Letter
David wandered home from work, the snow crunching under his boots with a soft, familiar sound that tugged at memories of his childhood. Sledging down the hill on school satchels, hurling snowballs until his gloves were soaked through, gnawing icicles with numb teeththose were the golden days.
He was lost in thought when the sharp sound of a childs sobbing jarred him awake. David looked around and saw, perched alone on a frosty bench beneath a tired old streetlamp, a little boy bundled in an oversized brown duffle coat and a grey knitted cap, crying so hard his tears left glistening trails across his ruddy cheeks.
David approached with cautious kindness.
Hello there, mate. Are you lost? Why are you crying?
The boy hiccuped mournfully, I lost my letter. I put it in my pocket, but then it was gone, and he began to wail anew.
Come on, chin up, lets look for it together. What sort of letter was it? One for your mum, perhaps?
It was for Father Christmas. I wrote it myself. Mum doesnt know.
David whistled and shook his head in sympathy. Thats tough, my friend. But you can write another, cant you?
The boy shook his head vigorously, Theres no time, it wont get to him before Christmas.
Ill tell you what. You dash homeits getting darkand Ill keep an eye out for your letter. I promise Ill send it if I find it, all right?
Really? Will you promise, mister?
I promise. Cross my heart. Father Christmas knows whats in every letter he gets. Even if yours goes missing, hell know what you said.
The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve and scuttled off into the snowy dusk, leaving David feeling rather sorry for hima letter worked on with so much hope and effort, and now lost.
He found himself smiling wistfully, remembering the magic of gifts appearing by the twinkling tree when he was a boy, that delicious certainty that Father Christmas had read his wishes and granted them. It seemed a lifetime ago.
Davids own son, now only four, would soon be old enough to write his first letter, but for now he just wobbled about the lounge, lost in his games.
As he continued homeward, eyes scanning the sparkling pavement, Davids heart twinged for the boyit must have been something important, something he was counting on.
Then, he spotted a soggy corner of paper peering from beneath a pile of wet snow. He stooped and gingerly drew it outa letter, blurred but still intact. David tucked it carefully away in his bag so it wouldnt tear.
At home, his wife Emily was simmering a hearty stew on the stove, their boy Henry lost in a sea of model cars on the carpet. Coming home to his warm, light-filled flat always filled David with a quiet, grateful joy.
Em, youll never believe itI was just walking back and saw this little lad, maybe seven or eight, weeping his heart out on a bench. Hed lost his letter to Father Christmas. Well, I found it. Shall we see what it says?
He pulled the envelope from his coat, and together they read the childish scrawl: To Father Christmas, from Billy Edwards.
Shall we open it? Emily asked. It was never going to get further than the postbox anyway
David unfolded a piece of squared notebook paper, and, clearing his throat, read aloud:
Dear Father Christmas,
Its Billy Edwards from 12 Willow Lane. Im nine and in Year Four. I love playing football, running about with the lads.
I live with my mum, Claire, and my gran Iris. Weve just moved into a little old house where some kind people have let us stay.
We used to live with Dad in another city, but Dad drank too much and shouted at Mum. Sometimes he hit us. Mum and GranGran is Dads mumcried, and I cried with them. We had an awful time. So we left and brought Gran along.
Father Christmas, could you help my mum find a new job? Shes got a bad back from scrubbing floors, and really needs something easier. And please could you bring her a new dress? Her old ones ripped. My mums tall and slim and really beautiful.
For Gran, some pills for her knees would be lovely. She finds walking hard even though shes not that old. And shed really like a warm fluffy dressing gown, because shes always cold. Shes little and thin.
As for me, I just want a lovely Christmas tree with fairy lights and colourful decorations. Mum always used to put a tree up and wed have a partyuntil Dad drank too much and knocked it over
I cant wait for your visit, Father Christmas.
Billy Edwards.
David finished and glanced at his wife, who was dabbing her eyes.
Oh, how moving, Emily whispered. Poor boy, running away from that and now they can hardly afford anything And did you notice, David? He didnt ask for anything for himself, not really, except a tree.
