evergreen: 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day' by Wizzard. Over by the butcher's stall, an apron-clad young man was vocally promoting the latest special offers on the Christmas turkeys. At the toy stall, an Asian assistant was putting out on display the latest Playstation 3 game releases. As mother and daughter threaded their way through the throng of Christmas shoppers, Janice suddenly spotted something that immediately drew her interest.
"Hey," she said, "I haven't seen that before."
Lucy looked up at mother quizzically. "What?"
Janice nodded in the direction she'd meant. "That stall over there. Must be a new one."
Lucy followed her mother's gaze, then gave a nod and said, "Oh, yeah, I see it."
Janice too her daughter's mittened hand. "Come on. Let's go over and have a look."
The stall was situated at the very end of the market hall, just opposite the EXIT doors. To judge by all the various curiosities on display - ornaments, pictures, plates, small tin boxes and various other items - it looked to Janice to be some kind of mini antique shop. The stall was run by an old woman, who looked to be in her late sixties. Her grey hair was tied back in a bun, her scrawny body was wrapped in a thick green shawl, and her hands were liver-spotted. As Janice and Lucy approached her stall, the woman's thin, bloodless lips spread in a smile of greeting.
"Well, good afternoon," she said to Janice, in a voice that was slightly croaky. Then she lowered her watery-brown eyes to Lucy, adding: "And hello to you too, little lady. My, you look nice and warm there, all wrapped up in your winter woolies."
Lucy just smiled back up at the woman without making any comment.
"Hi," Janice said to the woman, reciprocating her smile. She cast her eyes all over the stall's stock. "Nice selection of stuff you have here."
The woman nodded, still wearing her amiable smile. "I like to think so. A lot of it is imported from abroad, you know. Some of it is quite rare too."
"Really?" Janice's eyebrows arched, her curiosity piqued. Taking another moment to scan her eyes over the various items, she picked up a rather ornate snuff box, raised it closer to her face for further inspection, and commented, "I like this."
"Yes, it's quite nice, isn't it?" the woman said. "It's from the late Victorian era."
Janice gently put the snuff box back down as her eyes caught sight of another, equally appealing item, this time a rather quaint little porcelain ballerina. Again, she raised it closer to her eyes to inspect it. "I love this too," she said.
The woman smiled. "I agree. It's one of my own personal favourites too. Reminds me of my granddaughter, who loves ballet and has actually won a prize for her dancing. I'm very proud of her."
"I'll bet you are," Janice said, carefully replacing the ballerina on its stand. At her side, little Lucy just watched her mother mutely. Unlike her mother, she'd always found places selling old-fashioned ornaments a bit boring. By contrast, like most children of her age, she loved the toy stall, and could browse through that for hours. She hoped her mother would stop by the toy stall in here for a few minutes on the way home, even though she hadn't much money today to buy her daughter anything she might desire. Times were hard financially, and as her mother had repeatedly drummed into her these past few weeks, she would have to wait until Christmas Eve, and Santa's arrival with all this goodies, for any really expensive presents.
Janice was just about to say goodbye to the woman and walk away from the stall when her eyes caught sight of another item, which was standing just behind an old stuffed Teddy bear. The red-and-white body of this third object that had captured her fancy instantly told her it was: a Santa Claus figurine. About a foot tall, with a traditionally jolly face and holding out an opened sack in his two gloved hands, the Father Christmas figure did not look quite as old and faded as most of the other items on the stall, its well-painted body making it look almost brand new. It could have even come straight out of the latest Christmas range of the big department stores. In fact, the figurine seemed to stand out from all the surrounding items, its apparent newness giving it a rather incongruous aspect against the general antiquity of all the rest.
"Hey," Janice enthused, reaching for the Santa figure, "I like this." She picked it up.
The old woman smiled. "You're not the first to have said that, dear. He always draws the customers' eyes." Then she slowly shook her head, as if finding something about the figurine that she just couldn't understand. "I'm surprised that nobody has snapped him up yet, though."
Janice looked up at the woman, a decisive glint in her eye. "Well, I think all that's about to change.” Then she flicked her gaze back to the Santa figurine, which she held appraisingly in her hands. "I love him. I'll take him."
The old woman's wizened face lit up with delight. "Really?"
Janice nodded. "How much?"
"Three pounds to you, dear."
