A FORTUNATE MISTAKE
I grew up in a single-parent householdwith just Mum and Grandma. Dad wasnt around, and, from as early as nursery, I felt what it meant to miss him. In primary school, those feelings only grew. I remember watching my classmates proudly holding hands with their tall, strong fathers, playing football, riding bikes, tinkering with cars. The worst moments were when a dad scooped up his daughter or son, kissed them, and they both laughed and laughed… It all looked so marvellously happy from the outside.
My own father, well, Id only ever seen him in a single photographsmiling just like those other dads, but not at me.
Mum always said he was an explorer, living somewhere far away in the chilly Northso remote, she said, he couldnt even come back. Hed gone to work, but managed to send birthday gifts regularly, at least.
By the time I was in Year 3, the bitter truth hit homethere was no heroic explorer father, and never had been. I overheard Mum telling Grandma she couldnt keep pretending, couldnt keep giving me presents in Dads nameespecially not for someone whod abandoned us. Although he was well-off, he never once phoned me, never sent birthday or Christmas wishes. Mum said, Matthew loves holidays He feels supported then, even if its only from a distant, magical father.
So, just before my birthday, I told them I didnt want any more presents from Dad for my favourite celebrations. Just bake my favourite cakeAngel Delightand thats all I need.
Our life was modest, living on Mums and Grandmas small salaries. So, when I started university, I took weekend jobs as a porter at Kings Cross station and in local shops.
One day, my neighbour Steve suggested I take over his Christmas rounds as Father Christmas in family homes and nurseries. I turned down the nurseriesit seemed too hard to act in full plays, especially with a partner playing the Snow Maiden! But solo visits to families sounded manageable, and I agreed.
Steve handed over his notebook filled with poems, riddles, addressesand before long, I learned the simple repertoire. It was easier than passing my physics exams! Still, I was nervous, worried Id embarrass myself, but my first try was a surprising success.
After visiting all the families on my list, I came home exhausted but proud I hadnt made a fool of myself. Counting my earnings, I nearly danced with joy. In just one festive season, Id made more than half a year lugging boxes around on weekends. Ever since, I spent winters playing Father Christmas, and summers joining student construction crews.
While I was at university, my personal life hardly took offstudying and odd jobs kept me busy. Of course, there were girls, but nothing serious or close to settling down.
I told myself, Once I graduate, land a good job, get a proper salary, sort my house out then Ill think about a family.
After finishing uni and working as a junior engineer, I started dreaming of buying a used car. Our finances were comfortable but still too tight for a vehicle, so I decided to take on Father Christmas work once again.
Mum pulled my costume out of storage, spruced it up with extra glitter, and the whole thing sparkled. She even brushed out the fluffy white beard, which I really likedit disguised my face perfectly. I added thick eyebrows and, looking in the mirror, felt confident. Mum sighed suddenly and said quietly, Its time for you to have your own children, Matthew, not just entertain everyone elses. I waved her off. Ill get round to it! Wish me luck, Mumsee you soon! Kissing her cheek, I left for another round of festive work.
A week before Christmas, I placed an ad in the local paper, and fifteen bookings rolled in.
After finishing six visits, I checked my next address: 6 Orchard Close, Flat 19. I hopped off the bus and made my way. Orchard Close sits near the edge of town, not well-lit, but I didnt have much trouble finding number six. Up to the second floor, I rang the bell.
A small boy of about five or six opened the door.
In a magical woodland, I live in a little cottage I began my rehearsed greeting.
But the boy interrupted, We didnt invite Father Christmas!
Oh, well, I visit good children whether they invite me or not! I replied quickly, even as nerves made me fumble. Are Mum or Dad home?
No. Mums at next door doing an injection for Grandma Edithshell be back soon.
Whats your name? I asked.
Matthew.
I blinkedwhat a coincidence! But I remembered not to break character, so I didnt let on. After all, Im Father Christmas!
Matthew, wheres your Christmas tree?
In my room, he said, taking my hand and leading me.
The flat was just as simply furnished as ours had been. On a small table near his bed, instead of a traditional tree, sat only a spruce branch in a large jar, decorated with little toys and colourful lights. Beside it were two photographs, side by sideone of a man, one of a woman.
Peering closer, I froze. The man in the photowas me!
But how could that be? I studied it again. Yes, it was my old university picture, there in the left frame. In the right framea woman, Sarah Turnbull. Wed met years ago, on a summer building site as student volunteers. Her photo was no longer the student one: the beautiful woman gazing back at me with soft but sad eyes looked just like the cheerful Sarah Id known.
Whos this? I heard myself ask, voice trembling from nerves.
Thats Mum, he answered.
Your mum? I breathed.
My mum!
Is her name Sarah? The words slipped out.
Wow! You guessed it! So you really are Father Christmas? I didnt think he was real!
And who’s this? I pointed at my own face, the realisation dawning.
Thats Dad! Hes an explorer, you know. He lives on a huge iceberg! Mum says he left ages ago, when I was really little, so Ive never seen himcant even remember him. But he always sends presents for my birthday and Christmas. Ill find his present under my pillow this Christmas morning. Father Christmas always hides them there!
A wave of shock hit me, and it was as if Id stepped right back into my own childhood, believing in a made-up explorer dad. Did all mums send their useless fathers to the North, inventing fanciful tales? I was one of those fathers.
It was gutting, painfulas if fate had struck me deep inside. I remembered my short, passionate romance with Sarah…
We parted, swapping phone numbers. But once home, I never called her, and soon after, my phone was stolen. She would pop into my mind now and then, but study, mates, new friendships pushed her away, out of my life or so I thought.
But here she was, living in this same town, not just remembering me but raising our son and keeping my photograph beside hers.
Just as I was about to tell young Matthew the truth, the front door opened and Sarah stepped in.
Sorry, love, I got caught up at Grandma Ediths. We had to call the ambulance and take her to hospital, she said.
Noticing me, she gasped, But we didnt book Father Christmas!
I whipped off my hat and beard, peeled away the eyebrows. Tears of joy rushed down my cheeks.
Matthew?! Sarah exclaimed.
She sat down heavily on the hallway ottoman and began to cryso loudly that even little Matthew looked alarmed. But she soon recovered for his sake.
I told him Id flown in from the North to be Father Christmas, just for him and his mum. His happiness bubbled overhe sang, bounced, recited poems, grasping our hands as if afraid I might vanish again.
He hardly thought about the presenthe knew Father Christmas would leave Dads gift under his pillow.
After he fell asleep, Sarah and I talked all night, as if wed never been apart.
The next morning, I dashed out for another presentand only then realised: Id gone to the wrong address! Id entered 6A Orchard Close instead of Number 6. I hadnt spotted the A in the dark.
But, truthfully, Id come to exactly the right houselifes best mistake!
What a happy, fateful accident! Now, here we are together, the three of us, so very happy.
And Mum and Grandma are over the moonproud of their grandson and great-grandson, little Matthew Matthewson!
