by Matt Haig
‘Oh, so what was the Easter Bunny called before?’
‘Seven-four-nine,’ said Columbus. ‘Rabbits tend to call themselves numbers rather than names. They are a very mathematical species.’
‘Right,’ I said, ‘I see.’ But I didn’t really. There were still questions inside my head. For instance: if the Easter Bunny and his Rabbit Army wanted to be everywhere, why didn’t they ever want to be in Elfhelm? Was the threat from the rabbits over? Was the Easter Bunny even still alive?
When I got home that evening I asked Father Christmas about the Easter Bunny.
‘Oh,’ he said, as we made paper chains, ‘the Rabbit War was way before I arrived here. Way before I was even born. There are some very, very old elves who remember what life was like in the Land of Hills and Holes. Father Topo is one of them. He was six at the time, when the elves had to retreat here. He said it wasn’t so special and most elves didn’t really miss it. It was a very flat place. No woods. No hills. Nothing except rabbit holes . . .’
An hour later, we were around the table, eating cherry pie.
I was still curious about rabbits. ‘If it’s so boring, how do we know the rabbits won’t come here and take Elfhelm too?’
Father Christmas smiled that reassuring smile of his. His eyes twinkled. ‘Because it was three hundred years ago. And in all that time there hasn’t been so much as a single bunny hop near Elfhelm. Whatever the rabbits are up to, they are up to it a long way away, and so there is no need to worry about anything at all. Nothing’s changed.’
That reassured me. But my face must have still looked glum, because Mary said, ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
I sighed. I had always thought it best not to complain too much about life here, as there was no doubt that it was a lot better than life in Creeper’s Workhouse in London. But Mary’s stare was the kind of stare that made you have to tell the truth, so I came straight out with it.
‘School,’ I said. ‘School’s the matter.’
Mary’s head tilted in sympathy. ‘What’s wrong at school?’
‘Everything,’ I said. ‘All year it’s been a bit tricky. I’m just not good at elf subjects. They don’t make any sense to me. And I’ll never get the hang of elf mathematics . . .’
Father Christmas nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Elf mathematics does take some getting used to. I couldn’t believe it when I learned that the five times table here is an actual table – made of wood, with five legs. And long division is just normal division that you write down really slowly. But don’t worry. Everyone finds it hard.’
‘But they don’t,’ I said, picturing in my mind Twinkle’s hand shooting up faster than a star. ‘And it’s not just maths either. I find it all hard. I am the least cheerful singer the school has ever known, even when I really try. And Laughing Even When Times Are Tough is a really stupid subject to begin with. I mean, why should people laugh when times are tough? If times are tough, I think it is perfectly normal not to smile. You shouldn’t have to smile at everything, should you?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Father Christmas. ‘I daren’t ask about the spickle dancing.’
‘It’s terrible. Humans just aren’t made for spickle dancing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Mary.
‘I mean, I’m fine with the footwork but it’s the hovering in the air. That’s just impossible.’
Father Christmas winced as if a firework had just gone off. ‘Don’t say that word.’
I must have been in a very bad mood because all of a sudden I was saying it, over and over. ‘Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.’
‘Amelia,’ said Mary, ‘you know there is no swearing in the house.’
‘But impossible shouldn’t even be a swear word. Some things simply are impossible. For an ordinary normal human being spickle dancing simply is impossible. And Practical Drimwickery is impossible. And on some Monday mornings even Happiness is impossible.’
‘Happiness is never impossible,’ said Father Christmas. ‘Nothing is impossible. An impossibility is just a—’
‘I know. I know. An impossibility is just a possibility you don’t understand yet. I have heard it a hundred times. But what about walking on the ceiling? That’s impossible. What about flying to the stars? That’s impossible.’
‘It isn’t, actually,’ muttered Father Christmas. ‘It isn’t impossible. It’s just not the right thing to do. And that’s a very big difference.’
‘Listen,’ said Mary. ‘I know how difficult it is, fitting in. I’ve been taking drimwickery classes for months and I’m getting nowhere, but I’m going to keep trying. There must be some subjects you enjoy?’