Yeah. Poor things been through the wringer. Mum even brought the gran with her. Proper decent people, seems like. Em, what if we did something? Helped grant Billys wishes?
Emily nodded, her eyes shining. That would be wonderful. You remember what I told youmy childhood with Dad and his drink. No one ever rescued us We can do something for them.
You know, Claire might do well at my officewere looking for a receptionist. Decent pay, sitting down work.
And I can borrow Father Christmas and elf costumes from the Hargreaves for a visitIll get a warm robe for Gran and a dress to fit Claire; nothing fancy, but good. Christmas discounts are on now, after all. Ohand tablets for her knees, some nice chocolates and satsumas, lovely decorations for a tree.
Were lucky, Em. We can afford to do a bit of kindness.
Youre wonderful, David, she smiled, and he wrapped her in a hug. There was such comfort in that shared understanding.
The next day, Emily chose a classic forest-green dress, a soft pink dressing gown, and a box of the good knee tablets. She filled a bag with Quality Street, juicy satsumas, and sparkling baubles. David thought, no child goes without a phone these dayswhat if Billy had never owned one? So he popped out and bought a modest smartphone.
They arranged to borrow the costumes, bought a small but bushy artificial fir tree, and packed all the gifts into the Santa sack. With their son off at Grandmas for the day, they set off for Willow Lane.
The house was lopsided, with an old, crooked fence, but light glowed in the window.
David tucked the tree under his arm; Emily shouldered the heavy sack, and they knocked softly on the door.
A tall, fair womansurely Claireopened the door, her face puzzled.
Sorry, theres no party booked here Have you got the right address?
Does Billy Edwards live here? David intoned in his best Father Christmas voice.
Thats my son, yes
Mum, whos at the door? a boy called, dashing into the hallway.
Oh! Father Christmas!
Hello, Billy! I got your letter, and here I am with my helper! May we come in?
Billy gasped and waved them in, barely believing his eyes.
Gran Iris, slight and birdlike, appeared from the sitting room. The boys eyes lit up at the sight of the tree. Is that for us? Its gorgeous, and it smells just like Christmas!
All yours, Billy. And here are decorations and fairy lightsyou can put them up together. Presents, too, but first you have to tell me a poem or a songthats the rule!
David rumbled his voice as dream-Father Christmas might. Billy, tongue-tied with excitement, could barely manage a word.
Thats all right, lad. I hear youve been a good boy, from all the robins on the garden gate. You love your mum and gran, youre a big help, and youre hard-working at school. Go on, open your presents.
Billy glanced shyly for permission; Claire nodded and squeezed his hand.
Trembling, Billy reached into the sack. Firstthe boxed, pink dressing gown, topped with a scarlet ribbon. He handed it to Gran with pride.
Gran, you said you wanted this! For you!
Grans eyes shimmered as she tried the gown, wrapping it tight around her small frame. Oh, Billy, its wonderful. Ive never had something so lovely!
Next was the green dress for his mum, and the tablets for Gran. Both women lost for words, amazed at their good fortune.
Then Billy fished out the bag stuffed with sweets and citrus fruit. On the top, a shiny box: the smartphone.
Is is this really for me? My own phone? Thank you, Father Christmas! I knew you were real! You really came! Billys eyes filled with grateful tears.
Merry Christmas to your family! And now, we must be off, David declared, lifting the empty sack.
Claire and Iris followed them to the door.
Pleasewho are you, really? Claire asked. Do you know Billy?
I found his letter and my wife and I wanted to bring a bit of Christmas to your home. Your Billy is a wonderful boy. Heres his letter and my cardring this number if youd like to talk about a job. We need a receptionist and youd be perfect, if youre interested.
Thank you This means the world to us Billy was hoping for a miracle, and tonight he got one, thanks to you.
David and Emily drove home in silence, hearts warmed with the strange, glimmering happiness of having made a dream come true for Billy and his family.
Somehow, giving gifts was even sweeter than receiving themespecially when you saw that unfiltered joy shine in a childs eyes. Money spent could always be earned again. But moments like theseno sum in pounds sterling could ever buy.
