A Mummy for Christmas

by Clare Revell

  “What’s her name?”

  “Haley-Jo. She’s eight.”

  Carly nodded. “I remember meeting her a couple of days ago. Really cute kid. She told me that Christmas is about Jesus, not presents.”

  Stan grinned. “That’s my girl.” He pulled on the hood and the beard. “How do I look?”

  “Fine. May I?” She waved the camera at him.

  He nodded and, shoving down any embarrassment he felt, posed for her while she took a few photos.

  Carly smiled. “Thank you. OK. I’d best get out there. Now the reindeer are?”

  Stan recited them perfectly, including Rudolph, and then took a deep breath. Flying a fully laden jet liner was much easier than this. He could hear the children’s voices echoing down the hallway, screaming and calling in delight as they played party games in the hall. He hoped Haley-Jo’s princess hat had remained intact. He’d had to staple the streamers in twice before she’d left for school, and he’d only make the cone hat the previous evening.

  Mrs. Johnson put her head around the door. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He swung the sack over his shoulder and took a deep breath.

  “OK. We’ll sing ‘Jingle Bells,’ and then when we’ve finished, you ring your bell and come in.”

  Stan nodded, following her down the corridor to the hall. His stomach was in turmoil and his palms were damp beneath the white gloves. He prayed for a calm voice, that Haley-Jo wouldn’t give the game away when she figured out it was him, and that he wouldn’t fall flat on his face and make a complete idiot of himself.

  This was definitely the first and last time.

  If he’d wanted to be an actor, he’d have gone to stage school.

  Sixty voices in unison started singing, and despite himself, Stan found himself humming along. Then, as they paused, he rang his bell and entered the hall to squeals of delight.

  Mrs. Johnson led him to a throne set on the stage. “Look who’s here, children,” she said.

  Stan smiled below the beard, praying it wasn’t going to fall off. “Hello, boys and girls.”

  “Hello, Father Christmas,” they all chorused back.

  “Are you having a fun party?”

  “Yes…”

  He did a couple of “ho, ho, ho’s” and got the children to guess the names of his reindeer, who were currently up on the roof of the school. Then in dribs and drabs the children came up to receive a wrapped gift. Some were so shy he could barely hear their names, while others, bolder, sat on his lap and gave him a long list of what they wanted.

  Finally, Haley-Jo reached the head of the queue. She looked at him, recognition dancing in her eyes. She climbed onto his lap.

  “And what’s your name, little girl?” Stan asked, praying she’d keep his cover.

  “Haley-Jo Fuller, with a hyphen,” she said. “I use both names, not just Haley.”

  Stan nodded. “And what would you like for Christmas?” he asked.

  Carly knelt in front of the stage. She snapped several pictures, the recorder taking notes for her.

  Haley-Jo looked him in the eye. “I only want one thing for Christmas,” she said in a loud voice, clear enough for the whole hall to hear her.

  “Just one?” he asked, slightly worried as to what she was about to come out with. She’d been so adamant about not telling him. “Everyone else had a whole list.”

  “All I want for Christmas is a mummy.”

  Stan looked at her stunned. “A mummy?” he managed.

  Haley-Jo nodded. “I don’t have one. And I think it’d be good for Daddy to have someone to help look after me as he works so hard all the time. Don’t you? And I know he misses Mummy and doesn’t like being alone because he’s sad a lot.”

  Stan nodded, dumbfounded. “A mummy is a tall order, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks, Father Christmas.” She leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and whispered “I know it’s you, Daddy,” in his ear. Then she giggled as she jumped down. “Your beard is all tickly.”

  Somehow, Stan got through the rest of the present giving and waved goodbye before heading out with his empty sack. He almost ran to the office where he changed back into his jeans and shirt.

  How do I get out of this one, Lord? He prayed. I can’t find a mother or wife in the next couple of weeks. The next time I say something rash, just send a lightning bolt to hit me on the head or something. And I didn’t realize Haley-Jo noticed so much.