"Fine. I can just about manage that." She put the Santa figurine down while she rummaged in her handbag for her purse. Beside her, daughter Lucy continued to remain impassive to the quaint delights of the antique stall, just watching her mother mutely as she handed the woman three one pound coins. It was so typical of her mother to set her heart on something, especially an ornament. And if it happened to be a Christmas ornament, well, her mother just HAD to have it. To be honest, Lucy didn't really see the point of her mother buying any more Christmas ornaments, for the house was full enough already with all kinds of decorations, especially snow globes and models of Santa. The place was becoming like a grotto and junk shop all rolled into one, when you included all her other ornaments too. Poor Dad used to say to her, "Christ, you could open a bloody ornament shop in here, with all this stuff." And Lucy certainly seconded her deceased father's sentiments, though she never really made her thoughts as clear to her mother as her father had.
"Oh, by the way, I should tell you something," the woman said as she took Janice's money and started to wrap up the ornament.
"What?"
"Well, there's a little story attached to this figurine."
Janice's eyebrows arched with interest. "Oh yes?"
"Mm," the woman said with a nod. "It's supposed to have . . . well, certain magical properties."
Janice's jaw dropped in surprise. "Really? What kind of 'magical properties'?"
"Well, according to the dealer I bought it off, it's supposed to grant wishes on Christmas Eve." She held the Santa nearer to Janice and pointed at some gold lettering engraved on the side of its square black base. "See this verse here?"
"Yes," Janice nodded, craning her neck forward for a closer look.
"Well, just read what it has to say, and you'll get some idea of what I'm talking about."
Janice mentally read the verse. Although comprised of only a few lines, somehow the words of that verse touched and captured Janice's imagination quite sharply. She had always been fascinated by objects with a story around them.
The verse read:
ON CHRISMAS EVE, IF YOU'RE FEELING BLUE
JUST MAKE A WISH
AND YOUR DREAMS WILL COME TRUE
Janice smiled approvingly. "That's a nice little verse."
"It is indeed," the woman agreed, also smiling.
Then a kind of faraway, contemplative look appeared in Janice's eyes as she said, "You know, I might just do that: make a little wish, just before I go to bed on Christmas Eve."
"You do that, dear," the woman said. She finished wrapping the Santa up in brown paper, sellotaped it, but before she handed it to Janice, she paused for a moment and raised her forefinger so that it pointed towards the ceiling, like the horror actor Peter Cushing would often do in his films when he had an important point to make. "Oh, and a word of warning."
Janice looked at the woman curiously. "What?"
"If you are definitely going to make a wish, make sure you keep it to yourself until the wish actually comes true."
Janice frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, from what I've been told, if you reveal your wish to anybody - even to your closest relative - it's unlucky. The wish may not even come true."
"Oh, right," Janice said, slowly nodding her head. The woman's cautionary advice soured somewhat Janice's hitherto dreamy delight at buying a Santa statue with apparent magical powers to grant wishes. This led her to wonder if this figurine was really all it was cracked up to be. Even so, she was still going to go ahead and buy it anyway. She liked it. Magical powers or not, it would look great alongside all her other Christmas ornaments.
The woman immediately noticed Janice's expression and, getting the misconception that she wasn't going to buy after all, hastened to assure her. "Oh, don't worry, dear. You can tell everybody what you wished for after the wish has come true. It's perfectly okay to do that then. Why, you can tell the whole world if you want." She then gave a short laugh.
On hearing this, Janice's face brightened again as she took the figurine from the woman. "Oh, well, that's all right then. I'll make sure I remember that when the time comes for me to make my wish.
The woman just smiled at Janice. "Happy Christmas then, dear." Her eyes flicked down to Lucy. "And to you too, little lady."
Lucy managed a smile at the woman. "Happy Christmas."
"Yes, have a good one," Janice said, slipping her purchase into her bag before turning round, taking her daughter's hand and heading back through the bustling shoppers.
As she stopped by the toy stall, in compliance with her daughter's request to do so before they headed back home, she reflected again on what the old woman had said about the apparently golden rule governing wishing on the Santa figurine: Don’t reveal your wish to anybody . . . It’s unlucky . . . Wait until the wish comes true . . .
She shook her head slightly at the thought. Some of these antique ornaments could carry some strange stories about them.
