The Christmas Wish List

by Heidi Swain

  She took some convincing but I won her around in the end.

  ‘You said you wanted to get them in the postbox tonight,’ I reminded her, ‘and if you don’t start writing now you won’t be finished before church.’

  As I washed and dried, Dolly’s pile of envelopes, filled out in her beautiful cursive handwriting, steadily grew.

  ‘Do you send cards to everyone at school?’ I asked, when I eventually joined her at the table, wincing as I sat down.

  ‘Not as a rule. Generally, I just send them to the staff and my class but this year I’ve got extra packs of charity cards so everyone will get one.’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea,’ I smiled.

  ‘Well as it’s my last Christmas I thought I should make an extra effort.’

  I knew she was talking about working in the school, but I wished she wouldn’t put it like that.

  ‘Your last Christmas at work, you mean,’ I corrected her.

  Dolly smiled.

  ‘I’ve saved this card with the robin on that you were so fond of.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, taking it from her. ‘What are you going to write in it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she laughed. ‘I didn’t mean I was going to write it to you, I meant I had saved it for you to send.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, looking at it again. ‘I see.’

  ‘You will send it, won’t you?’ She frowned. ‘To your parents.’

  ‘Oh Dolly,’ I said, feeling even more confused as Rose’s talk of family mingled with Beamish’s insistence that I shouldn’t waste time and Jonathan’s not surprisingly negative reaction to the idea. ‘I don’t know. I still haven’t made up my mind.’

  ‘It’ll be too late soon,’ she said, wagging a finger. ‘And then you’ll be wishing you had.’

  Would I?

  ‘Look,’ she said, pushing a pad of Basildon Bond notepaper across the table, ‘why don’t you write them a letter?’

  ‘What?’ I gasped, aghast. ‘I don’t think I’d even know what to put in a card, what makes you think I could write a whole letter?’

  ‘I bet, if you put your mind to it, you could come up with a hundred and one things that you would like to say to your mum and dad.’

  ‘Not quite a hundred and one,’ I admitted once I had given it some thought, ‘but perhaps a couple of dozen.’

  ‘So, write it all down,’ she said, handing me a pen. ‘You don’t have to send it. I bet that just writing it will make you feel better, get it clearer in your head and by the time you’ve finished you’ll know whether or not posting the card will be the right thing to do.’

  I wasn’t sure that what she was suggesting made much sense, but once I had got over the first few sentences the words began to flow and before I knew it the cramp in my hand matched my legs and I had filled almost four sheets of paper.

  ‘There now,’ said Dolly as I sat back and rubbed my hand. ‘Cathartic, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I shrugged.

  It was too early to tell. My eyes flicked over the pages again. I hadn’t planned to hark back to old hurts but I knew that if we were going to end up making amends before I moved, then it was important to bring everything out into the open.

  ‘Did you write about, David?’ Dolly asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said huskily, ‘and the baby.’

  Dolly nodded.

  ‘Thank you for helping me through all of that, Dolly,’ I whispered, remembering how she had insisted that I kept the channels of communication with my parents open after my world had been blown apart and I had moved into the hotel.

  ‘I only did what any friend would,’ she said gently.

  The moment my parents had discovered that, at just seventeen I was secretly seeing an older man, they had tried to put a stop to it. Headstrong and in love, I of course could see nothing wrong and had done everything in my power to keep the relationship going. However, discovering I was pregnant was a huge shock for all of us and I could understand now why they had been so horrified. Although not nearly as horrified as when my father tracked David down and discovered he was a married man.

  ‘I used to say,’ I said, smoothing the letter out in front of me, ‘that first I lost David and then I lost the baby, but I suppose he was never mine in the first place, was he? David, I mean.’

  I winced as I recalled the blazing rows I had about him with my parents. I blamed them for ruining everything after they threatened to tell his wife and then when I miscarried, I blamed them for taking the baby too. Had I not moved into the hotel I didn’t know where I might have ended up.