  He opened the door, intending to make a swift, unseen exit.

  Carly stood there. “So, how’s Father Christmas going to manage that one?” she asked.

  Stan just shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He turned and headed rapidly to the exit. The only thing running through his mind was Haley-Jo’s voice.

  All I want for Christmas is a mummy.

  2

  Back at the newspaper offices, Carly put the camera down on her desk and looked at her boss. “It went rather well,” she said. “Setting aside the fact that Father Christmas forgot about Rudolph when he initially listed the reindeer, but he insists it’s his first time, so we’ll let him off. It was really good. The kids all had a great time.”

  Marc leaned on the edge of her desk, his shirt stained with the curry he’d had for lunch. He folded his arms and gave her the look. “Well?”

  “Well, what? I haven’t had time to review anything yet, never mind look at the photos.”

  “What did the kids ask for?”

  “Usual stuff. Freddie Jones wants video games, Sophie Rees wants a baby sister, not a brother because boys smell funny apparently, Tommy Willis wants a racing bike with ten gears. Oh, and Haley-Jo Fuller wants a mummy.”

  Marc raised an eyebrow. “A mummy?”

  Carly met his gaze. “That’s what she said. She was very specific about it. She wants a mummy to…” she flicked back through her notes, “…to stop Daddy from being sad and having to work so hard is a paraphrase of what she said. I have the whole thing on tape.”

  “A mummy for Christmas. I like it. Perhaps we follow up that one.”

  Carly snorted. “And how do you propose we find the child a mother? We can’t just pick a random woman off the street and marry her to Mr. Fuller now, can we?”

  “No, but you could do a follow up on the family. Find out what it entails to be a single parent at Christmas. Maybe befriend the kid…”

  She shot Marc what she hoped was a derisive look. “Now I know you’re having a laugh. I have no intentions of being a surrogate mother for the child. She doesn’t want or need that. What she needs is…”

  “Love. And maybe she isn’t getting enough of it at home if her father works full time. Find out what he does, how much he’s in the house, day care arrangements, that kind of thing. Do some investigative journalism.”

  “Spy in other words. Dig up so much dirt that you’ll get child services involved and ruin both their lives.” Carly broke off before she said something she’d regret. Sometimes her fiery Welsh temper was hard to control. “I’ll do the follow up, but I’m not writing anything that Mr. Fuller isn’t happy with before it goes to print. Trust me; I’ve seen enough broken homes and families back in Wales without seeing any more here. Let alone be responsible for one.”

  “It’d make a great story.”

  “Oh, have a heart, will you? It’s Christmas. And speaking of which, I have a story to write.”

  “Ring Mr. Fuller and get an interview, Carly. I want it for Monday’s paper.”

  Carly dropped into her chair. “Right away, boss. Just as soon as I’ve gone through these photos.” Taking the card from the camera, she inserted it into the computer and waited impatiently for the pictures to load. Then, she slowly scrolled through them, pausing at the ones she’d taken of Stan Fuller on his own.

  His eyes almost shone, and she gazed into them. Were they really the windows to the soul? What had he been thinking when she took the photo? In a couple of the shots, he almost looked sad. How much of
a front was he putting on for his daughter?

  She played back the tape of the children talking to him and listened again to the part where Haley-Jo said daddy was sad. Maybe Marc was right and this family did need help. Well, she was pretty sure she wasn’t the person to give it, but maybe she could aid a little. First, she needed background information, which she could find on-line, and then, she’d arrange an interview.

  She typed Stan Fuller into the newspaper’s history files, but nothing came up. Nothing in the marriage or death files either, but maybe he’d moved here after his wife died. He said he flew, so she hit the major search engines. Fuller was a more common surname than she realized.

  Then, she found him.

  Captain Stanley Matthew Fuller was thirty-two and one of the top pilots flying for British Airways. He looked so handsome in his flight uniform. He seemed to have a perfect record and had been the youngest man to get his captain’s stripes in the history of the company. From there she searched a little more and came up with a few facts she noted down.