Some very strange stories indeed.
Although Christmas Eve did not actually see any snowfall, it was still a bitterly cold night, an icy Arctic wind blowing through the frost-glistening streets of Clarnthorpe and forcing many people to stay indoors by their cosy, warm fires. And that is exactly what Janice and her daughter Lucy were doing themselves.
On the television screen in front of them, Holly Willoughby was just presenting a spot in her Christmas Special linking up servicemen in Afghanistan with their loved ones in the UK. The instant this flashed on the screen, little Lucy, seated by her mother on the sofa, pulled a sad, disapproving face.
“Mummy,” she said, “can we switch over to another channel, watch something a bit more cheerful? It’s depressing, this. Makes me think of poor Dad.”
Janice wrapped a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her a gentle smile. “I know what you mean, Babe. Makes me feel sad too. Yes, of course we’ll switch over.” She picked up the remote control and flicked through the channels. Lucy stopped her at the Disney Channel, where a Christmas movie was about to start, all about Santa and his adventures in the North Pole.
And just as the clips of the military servicemen in Afghanistan had pricked Lucy’s memory about her deceased father, so the image of Santa Claus in this movie made Janice think of the Santa figurine she’s bought from the market, and its purported ability to grant wishes. And the more Janice thought about it, the more the desire grew in her to actually put the figurine to the test, make a wish before she went to bed, just after they’d watched midnight mass on TV.
Janice glanced over at the Santa figurine, which she’s placed on top of the ornament cabinet alongside all her other Christmas items, and smiled to herself. Yes, she thought, I shall definitely be making a Christmas wish later on. And she knew already what she was going to wish for.
She just hoped that her daughter, if she made a wish too - and Janice was sure that she would – would not wish for the same thing as herself, for that would be a wish wasted.
It was 2.30 a.m.
Early Christmas morning, and Lucy lay fast asleep in her warm, cosy bed. She’d now made her secret wish, as she’d placed her hand on the Santa figurine, closed her eyes and concentrated, with all her might, on the thing she wanted for Christmas more than anything else in the world. Her mother had done the same. In accordance with the stall owner’s warning not to divulge their wishes, they had then just retired to their respective bedrooms, both inwardly hoping that the coming Christmas Day would bring them just that extra little bit of happiness after the horrendous year they’d had with tragically losing a dear father and loving husband.
Lucy was in such a deep sleep that she was totally oblivious to what was now starting to happen in her bedroom: the door handle was slowly turning, the door then gently – oh so gently – pushed open. And white-bearded, red-clad figure crept into the room.
Santa had arrived.
Pausing at the foot of the sleeping girl’s bed, he reached into his sack for something: a present so bulky that he had to use his two brown-gloved hands to lift it out.
Parcel now cradled against his chest, he gently placed it down at the foot of Lucy’s bed.
Job done, Santa lifted up his sack, swung it back over his shoulder, and turned to leave the room, the silver bell at the end of his hat jangling softly as he went. But just before he exited out the door, he stopped for a moment, threw one final affectionate look over his shoulder at the peacefully sleeping girl, and uttered a departing message that seemed to echo softly through the whole house:
“Merry Christmas.”
Christmas morning dawned bright and unseasonably sunny. Although there was still a touch of frost on the ground, it didn’t seem quite as cold as it had been yesterday.
Janice was roused from a deep sleep around 9.00 a.m. by her excited daughter, as the girl ran into her room and shouted, “Mummy, Mummy, Santa’s been!”
Janice slowly raised her head from the pillow, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and, in a voice still not fully awake, mumbled, “Er . . . what? What you saying, Lucy?”
Her daughter flopped down on the edge of her bed and, eyes bright with joy, repeated, “Santa Claus. He’s been in the night, and he’s left me the present that I wanted so much.”
The mention of Santa Claus seemed to instantly jolt Janice fully awake. Her face became a mask of utter surprise and disbelief. “What?” she said. “You’ve . . . You’ve got to be joking.”
Lucy shook her head vigorously. Her satisfied smile continued to illuminate her whole face. “No, no, I’m not. I’m serious. I’m telling you, he’s been while I was asleep, and he’s left me . . . well, the best Christmas present that any girl could wish for.”
Still visibly stunned by what her daughter was telling her, Janice replied, in a low, quavery voice, “And what was that?”