I thought. Captain Soot rubbed his head against my leg, as if to comfort me.
‘Yes, there is one. Writing. I like writing. I like it a lot. When I write, I feel free.’
‘Well, there you go. That’s good,’ said Father Christmas. ‘And what about sleigh riding. You like sleigh riding, surely? You are brilliant at sleigh riding.’
And then I told them what I had been too ashamed to tell them. ‘They don’t let me do that.’
‘What?’ asked Mary and Father Christmas both at once.
‘Because this is my first year at the school. And because I am a human. They said I had to wait six months until I could start flying sleighs. Nearly a year now has passed. But it’s okay. They might be right. Maybe Father Vodol was right, at your wedding. Maybe I don’t belong here.’
‘What a load of old butterscotch!’ said Mary, whose cheeks were even redder than usual. ‘You belong here as much as I do. Or as much as anyone, in fact. The likes of us, Amelia, were always made to feel like we were a burden. Send us off to the workhouse! Out of sight! But you are a good person, Amelia, and goodness belongs anywhere in this world. You remember that!’
‘Mary’s right,’ agreed Father Christmas. ‘And Father Vodol is a hateful elf who should be ignored. You have just as much right to fly a sleigh as any elf child has. Don’t worry! I’ll have a word with the school. And with Kip at the School of Sleighcraft. I’ll put an end to this silliness. But only on one condition . . .’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘That you try not to say the word impossible in this house again.’
I laughed. Mary laughed. Even Captain Soot seemed to laugh. ‘All right. It’s a deal.’
The Sleigh Ride
t happened.
Father Christmas must have said something.
Because the following Monday afternoon – a week before Christmas – I was finally allowed to take part in the sleigh-riding lesson. And I was, I have to tell you, very, very excited. I hardly slept all weekend. And when I woke up that Monday morning Father Christmas recommended I bounce on the trampoline for ‘at least half an hour’ to keep my excitement under control. This was, you see, my one chance of fitting in. It was the one elfish thing I knew I could do.
The teacher, Kip, was a good friend of Father Christmas. When Kip was five years old, Father Christmas had saved his life. Once, when I asked Father Christmas how he saved his life, he shook his head and said, ‘Some things are best forgotten.’ Kip didn’t like talking at all, unless it was about sleighs, so that was all I knew.
So there we were, in the School of Sleighcraft on the Main Path. All the red-and-white learner sleighs were lined up. They were small, far smaller than Father Christmas’s sleigh, and only needed one reindeer to pull them.
‘Shortcrust, take Prancer,’ said Kip, pointing at the closest sleigh.
Shortcrust yelped, ‘Yay!’
‘Twinkle, you have Dasher.’
‘Yes, Mr Kip,’ said Twinkle.
‘Snowflake, you’re on Comet.’
This went on until all the elves were given a sleigh to ride.
I waved at Kip. He pretended not to see. ‘Can’t I ride a sleigh?’ I said.
Kip’s eyes narrowed. Underneath his heavy fringe he looked at me with suspicion. ‘Humans shouldn’t fly sleighs.’
I
got the feeling that Kip didn’t like humans very much.
‘Father Christmas is a human.’
Kip shook his head. ‘Father Christmas is not an ordinary human. Father Christmas is a human who has been drimwicked.’
I remembered how people used to think I was too young to sweep chimneys, when Ma was ill and I used to go to her customers’ houses. I proved them wrong, and I would prove Kip wrong. I stayed strong.
‘I can fly a sleigh,’ I said. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
I watched as Twinkle and Dasher trotted into place on the runway, shortly followed by Shortcrust and Prancer and all the other elves.
I had that horribly familiar feeling of being left out. Tears welled in my eyes.
‘Okay, okay,’ said Kip. ‘I suppose we’d better find a sleigh then.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Mr Kip.’
‘Just do everything I say. Okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I promise.’ I stared around the yard. All the sleighs and reindeer were already taken. Then I spotted, in the corner of the yard, a small, empty, shiny white sleigh attached to Blitzen, Father Christmas’s reindeer. It was the sleigh I had seen months ago, the day we had visited Bonbon’s sweet shop. The gleaming, beautiful, expensive one.