  Then she rang the number in the phonebook. The call was answered by a woman, presumably the babysitter. Carly put on her brightest, most professional voice. “Hi, this is Carly Jefferson from the Bramley Herald. Is it possible to speak to Mr. Fuller, please?”

  “He isn’t here right now. Can I take a message?”

  “I was at the Christmas party at the school this afternoon, and I’m doing a follow up piece on some of the children. I’d like to talk to his daughter, too, and as I know both of them, I was wondering if he’d be interested in participating.” OK, she was stretching the truth a little, but this was her one chance and she wasn’t going to waste it.

  “I don’t see why not. He’ll be home around five thirty.”

  “Great, thank you. I’ll be over at six. Bye.” Carly put the phone down and fist pumped the air. Yes. Then she created a new document and started typing. Center page spread, here I come.

  ~*~

  Stan arrived home just after five to find most of the house in darkness. “Hello? Where is everyone?”

  Mum appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I’m in the kitchen. Haley-Jo is in her bedroom. She’s full of Father Christmas visiting and the book she was given. She’s had her nose stuck in it ever since we got back from school. She said for a made up person he was really nice.”

  “Is that Father Christmas or the main character in her new book?” Stan stifled a grin as he hugged and kissed her.

  “Father Christmas.” Mum hugged him back. “She’s done nothing but rave about him.”

  “Has she now?” Stan hoped his daughter hadn’t told his secret. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his mother knowing, but he’d rather tell her himself when the moment was right. “I’m glad she enjoyed herself. How was your day?”

  “It went really quickly actually. How was your flight?”

  “I swapped shifts with Frank. He needed someone to do his London to New York this weekend. I went Christmas shopping instead. It’s all in the boot of the car. I’ll bring it in once Haley-Jo’s asleep. I also picked up your dry cleaning and that aftershave you wanted for Bryan.”

  “Thank you.” She paused. “This weekend? You’ll be away on Sunday?”

  Stan nodded. “I don’t normally do weekends, but it’s Frank’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and no one else would do it, so I offered.” He shrugged. She didn’t need to know he’d done it in order to do this Father Christmas thing at the school. “I fly to New York Saturday afternoon, and I’m home again Tuesday at some point.”

  “That’s two long hauls this month.”

  “I know, but the money will be handy. You don’t mind, do you?”

  Mum shook her head, although she did look more tired than usual. “Just feeling my age tonight, that’s all.”

  Stan raised an eyebrow. “You’re only sixty. That’s not old. Wait till you get to seventy.”

  Mum chuckled. “Then I shall retire, and who’ll look after Haley-Jo for you?”

  Stan laughed. “She’ll be eighteen and quite capable of looking after herself.” He paused. “You would tell me if it got too much for you? I know she can be a handful at times.”

  “No more so than you were at her age. And I had Dad to help me. You’re doing this on your own.” Mum dried her hands on the tea towel. “Before I forget, a Carly Jefferson rang from the paper. She asked if she could do an interview with you. She’ll be here at six.”

  Carly Jefferson was the reporter that was at the school. Stan’s stomach plummeted. Press interviews never went well. Even when he was being portrayed as the hero, things inevitably came up that he didn’t want to discuss. And why him? He could almost guarantee this had something to do with Haley-Jo’s request to Father Christmas.

  “Did she say why?” Somehow he managed to keep his voice level. Although he was surprised it didn’t come out as a high pitched squeak.

  “It’s a follow up from the school party or something. She said she knew you, so I didn’t think it was going to be a problem. She sounded really lovely on the phone.”

  “Yeah, we’ve met.” He pushed a hand through his short curls, getting his fingers caught in a knot at the back of his neck.

  “Is she nice?”

  He groaned. “Mu-umm…”

  “Don’t you Mu-uum me. It’s about time you found someone else. Julie has been gone a long time now, and Haley-Jo needs a mother.”