“The Playstation 3 console I wanted. You know, the one you said you couldn’t afford to buy me this year. That was what I wished for last night when I touched the Santa, and now my wish has come true.” Then she clapped her hands together and rubbed them in a gesture of utter delight. “Wow, Mummy, I can’t believe it! It’s amazing. I’m really made up.” Then she cast her eyes upwards, as if to God, and said, “Thank you, Santa. Thank you so, so much.”
Although Janice was pleased to see her daughter so happy, and afforded her a brief smile to the effect, she was still unable to quite believe all this. It was . . . well, impossible. Just impossible.
“Er, Lucy,” she began, “I . . . I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . . well, I don’t think that was actually Santa who visited you last night and left you that present.”
Lucy’s face fell in surprise. “What? But it must have been. He comes every year and always leave me a present, without fail. You know that.”
“Yes, yes, I do, love. But . . .” She sighed heavily, still finding it somewhat difficult to find the right words to say to her daughter, and shook her head. Should she be honest with the girl and tell her the plain, unvarnished truth that it wasn’t really Santa who came every year to leave presents at the foot of her bed, but really her father secretly dressed up in a Father Christmas outfit which, unbeknownst to Lucy, he’d had hidden away in his wardrobe? Playing the part of the paternal Santa had been an annual ritual in their household, ever since Lucy had started walking. Like most children, Lucy had always been fascinated by Santa Claus – wanted to believe there really was a Santa Claus – and so her parents were only too happy to pander to their daughter’s wishes and fancies, just to keep her happy and inject a little magic into her childhood. Thus, year after year, Christmas had been a constant delight to Lucy, with her father surreptitiously creeping into her bedroom in the early hours of Christmas morning, while she was fast asleep, and leaving her her most wanted present.
Sadly, with her father’s tragic passing, that ritual had all now come to an end this year . . . or so Janice had thought. Because if her husband really had returned from the grave to give their daughter her customary Christmas present . . .
Lucy’s elated smile had now faded, and she was staring at her mother hard. “Mummy, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Janice snapped back from her deep cogitation and looked at her daughter. “Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
Then Lucy leaned closer to her mother and said, in a pressing, interrogative tone, “It WAS Santa who left me that present, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, yes, of course it was, love. It was Santa all right.”
“Then why did you say – “
Janice held up a hand to stay Lucy’s words as she said, “Oh, take no notice of me. I was still only half asleep when you woke me up. I was still a little dozy, that’s all. So, yes, as I say, it really was Santa. You know he never forgets you at Christmas.” She smiled reassuringly at her daughter and gently touched her hand.
Lucy’s face lightened up again and she reciprocated her mother’s smile. “Good, that’s what I like to hear.” She leaned further on the bed and planted a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mum.”
“Merry Christmas, darling.”
Lucy slid off the bed and retraced her steps towards the bedroom door. Then she stopped for a moment, as if something had suddenly occurred to her, and turned around to look at her mother. “Oh, by the way, Mum. What exactly did you wish for last night when you touched the Santa?” Then she remembered the old stall holder’s warning not to prematurely divulge wishes, and clamped a hand to her mouth. “Oops, sorry, Mum.”
Janice smiled understandingly at her daughter. “It’s okay, Lucy.”
“Anyway, whatever it was you did wish for, I hope it comes true for you.”
“Thanks, love. I hope so too.”
Lucy left the room to return to occupying herself with her shiny new present.
Janice was actually going to tell Lucy exactly what it was that she had wished for, because . . . well, it looked as if the wish really HAD come true. That is, if the amazing thing that Lucy had just related was anything to go by. However, after some careful deliberation, Janice then doubted the wisdom of telling her daughter her wish for fear of . . . well, scaring her. So she decided to just allow Lucy to continue to believe the harmless childhood dream that Santa Claus – THE Santa Claus from the North Pole – really had left her the present.
So what HAD Janice wished for? Well, when she’d gently placed her hand on that Santa figurine last night and made her wish, there was only one thing that she desired most of all: that her dear, departed husband – who had been so suddenly and cruelly taken away from her by an exploding mine whilst serving his country – could come back. Yes, come back, even if it was just for this Christmas. She had always believed in an afterlife, so this belief gave much weight to her wish.
