by Anna Blix
“Hello Clare,” he said. “Nice to see you here. I thought you had gone.”
“I was about to leave, but there were… complications. And also, I realised there was something I had to tell you.” She stood there watching him.
“What?”
“Um, I think I’ll wait until you’re down on the ground. Are you trying to climb up to the chimney?”
“Yes.” Niklas kicked his feet again. He stuck his bottom out and pulled his knees up against the wall. Then he put one foot up as high as he could, and then the other. Slowly, he recommenced his ascent. His hands were aching and the metal bracket cut into his fingers, but he made his way back up in line with the second-floor window.
“You’re nearly there.”
Niklas glanced back again. Clare was clasping her hands together, standing on the ground. He reached for the gutter, grabbed hold of it with his numb hands, and pulled himself up onto the frosty slate tiles. He lay flat on his stomach, and spread his hands and knees out to the side, slowly hauling himself up towards the ridge. He lost grip and slid back several times, but eventually made it up to the top, where he threw one leg over the ridge and sat himself up, straddling the rooftop. He cast his triumphant smile down at Clare.
She grinned. “You’re nearly at the chimney now. Just a little bit further.”
Niklas gazed the other way, out over the city, and was struck by a sense of vertigo. Before him lay all of London, spread out like a glittering ocean of lights. The view Sophie had drawn — the projection of the skyline that had guided him to her house — was absolutely breathtaking. He clutched on tighter, closed his eyes and smiled.
He carried on towards the chimney. Scooting himself across the roof, with his eyes closed tight and his hands clinging on to the tiles. Eventually, he reached the chimney stack. It was taller than it had seemed from the ground, and Niklas had to climb onto his knees to look into it. Shaking, he squinted down the black flue.
“It doesn’t look like a very wide chimney,” he called down to Clare.
“No?”
“More like average size.” He paused. “I don’t think the present will fit.”
“And there is still smoke coming out of it,” called Clare.
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to call the fire department and have them on hold?” she offered.
“I don’t even think it’s worth trying, Clare. There’s no way.”
“Maybe if you push it in firmly?”
Niklas shook his head. “It would only get burnt… again.” He considered his options for a minute. Then he said, “Do you think I should come back down?”
“It’s not your fault they don’t have a chimney wide enough. Or that they decided to put on the fire, on Christmas night. That’s quite a daft thing to do, if you ask me. But you do what you think is right, Niklas. It’s not for me to say.”
“I think I’ll come down instead. I’ll leave it by the door — that’ll be fine. It still counts. But how do I get down?” In fact, it seemed even more impossible getting down than up.
Einar snorted. Niklas fixed him with a stare. The reindeer shifted his weight to the other hoof. “Could you fly up here and get me, Einar?”
Clare laughed. “You know he would if he could. But unfortunately, I’ve run out of magic elf dust to sprinkle over him.”
“Well, then I have to do it the old fashioned way; same as I came up.”
Gingerly, Niklas turned himself around and traversed back across the roof. Then he lay back on his stomach, eased his way down the slate tiles and grabbed hold of the gutter. There he hung for a few seconds before he put his hands around the drainpipe, slid half of the way down, lost his grip, and fell the rest of the way to the ground. He landed heavily, stumbled backwards and fell back in the gravel.
A light flicked on inside the house.
“It’s a difficult climb,” he said to Clare.
“I can imagine.” Clare pointed at his torn and blood-spattered jeans. “What happened to you?”
“This? I took a little tumble when I got the scooter out of the pit. It’s nothing to worry about.” Niklas nodded back up at the chimney. “Do you think I should just put the present outside the door instead?”
“I think that’s a very good idea. Especially since they’re waking up inside. Let’s get out of here.”
Niklas smiled. This was perfect. Standing here outside Sophie’s house on Christmas morning, with Clare and Einar, he felt like he was in exactly the right place at the right time. “Well, in that case,” he said, “I’ll just leave it here by the door.” He pulled the present out from under his parka.
Clare made a choking noise. “Nice gift wrap!”
He turned the present around in his hands, holding it up for her inspection. “I’m quite pleased, myself.”
“And what was the scooter like? As new, I assume?”
“She’s an absolute beauty, Clare. Sophie will be so pleased. A little worn, perhaps, and maybe a bit charred in places, but perfectly useable.”
Clare smiled. “That’s great to hear. Just a little charred.”
Niklas walked up to the porch. He was just about to set the scooter down when the front door opened. A man, presumably Sophie’s dad, dressed in pyjama bottoms and a white tank top, stood there in front of them. He squinted at the unexpected trio.
Niklas made a quick decision. “Here you go,” he said and passed the man the soiled, newspaper-wrapped present.
The man’s facial expression slowly changed from drowsy to disgusted. Niklas pushed the present into his hands. As the man hesitantly turned the gift over, one of the meal-deal stickers fell off and the smeared newspaper pages unravelled before his eyes to reveal the red, slightly charred, somewhat used but absolutely beautiful scooter. Sophie’s dad gaped at him.
Niklas smiled and nodded. “It’s for Sophie. Merry Christmas!”
“It’s her Christmas present. The one she wrote to Santa about,” added Clare helpfully and winked an eye at him.
Niklas and Clare turned and led Einar off, leaving Sophie’s dad standing there on the doorstep, scratching his head, watching them walk away.
