‘Are they visiting tomorrow?’
‘I’m sure we shall see them soon.’
‘But they always come on Christmas Day,’ Daisy insisted. ‘Has Aunt Betty’s cold gone?’
‘Cold?’ repeated Mother with a frown.
‘Did the doctor give her some medicine to cure it?’
‘Oh, that cold,’ said Mother with an unconvincing nod. ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he did.’
‘My word, Pat, what a grand stocking,’ said Pops as Mother hurried out of the room. ‘I’ll fix it to the chimney tonight. In time for the arrival of our special guest.’
Daisy gave her father a hug, reassured by the gassy smells of the laboratory on his coat. ‘I love Christmas, Pops.’
‘Of course you do,’ he agreed in his deep, steady voice. ’So let’s try to make the very, very most of this one.’
Daisy glanced up, in time to witness the expression on his face. Though she couldn’t decipher its meaning, Miss Bailey’s remark came to mind. “I fear this will be a Christmas to remember.”
Was it the word “fear” that alarmed her so? And why should it be this year that had to be made the very, very most of? Weren’t there dozens more wonderful Christmases to come?
Daisy woke early. At last Christmas Day was here. All the ups and downs of the previous weeks, were behind her.
After slipping on her dressing gown, she hurried to her brother’s room. ‘Bobby are you awake?’ She gently pushed open his door.
‘What do you want?’ he grumbled from under the bed clothes.
‘It's Christmas. Time to open our presents.’
Her brother crawled out from under the covers and dragged on his plaid dressing gown. Together they made their way downstairs in the dawn’s light.
‘It’s full!’ Daisy exclaimed when she saw the fat red stocking hanging over the hearth
‘Pops must have got up very early,’ yawned Bobby.
‘Perhaps it wasn’t Pops after all,’ suggested Daisy, trying to rekindle the feeling of wonder that Aunt Pat had described. The room seemed to take on a special light. All the decorations that she and Bobby had made, were strung around the walls. There was even a Christmas smell in the air, like snow and icicles might smell in the North Pole.
‘There's no Father Christmas. There never was,’ muttered Bobby irritably. He kicked the pouffe as if it was a football. ‘So don’t go harping on about it.’
‘I’m not harping on,’argued Daisy. ‘Why are you so grumpy?’
Bobby attacked the pouffe again. This time with a vengeance. It spun over and collided with the fireside tongs. The clattering noise echoed through the house.
‘Now see what you've done,’ he accused.
‘Didn’t do anything,’ defended Daisy. ‘You lost your temper. It’s Christmas as well.’
Bobby carefully righted the tongs. He gave a half-hearted smile. ‘Truce?’ he mumbled.
‘Truce,’ Daisy agreed, even though she felt it wasn’t her who had started the almost-quarrel.
‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’ Bobby unhooked the stocking and set it on the floor.
Daisy thought about what Aunt Pat had said about the special magic. Perhaps there really was a very kind man who visited children on Christmas Eve? He would have to own a car, because sleighs couldn’t fly. And he’d have to start off from the North Pole very early, in order to make all his deliveries. If some people believed you could dig all the way to Australia, why shouldn’t Father Christmas be true?
‘I’ll always believe in magic,’ Daisy said as they sat cross-legged on the floor.
Bobby took out the first parcel. ‘My name’s on this one. It’s my favourite too. Rowntree’s York Chocolate.’
‘I've got Duncan’s Hazelnut,’ said Daisy excitedly.
‘Look, what’s this? Oh gosh!’ He held out a pair of new football boots. ‘Just what I want. My old ones don’t fit any more. They’ve given me dreadful blisters.’
Daisy’s next present was a writing pad with lines running across each page. A pair of plimsolls followed.
‘Look, we’ve got oranges, apples and toffees.’
Daisy recognised them at once. ’The sweets are from Aunt Pat’s Saturday Assortment.’
‘Let’s divide them up.’
Daisy devoured hers immediately while Bobby stowed his in his pocket. ‘I wonder if Pops will play football with me today?’
‘I don’t care what I do as long as it’s not cooking or cleaning.’ Daisy licked her lips. ‘I hope uncle Ed and Aunt Betty come today. They give us such nice presents.’
Bobby flopped on his back lifting a foot to examine his new boot.
Daisy saw her chance. ’Bobby, I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What?’ her brother asked vaguely.
‘Do you remember how odd everyone sounded after the play? No one wanted to come home to tea.’
‘Perhaps they weren’t hungry.’ He jumped up and stamped his booted feet. ‘The boots are a bit big. It won’t take long to grow into them.’
‘Bobby, are you listening?’
‘Yes, but don’t make a drama out of everything.’
‘I’m not. Aunt Betty has a problem. She asked Aunt Minnie to solve it, but Aunt Minnie couldn’t. So Aunt Minnie gave it to Mother, who couldn’t solve it either. And didn’t you tell me never to give a problem to a grown-up that they couldn’t solve?’
‘So?’ Bobby dismissed.
‘You see, I was helping Mrs Hayes one day. While she served the teas I went to find Aunt Betty. I was about to knock on her office door when I heard voices coming from inside. The door was open a bit. I saw Aunt Betty and Mr Calder, the accounts manager, standing … well, very close.’
‘They were just talking I expect.’
‘Mr Calder said Aunt Betty must find an excuse to get away. Aunt Betty said she didn’t go out in the evenings without Uncle Ed. And then - well then, they nearly … you know…’
The chocolate she had eaten was beginning to make her feel sick. ‘That day Aunt Minnie called to see Mother,’ she struggled on, ‘it was to tell her that Aunt Betty was going to the cinema to see a film about a man in prison. Aunt Minnie couldn’t go with her, but Aunt Betty asked her to say she had.’
Bobby rolled his eyes. ‘Didn’t I