  ‘You know I admire you, Hattie,’ said Dolly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For finding the courage to forgive your mother.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have forgiven her,’ I told her, ‘but you know,’ I mused, ‘sometimes, I struggle to believe she really did say that she was pleased I’d lost the baby.’

  I knew she and Dad had been disappointed when they discovered my affair and devastated about the pregnancy, but Mum wasn’t cruel. She hadn’t wanted me to move out after the miscarriage, she had wanted to look after me and so her spiteful words, coming years later, were even more of a shock.

  Dolly nodded and bit her lip.

  ‘But the look on Jonathan’s face when he told me . . .’ I carried on, ‘well, let’s just say, I knew he had to be telling the truth.’

  ‘And the way he said they both used to talk to him when you weren’t around,’ Dolly went on, ‘that was a shock too, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was,’ I sighed, ‘we didn’t visit all that often and he always tried to play it down but whenever we left, I could tell there was something wrong, something eating away at him and I would eventually drag it out of him. He knew my relationship with them was fragile, and that’s why he never wanted to tell me.’

  ‘But he did in the end.’

  ‘Only because I made him,’ I said, slumping back in my chair as the memories and cold hard reality came flooding back. ‘Oh Dolly,’ I sobbed, ‘is sending this going to be a mistake?’

  ‘Only you can decide that,’ she said.

  I swallowed away the lump in my throat and blinked away the gathering tears.

  ‘Get the card written and stick it all in the envelope,’ she encouraged, ‘and then, if you do decide to go ahead, it’ll be done. You really haven’t got much longer to decide you know.’

  I did as Dolly instructed and put it next to, rather than on top of the pile, with all the others, but I had no intention of sending it, not the letter part anyway. And even if I had wanted to send the card, given the conversation we’d had, I knew it wouldn’t be fair on Jonathan. I sat there and stared at the envelope thinking Dolly had been wrong to assume I’d feel better for getting it all out of my head because if anything, I actually felt worse. The best thing I could do was forget about it. Bin the card when Dolly wasn’t looking, squash all my emotions back into their assigned box and cram the lid firmly on.

  ‘Done,’ Dolly announced a minute or so later, plonking her pen down with a flourish and putting her cards for school in a separate bag as they wouldn’t need sending. ‘They’re all ready to go. It didn’t take as long as I thought it would,’ she added, looking over at the clock, ‘but then when you get to my age there are fewer and fewer to write each year.’

  ‘Dolly,’ I frowned.

  ‘What?’ She shrugged, ‘it’s true.’

  It may well have been true, but it made me feel uncomfortable nonetheless.

  ‘How are your legs?’ she asked. ‘Up to an hour in church?’

  We decided they really weren’t and Dolly offered me what she said would be, if not a miracle cure, then a definite help.

  ‘Just add a few drops of this to your bath water,’ she said, handing me a small blue bottle, ‘and then sit in it for at least half an hour.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ I asked, removing the stopper and taking an exploratory sniff.

  It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t Radox either.r />
  ‘I’m not sure exactly,’ Dolly frowned, ‘there’s definitely marjoram and rosemary but beyond that . . .’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘From Molly at Wynthorpe Hall.’

  I hadn’t heard mention of a Molly before.

  ‘How many people actually live in that place?’ I laughed.

  ‘She doesn’t live in the hall. She has a cottage in the woods. She makes all sorts of remedies.’

  ‘Is she a witch?’ I joked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dolly, pulling me up short. ‘I suppose she is. Of sorts. Anyway, whatever she is, she knows her stuff. A few drops of that and a decent night’s sleep will set you to rights.’

  I didn’t ask for further explanation and made sure I was firmly ensconced in the bathroom with my phone playing some soothing music well before Beamish arrived to take Dolly to church.

  ‘I’ll lock the door,’ she called up to me. ‘See you later.’

  ‘Bye!’ I called back.