But the sad thing about it all was, even though it seemed he really had come back, he had never actually appeared to Janice herself, but had simply decided to stick to his traditional Christmas Eve routine of quietly entering his daughter’s bedroom and leaving a present for her. However, as much as Janice was disappointed that her husband’s spirit hadn’t extended its Christmas greetings to her, she was still thankful that at least her daughter had received the present she had been wanting for weeks, but which her mother just couldn’t afford to buy her in these times of austerity. In a way, though, the two Christmas wishes HAD been granted, for Janice’s had come back from the dead, just for one last Christmas, and Lucy had been gifted her Playstation 3. This was certainly going to be a Christmas they would talk about for many, many years to come.
As Janice relaxed her head back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling with a contented, faraway smile etched on her face, one thought ran through her mind, a thought that was so emotionally heartfelt that it brought tears to her eyes: Thank you coming back to us for one last Christmas, Mark.
Thank you . . .
Once Christmas was over, and all the preparation was well under way for the New Year sales, Janice and her daughter decided to pay another visit to the market stall where Janice had bought the Santa figurine. As well as looking for any bargains, Janice went with the intention of thanking the old woman on the antique stall for selling her an item which had done so much – by virtue of its wonderful arcane powers – to brighten up their Christmas, even if the circumstances in which the yuletide joy had occurred had been a little . . . well, out of the ordinary. She couldn’t wait to tell the woman how right she’d been when she’d told Janice that the Santa figurine really did have magical properties, that it really could make wishes come true at Christmas time.
“I bet she’ll be made up when you tell her,” Lucy said, beaming up at her mother as she walked beside her, hand in hand.
“Bet she will,” Janice replied, smiling back down at her daughter, who’d had an absolutely wonderful Playstation-dominated Christmas, almost to the exclusion of everything else.
As they approached the very end of the market, where the old woman’s stall was situated, Janice suddenly stopped in her tracks. Her mouth dropped open in disbelief as she noticed something.
“What’s up, Mummy?” her daughter asked, looking up bemusedly at her mother.
“The stall,” Janice said. “It’s all boarded up.”
“What?” Lucy followed her mother’s disbelieving gaze. “Oh yes, so it is.”
Janice slowly walked closer to the stall. Somehow, she was getting the odd impression that the stall had been boarded up for quite some time. In fact, it seemed to be the only stall in the whole market that was boarded up, all the rest open for business as usual.
The sudden loud masculine voice from behind almost made Janice jump out of her skin. “You all right there, love? You look a bit lost.”
Janice turned round and was confronted by a burly, shaven-headed security guard. “Oh, er, hi,” she said. Then she nodded to the boarded-up stall. “What happened to the antique stall that used to be here?”
“Antique stall?” the man frowned bemusedly.
“You know, the one run by that little old lady.”
Then recognition broke out across the man’s face. “Oh, yeah, I know the one you mean. The antique stall, the one run by old Mrs Fletcher.”
“Yes,” Janice said, “that’s the one, although I didn’t get the woman’s name. We were only here just before Christmas and bought an ornament from the lady. What happened to her? Did she decide to pack in the business and retire, or what?”
The security guard’s face seemed to cloud over with a rather odd expression. There was a few moments’ silence before he finally spoke. “Er, you say you bought something here, from Mrs Fletcher?”
Janice nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“But you couldn’t have.”
Janice looked at the man in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Well, that stall has been closed now for just over a year, ever since . . .” He swallowed hard. “Well, ever since old Mrs Fletcher died.”
Janice’s jaw dropped open in utter disbelief. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“Oh but I am,” the security guard said grimly. “So you see, you couldn’t possibly have spoken to Mrs Fletcher, for how can you speak to somebody who’s been dead for over a year?”
“May I ask how she died?” Janice said, wondering if all this was just some sort of weird dream.
“Well, she . . . she killed herself.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.” Janice slowly shook her head. “What made her do that?”
“Well, apparently, she became utterly heartbroken over the death of her only son. She absolutely worshipped him, by all accounts. Lost the will to live. Just couldn’t go on without him anymore. She hung herself.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful,” Janice said. “How did her son die?”
“Well, he was a soldier. He was on a military reconnaissance mission in Afghanistan when he was killed by enemy fire.”
With that, Janice’s shocked face went almost as white as Christmas snow, as did her daughter’s.