‘There,’ I said, pointing to it. ‘That one.’
‘But that’s a Blizzard 360,’ said Kip, looking very worried indeed.
‘So?’
‘That’s my newest sleigh. It’s worth a thousand chocolate coins.’
He looked around, desperately trying to find another sleigh to put me in, but they all had elves sitting inside, ready for take-off.
Kip looked up at me and rolled his eyes. ‘Okay then. You can fly the Blizzard 360. But you must be very careful. Very, very careful. Very, very, very, very, very careful. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. Very, very, very, very, very careful. Five verys. Got it.’
So he took me over and I climbed into the sleigh. The seat felt comfortable and luxurious.
Kip pointed to the dashboard. The tips of his elf fingers stuck out of his fingerless gloves. The dashboard was like a smaller version of the one in Father Christmas’s sleigh.
‘There’s your altitude gauge and that’s the Barometer of Hope – which needs to stay with the arrow pointing there – and you need to check that the hope converter sign keeps glowing green the whole time. The compass is right there in the centre. The dial for the propulsion unit needs to be between eighty and a hundred, ideally, but turn it up to one hundred and fifty for take-off, and slow down to sixty when you are ready to land. And the reins are the best in existence, so you only need to be gentle with them when steering. Light tugs for left or right. Pull low to descend. Three tugs for a sharp turn. Understand?’
I nodded. ‘Understood.’ I stared at the Barometer of Hope. It worked by picking up on all the hope particles in the air. And there was a lot of hope in the air, these days, since Elfhelm had made peace with the trolls.
Kip grumbled something under his breath and left me to it. He went to the front of the yard, beside the runway, and started shouting instructions to everyone.
‘Right, everyone, in a minute, when I say your name, you will tug the reins five times and the reindeer will start to gallop as fast as it can along the runway.’
The runway was just like every other piece of snow-covered ground in Elfhelm. And it wasn’t very long. You had to fly into the air quite quickly or you would end up crashing into the school.
‘You will then gently rise into the air,’ said Kip. ‘Lean back in your seat and don’t let go of the reins. Once you are airborne it is simple. A gentle pull of the reins to the right to move right and left for left. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said all the elves eagerly.
‘Amelia,’ shouted Kip, ‘do you hear me?’
I nodded.
‘Right, good. So, now, there is one big rule,’ said Kip. ‘When you are flying, make sure you only fly above Elfhelm in circles. Do not go near Very Big Mountain and you must never head over the Wooded Hills. This is very important.’
I nodded and then I heard a soft miaowing. I looked down and saw Captain Soot’s green eyes staring up at me. I saw his little footsteps in the deep snow. I couldn’t believe it.
‘I told you to stay in the house,’ I whispered. ‘Go back home. You shouldn’t be here. Cats aren’t allowed.’
Captain Soot ignored me and jumped into the sleigh.
‘No! Get out of here. Get out. Go home. You can’t be here, Captain, you’ll get me into—’
‘Is anything the matter, Amelia?’ Kip had noticed I was acting a bit strange, and now all the elves were staring straight at me.
There was no way I was going to tell them the truth. I’d be in trouble and Kip would use it as an excuse to make me miss the lesson and then I would be made to feel even more like a tall weird human who was rubbish at everything. This was my one chance to show them there was one thing I wasn’t rubbish at – sleigh riding.
‘No, nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all.’
Kip stared at me suspiciously for a little longer.
‘Good. Then get hold of your reins. We are about to start.’
There was no feeling like it.
Being up in the sky, with Elfhelm far below, the air blasting into my face, and Blitzen galloping in front, pulling the sleigh, his hooves landing on nothing at all.
Everything was going perfectly well. Kip was far below with a large red-and-white striped shouting cone – as elves called it – barking up instructions.
‘Very good, Shortcrust! Tighter on the reins, Twinkle! Slow down, Snowflake! That’s it, Amelia! Well done!’