  I was surprised that I felt disappointed to be missing out on singing a few carols and seeing the second advent candle lit, but I thought it best to put some distance between me and Beamish, at least until I had turned off the little torch I had started to shine for him.

  I had just started to nod off when my phone began to ring and I jolted upright, sloshing water over the sides of the bath. It was Jonathan, requesting a video call.

  ‘Where are you?’ he laughed once I had propped the phone up on my towel which was on the chair next to the bath.

  ‘Can’t you see me?’ I asked, leaning in a little.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he grinned. ‘Hattie, are you in the bath?’

  ‘Yes,’ I giggled, then remembering where he was added, ‘You aren’t out in public somewhere, are you?’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I’m in the hotel and I’m rather pleased I called your mobile rather than trying the house phone now.’

  ‘Don’t get any funny ideas,’ I told him. ‘I just wanted to make sure no one was likely to look over your shoulder, that’s all.’

  He laughed again, his whole face lighting up.

  ‘I’ve really missed you today,’ I told him, leaning even further forward so I could properly see his face.

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I could have done with a hug.’

  ‘A hug?’

  ‘Amongst other things,’ I sighed.

  ‘Are you thinking about that bath in Iceland by any chance?’ he said huskily.

  ‘The one with all the bubbles,’ I dreamily added.

  ‘That’s the one,’ he said. ‘That was quite something, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I agreed.

  We’d enjoyed the luxurious bath during the most lavish trip we had ever taken. The temperature was a stark contrast to Abu Dhabi but we’d found ways to keep warm while lying beneath a glass-topped dome. The memory of those nights could still melt my insides.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘don’t get me all riled up when you’re so far away.’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I actually wanted to talk to you about the apartment.’

  ‘You are happy with it, aren’t you?’ he asked, sounding concerned. ‘You seemed pleased in your email and I would have called again sooner, only—’

  ‘I love it,’ I interrupted. ‘I only wish we were moving in this year instead of next.’

  ‘Me too,’ he sighed. ‘But it’s not long now. And the place has the most amazing views. We were really lucky to get it.’

  I could believe that. Property was fast becoming as hot as the temperature in Abu Dhabi. We chatted about the location, aspect of the rooms and of course, the laundry service.

  ‘And what have you been up to this weekend?’ Jonathan then asked.

  I knew it was impossible to tell him about my letter-writing exercise and as nothing was going to come of it anyway, it would have been pointless. More likely than not mentioning my parents again would have caused an argument, so instead I told him briefly about the skating and how amazing Dolly was on the ice and thanked him for the cafetière and extra coffee.

  ‘She’s feeling very spoilt,’ I said.

  ‘Well I’m trying to make more of an effort.’

  ‘She told me you chatted for ages the other night,’ I felt myself go hot as I remembered that the conversation had included a lie Dolly had told for me.

  ‘We did,’ he said, ‘and I’m pleased she’s liked her presents.’

  It wasn’t lost on me that Jonathan had used material gifts to win Dolly around, while certain other folk had gone out of their way to set up experiences and trips out. Memories rather than stuff.

  ‘So, what are your plans for tomorrow?’ Jonathan eventually asked after spending ages giving me the lowdown on his weekend – fine dining in a swanky restaurant, followed by an overnight stay on a friend’s yacht made his couple of days sound far fancier than mine.

  I told him about the photos Rose had picked up and how busy she had said the school was. I also mentioned that it was a bit much for Dolly, which wasn’t strictly true but led me nicely into telling him that I was occasionally helping out a bit myself, just to share the load.

  ‘Well, don’t tire yourself out,’ was all he said, ‘you’re supposed to be there on holiday, remember?’

  I was surprised by his lack of reaction, but grateful for it and promised I wouldn’t overdo things and that I would be fighting fit for when I saw him again.

  ‘I better go,’ I said eventually, standing up and giving him a glimpse of my bare skin before I wrapped myself in the bath towel. My legs were feeling much more relaxed than before. ‘The water’s going cold.’