  Stan closed his eyes for a moment, shoving down the despair rising through him. He’d hoped to be understood here at least. “You know she’s asked for one for Christmas?”

  “Has she? Then maybe you’d better find her one. And I don’t mean me.” Mum grinned and kissed him. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “I’ll drop her over around eleven.” He headed to the stairs. “Gramma’s leaving. Come say goodbye.”

  “Bye…” Haley-Jo’s voice floated through the dark hallway.

  “Come and say it. Don’t shout, or Gramma might not let you stay there this weekend.”

  Haley-Jo thudded down the stairs in double time. “Bye, Gramma. Can I sleep in the pink room this time?”

  Stan headed into the kitchen and checked on dinner. Five more minutes and it’d be ready. They should just about have time to eat before this reporter showed up. He got two plates out of the cupboard. “Lay the table for me, wombat.”

  The nickname had come from a stuffed wombat he’d brought back for her on a trip to Australia shortly after she’d been born. She’d refused to sleep without it ever since. It was the first thing into the case whenever they went away anywhere.

  Haley-Jo took the plates.

  “Gramma tells me you’ve been reading the book the school gave you. How was the party?”

  “It was good. The streamers didn’t come off my hat once.”

  “Gramma said Father Christmas came.”

  His daughter laughed and gave him a knowing look. “You know he did, Daddy. You were there.”

  “Yes, and that needs to remain our secret. You are not to tell anyone, not even Gramma. However,” he pointed a finger at her, “we do need to talk about what you asked him for.” The doorbell rang. “But that’s going to have to wait for later. Go put those on the table.”

  Stan headed to the front door and opened it. His heart sank. It was the reporter, and she was early. “Hello, Miss Jefferson. Carly,” he corrected.

  “Hello, Mr. Fuller, I’m sorry I’m a little early.”

  “It’s Stan, please, and come on in.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stood to one side to allow her entry into the hallway and closed the door against the frigid December air. It was going to be frosty tonight. Maybe he should have put the car in the garage as soon as he’d gotten home.

  Haley-Jo came out of the lounge. “Hello.”

  “You remember Carly Jefferson from school this afternoon? Well, she wants to talk to us both about Christmas. Is that OK?”

  Haley-Jo nodded slowly.

  �
�OK. Come on in the warm.”

  “Thank you.” Carly followed him into the lounge. She glanced around, setting her bag on the floor beside the couch. “You don’t have your decorations up yet.”

  “Daddy says it’s too early,” Haley-Jo said. “If he had his way the tree would go up on Christmas Eve and down again on Boxing Day. Gramma says he’s a regular Ebeder Schrudge.”

  Stan’s face burned, the horror deepening as Carly laughed.

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Can I get you some tea or coffee?” he asked, desperate to make an exit to control his rampant feelings. The same sense of dizziness as before was sweeping over him like a relentless wave, and he wasn’t going to put up with it. The last woman to have affected him this way was his wife.

  “Some tea would be lovely,” Carly said. “White, no sugar, please.”

  “Be right back.” He pointed at his daughter, giving her the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. She scrunched her nose up at him as he hurried from the room, praying desperately for help to get through the next little while and that dinner wouldn’t be ruined as a result.

  ~*~

  Carly smiled awkwardly at Haley-Jo as Stan left the room. “How was the party?”

  “It was good.”

  Carly nodded. She was no good with kids. She never knew what to say to them.

  “Do you believe in Father Christmas?” Haley-Jo perched on the couch and looked intently at her.

  “He was there today at the party, wasn’t he?”

  Haley-Jo shrugged. “Well, there was a man dressed in a red suit there. He might not have been the real thing.”

  “How can you tell?”

  The child twisted her hair around her finger vehemently. “Well, this one had a fake beard, and he smelled funny. And I don’t think the real Father Christmas would smell funny.”

  Stan appeared at her side and held out a steaming mug of tea. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” Carly smiled as she took it, the smile freezing as she caught sight of the plates on the table. “Oh, I’m interrupting your dinner. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. We hadn’t started yet.”