I couldn’t believe it. This was amazing. Kip had given me a compliment. He thought I was doing well. And that was because I was doing well, and now all the elves on their sleighs were turning to have a look at me as we soared in circuits in the sky.
I had good control of the reins. Blitzen was relaxed and galloping without much effort. The Barometer of Hope was holding steady around the ‘Really Quite Hopeful’ mark.
I looked down below and saw the school, and the Toy Workshop, and the village hall. I think I saw Father Christmas and Mary, holding hands, as they walked along the Street of Seven Curves.
I kept on.
‘Good boy, Blitzen,’ I said. ‘Keep going.’
‘One more time around!’ Kip shouted. ‘Then everyone is going to land on the runway. Pull the reins low, please. One by one. Starting with Shortcrust and Dancer . . . Okay? One more time around!’
It was going so well I was smiling – laughing almost. My life had once been a miserable human one, trapped in a workhouse from morning until night, but here I was in a magical land full of elves and wonder and flying a sleigh. Yes, so I had found some of the subjects at school a bit hard, but things were going to get better now.
‘Wow!’ said Snowflake, as Blitzen and I overtook him. ‘You’re amazing!’
And then Dasher galloped through the air beside me, as fast as ever, with Snowflake standing up in her sleigh behind. ‘Wow, Amelia!’ she said. ‘It looks like you’ve found your subject!’
And as the wind sped through my hair I couldn’t stop myself shouting into the wind, ‘THIS IS BRILLIANT! LIFE IS BRILLIANT! WOO HOO!’ And this was many, many years before anyone had said ‘woo hoo’. I am quite sure I invented it. But, honestly, all I can say is, in that moment everything seemed just right. Perfect, in fact.
But then . . .
Captain Soot, who had been lying snugly beside my feet, jumped onto my lap.
‘No, Captain, keep down. It’s dangerous up here. We’re very high up.’
But Captain Soot had never been very good at following instructions. He was a cat, after all.
I held the reins with one hand and tried to pick up Captain Soot with the other, to place him back down at my feet. Just as I tried to scoop up Captain Soot he jumped onto the front of the sleigh, above the dashboard. And then he began to slide
downwards.
‘Oh no!’
Captain Soot’s sharp claws scratched down the front of the Blizzard 360.
I let go of the reins, stood up and leant forward to grab him. The sleigh began to lose direction a little.
‘Amelia! What are you doing?’ shouted Snowflake from behind me.
There was no time to answer. Captain Soot’s eyes were wide with fear. I quickly grabbed hold of him, but awkwardly as he was so far forwards.
‘It’s all right, Captain. I’ve got you.’
But he wasn’t comforted. The cold wind was blasting so fast over him he panicked even more. Then, something terrible happened.
Captain Soot, out of sheer fright, nearly half a mile high in the air, jumped out of my arms.
The Cat and the Reindeer
o!’ I screamed.
The thing is it would have been fine if Captain Soot had jumped backwards into the sleigh. But he didn’t. He jumped in the opposite direction. Forwards. Out of the sleigh. And when I looked over the side of the sleigh I couldn’t see him. He was nowhere.
And then I spotted him.
Captain Soot had landed on Blitzen’s back, where he was now clinging on for his life. Blitzen turned his head to see the black furry creature digging its claws into his fur and his eyes widened in horror. He wriggled to try to shake the cat off. I didn’t see much after that because I was flung back, falling into the sleigh and unable to stand up because it was wobbling so much. I tried to catch hold of the reins but the sleigh was tilting so fast – up and down and side to side.
‘Blitzen! Calm down! Blitzen! It’s all right! It’s just a cat! Blitzen! BLITZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!’
Blitzen was now charging at full speed, overtaking even Dasher, and leaving all the other elves and reindeer far behind in the sky.
I could just about hear Kip’s voice far away, bellowing, ‘Amelia! Amelia! What are you doing? Come back here this instant! Get control of your reindeer now! Amelia! This is your final . . .’
I could no longer hear Kip. Blitzen was galloping at breakneck speed. The sleigh was now a little bit steadier because Blitzen was travelling in one direction incredibly fast.