  ‘I could tell,’ he drawled. ‘You look like you’ve got goosebumps.’

  ‘Well don’t zoom in,’ I laughed, not even sure if that was possible.

  ‘I don’t have to,’ he grinned.

  ‘I’ll speak to you in a few days.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, leaning forward to sign off. ‘Have fun at school.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  I was feeling as light as air by the time I finished dressing. Thoughts of the card were banished and it was a relief that Jonathan knew I was working in school. Now I wouldn’t have to be guarded about letting anything slip whenever we spoke. I had been wrong to think that he would object. I really hadn’t been giving him enough credit recently.

  I waited upstairs until I heard Dolly come in and made sure Beamish was gone before I went back down.

  ‘How was your bath?’ she asked. ‘You certainly look better.’

  ‘I feel it,’ I yawned, stretching my hands above my head. ‘And Jonathan called.’

  ‘While you were in the bath?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Whatever next,’ she tutted.

  I didn’t tell her we’d Skyped.

  ‘How was church?’ I asked, moving a few things on the table so I could set it.

  ‘Lovely,’ Dolly smiled. ‘There were—’

  ‘Dolly,’ I cut in.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where are the cards?’

  ‘The cards?’

  ‘The Christmas cards,’ I all but shouted. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘In the postbox,’ she said, not catching on. ‘Beamish stuck the stamps on while I was getting ready and we posted them on the way.’

  ‘All of them?’

  Her eyes darted from mine back to the table as she realised what had happened.

  ‘Oh, my dear girl,’ she tutted. ‘I’m so sorry, but it’s gone.’

  Chapter 12

  To say I was distraught didn’t come close to expressing the emotions coursing through my veins. Not only had the envelope containing the jolly robin card entered the postal system, but the letter inside it had gone too. If this was Dolly’s idea of helping me ignite my seasonal spirit and make some happy memories, then she was failing dismally. The only thing a
light was my temper.

  ‘Well I can’t just leave it,’ I wailed. ‘That letter . . . I would never have sent that. The card perhaps, but not the letter.’

  ‘I’ll call Beamish,’ said Dolly, realising I was no more capable of accepting the situation than I was able to fly to the moon.

  I didn’t see what good it would do, but I let her go ahead.

  ‘Can you come back?’ I heard her asking him as I circled the table, alternately checking the envelope hadn’t slipped underneath and tearing at my nails. ‘There might have been a mix-up with my Christmas cards.’

  ‘What did he say?’ I demanded, the moment she ended the call.

  ‘That he’s on his way, but he doesn’t think there could have been a mix-up because he posted the lot.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ I wailed again, stuffing my hands in my pockets. At this rate I wouldn’t have any nails left.

  Jonathan was going to go berserk and I could hardly blame him. Why had I listened to Dolly? He had accused her of meddling before and I had defended her, but I couldn’t now, could I? I tried to console myself with the thought that perhaps my parents would put the card and the emotion-laden letter in the bin unopened, but knew I was in for a tense few days waiting to find out.

  ‘Where’s the fire?’ Beamish beamed, bursting in. ‘I didn’t even have time to get my coat off.’

  I looked at him and narrowed my eyes.

  ‘This is your fault,’ I began, but Dolly cut me off.

  ‘No,’ she said sternly. ‘It most certainly is not.’

  ‘Yours then,’ I bit back.

  ‘Hey,’ Beamish frowned, coming further into the room. ‘That’ll do.’

  I bit my lip, too wound up to apologise. I was hell-bent on blaming someone for the mess and determined to find someone else to fix it.

  ‘Now,’ said Beamish, ‘tell me what it is that I’m supposed to have done.’

  Dolly explained again, this time paying particular attention to my card which hadn’t been on the pile.

  ‘I definitely took the lot,’ said Beamish, ‘I told you that on the phone, Dolly. I assumed that the separated card must have slipped off the top and, as there were exactly the right number of stamps for them all, I posted that one with all the others. I take it, it wasn’t meant to go?’