A girl woken by strange voices, tiptoed excitedly down the stairs and into the hallway. She had celebrated her sixth birthday only two months ago, and now it was already Christmas. She saw her dad standing motionless in the doorway, holding something big. She went up to him and looked curiously at the item. It was old, and made out of rusty scrap metal and faded plastic, but she couldn’t see it properly since it was half-covered in newspapers. The whole thing smelled funny, like the dustbin in the kitchen did when her dad had forgotten to empty it. It was probably just some rubbish her dad was taking out to the bins.
A movement caught her eye, and she stared past him out the door and at the three figures walking away. A man with a beard sticking out to the sides, wearing a big red coat, red hat and black boots; a short person with a green pointed hat — and a scrawny-looking goat. “Who are they?” she asked.
Her dad scratched his head. “I have no idea. We don’t half get some strange people come to the door around here.” He set the wrapped metal thing on the doorstep, stepped back inside and closed the door. “I’ll deal with that in the morning. Let’s get you back to bed, sweetie. It’s still night-time,” he said and bolt-locked the door.
The little girl followed him back through the house, past the Christmas tree in the living room. She glanced under it. Santa must have come to their house because there were already presents there. She gave them a quick visual inspection when she walked past. There must be at least ten presents — or maybe even one hundred. Most of them were for her — she always got the most presents, and she’d been good all year. One present in particular caught her eye. It was cuboid shaped and bigger than all of the others. It had shiny green wrapping paper and a large red bow. She knew what it was — what it had to be. It couldn’t be anything else.
Goosebumps broke out all over her body. It could only m
ean one thing. Santa Claus had read her letter.
46
Niklas danced his way back to Clare’s car, too ecstatic to take any notice of the stinging cut on his leg. He felt like singing out loud, picking Clare up, and twirling her around.
Clare walked next to him with Einar on a rope. She smiled and Niklas smiled back.
“Did she really lock the policeman in the shed?” he asked.
“She did!” Clare laughed.
“Well, she always was a little rebel. Good thing it ended well.” Niklas glanced at Clare and hesitated. “…When I was up on the roof, you said there was something you wanted to say to me.”
Clare nodded.
“Was it… Was it the thing about the policeman, or… I don’t know?” He swallowed nervously. “It sounded like there was something else.”
“Yeah, there was something else…” Clare studied the pavement. “…Do you remember that night when we were in my room, and you said that…”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Um, well, I don’t know if you meant it. I know we’ve only known each other for a short while, but…”
Niklas blinked at her. Clare’s green hat was pulled down to her eyebrows. “Yes?” he said.
She turned and gazed up at him. “Um, I kinda like you too.” She touched his arm. “I’m sorry things went a little funny after… you know. It just took me by surprise. I’m not used to that kind of thing…”
With his head swimming, Niklas took a moment to process this new information. What if he should… No, he couldn’t. Yes? It could never end well. Or could it? He took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. In the end, he said, “So do you think we should maybe… I don’t know… Try again?”
Clare nodded.
Niklas stopped and turned to her, his heart pounding. She placed her hand on his shoulder. She looked just like a cute little elf in her green hat. Niklas beamed at her. Blushing, Clare closed her eyes. Wise from experience, Niklas kept his half-open. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers. And softly they kissed.
“We did it.”
Clare hugged him. “We sure did.”
Einar snorted as they walked on, side by side.
“Do you think Sophie will like her present when she gets it?” Clare asked.
Would Sophie like it? How could she not like it? It was exactly what she’d asked for! It was going to be the most epic present she’d ever been given and she would love it! “Yes,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she’ll like it. Did you tell Mrs Dollimore we found the house?”
“No — you tell her when you get back.”
“What do you think she’ll say when she hears?”
“I think she’ll say that she knew you’d prove the Christmas Hypothesis all along.”
“If only you’d also believe…”
Clare laughed. “Well, I for one am struggling with the notion that I’m walking along with Santa Claus. And I just kissed him!”
Niklas could feel his cheeks turn red. “Do you think you could get used to it?”
“I should think so.”
“What now, then?”
“Well, since you’re not going to Antarctica any longer, maybe you want to come and visit me in Scotland?”
Niklas looked up at the brisk London sky and breathed deeply. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
The three figures walked the home stretch to Clare’s car. It was early Christmas morning, and it had been a long night. The sun was not yet up, but lights were beginning to come on in some windows. And slowly, slowly, from the cloudy sky, fell the first snowflakes. Large snowflakes, swirling gracefully through the air. They landed on the ground, where they melted away instantly.
They also landed on Niklas’s face. It was the softest snow he had ever felt.
Thank you for reading The Christmas Hypothesis
I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Do you remember my offer of a free short story starring one of the minor characters from this book? Did you guess who? It’s Chrissy, the pink-haired salon assistant! You can find it here:
www.annablix.com/newsletter
This story is exclusive to my newsletter subscribers and you can’t get it anywhere else. There will also be freebies, giveaways, sneak peaks, and you’ll be the first to hear when my next book is out. And most of all, it will be nice to keep in touch!
Enjoyed the Book?
You can make a big difference. Please consider leaving a review to tell other readers what you thought. It really makes a huge difference for an independent author like me, who doesn’t have the muscle of a big publisher behind me.
Thanks a million
Anna
Acknowledgments
Thank you to everyone who has supported and encouraged me in writing this book. A special thank you goes out to the following people, dogs and organisations: Developmental editor James Magniac. Copy editor James Millington. My local writing group Cambridge Writers, and in particular the members of our Long Prose group. Mum, Dad, David, Bo, Millie, Antonia, Laura. My handsome husband Johan, who has read and critiqued early drafts of the manuscript, as well as helped proofread the finished novel. Last but not least, thank you, Reader.
