Meeting Mother Christmas By Milly Johnson

It’s amazing how lives can change after a chance encounter at a motorway service station…

She sounded QUITE CROSS about Charlie Tipton’s SILLY PARENTS

Sarah had only left Toby alone for two minutes, but by the time she had returned to the table with a tray of refreshments he was deep in conversation with an old lady and his mouth was moving ten to the dozen which probably meant he’d said far too much.

Toby should have been in the Guinness Book of Records for the amount of information he could divulge in the shortest time possible.

“I hope you don’t mind me sharing your table,” said the old lady to her. “I couldn’t find any empty ones.”

“I think I got the last one,” replied Sarah, “so I left my son to guard these two seats. And of course I don’t mind.”

The service station was heaving. A broken-down lorry had closed the motorway and everyone seemed to have the same idea: pull off, have a coffee and wait for it to be shifted.

“Your son has been keeping me entertained,” smiled the old lady. Toby grinned proudly and Sarah tried not to look worried.

“Doesn’t she look like Father Christmas, Mummy?” said Toby. “Toby!” Toby’s mouth was a scary receptacle. But the old lady let loose a deep chuckle.

“I think I was asking for that comparison wearing this.” She patted the red swing coat with the black belt and the white furry collar. “It’s not just the coat, it’s the –” “Now Toby, why don’t you drink up your milkshake,” said Sarah quickly cutting off the “beard” word with expert timing. That really was a lucky escape. It wasn’t a beard as such, just a few long, grey hairs on her chin. If the old lady had been her mum, she would have snipped them off for her, although she looked much older than her mum’s age – even older than a grandma too. Her face was very wrinkly but her eyes were bright and blue – the eyes of a woman who liked to laugh, thought Sarah.

“Toby was telling me what he’d asked Santa for,” said the lady. “There was a very long list of requirements.”

“Well, Toby had better make sure he stays on that “nice’ list then,” said Sarah, casting him a look.

“I used to say the same thing to my son,” confessed the lady. “I always had a very well-behaved boy in December.”

“If I am very good, will I get a daddy this year then?” asked Toby.

A daddy was top of his Christmas list, even above the blue bicycle and the pirate costume with treasure chest that he’d seen on the TV.

Toby’s real dad had walked out on Sarah before he’d even been born. Three months later he had married the woman he’d been having an affair with behind Sarah’s back and emigrated to Canada.

He’d sent her a cheque for a lump sum for the baby, told her in no uncertain terms that would save her chasing him for child support and ended the accompanying letter with a very limp “sorry,can’thelpthesethingshappening,” and that was that. It was as if he was a totally different person to the man she had fallen in love with two years before.

“Santa brings things like bicycles and toys, Toby, as I’ve told you before. He doesn’t bring people or animals.”

“Santa never brings animals,” said the lady in red. “It’s a far too chaotic time for an animal to join a household.”

“Charlie Tipton got a kitten from Santa last year,” countered Toby.

“Charlie Tipton’s parents bought it,” said the lady adamantly. “Santa just wouldn’t. I absolutely know this. And they should have known better.”

She sounded quite cross about Charlie Tipton’s silly parents.

“See, listen to the lady,” said Sarah, glad of the back up. Toby turned his attention to his very large cookie. “Kids, eh?” said Sarah with a tut. “I love them,” said the lady. “I love their straight-talking.” She smiled, and Sarah thought that she must have been very beautiful as a young woman. Her eyes were stunning.

“Toby is very good at saying things as they are,” she conceded.

“My son was exactly the same. I used to worry what was going to come out of his mouth all the time. But I’d give anything to have him back as a baby just for five minutes. You must treasure these days because they’ll be gone like that.” And she snapped her fingers.

“What does your son do for a job?” asked Toby. “I’m going to be a postman.”

“Well, that’s a coincidence because my son is a sort of postman too. But he delivers parcels rather than letters,’ said the lady. “And he loves it. That’s a very good choice of career.”

“Or I might be a fireman,” said Toby, tilting his head to one side in deliberation. “The man across the street is a fireman. Mum’s face goes red when she sees him.”

“Toby!” Mum’s face was going red again. She didn’t even realise her five-year old had noticed the effect her neighbour had on her.

“Bit of a looker, this chap, is he?” asked the lady, grinning.

“I think he’d make me a nice dad,” mused Toby. “I think I’m going to ask Santa to give him to me for Christmas.” Then he took his Nintendo out of his backpack. Sarah knew they’d have peace for a few minutes because once he was immersed in TheHuntfortheBlue Dragon, the outside world did not exist.

“It must be hard bringing up a child alone,” said the lady quietly. “It’s only natural for him to look at other families and want the same.”

“I wish I could give him what he wanted,” said Sarah with a sad sigh. “He’s such a smashing little boy and he wants a dad so much. I grew up without one and so I know what he’s going through.”

“And is Mr Handsome across the street a possibility?”

“Oh, he’s right out of my league,” said Sarah. “He’s gorgeous. He has a little girl in the year above Toby at school.”

“Out of your league? Don’t be so silly,” said the lady. “You’re a very attractive young woman. But the big question is, is he a free man?” She leaned in closer for detail.

“He is. His wife walked out on

them just after his daughter was born, so I heard. We have quite a lot in common. I’ve only spoken to him a couple of times. The postman keeps getting his thirteens and eighteens mixed up so we are always getting each other’s mail.”

Mr Fireman was called Alex Strong. Even his name was straight out of a romantic novel. SarahStrong. She’d actually doodled it on a notepad like a lovesick teenager.

“You should invite him over for dinner,” said the lady. “Take the lead.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” said Sarah, a note of horror in her voice. “Too scared of rejection. Plus I’m more an old-fashioned girl. If he was interested, he’d ask me.”

“I asked my husband to dance with me,” said the lady. “He was very shy. He was actually trying to pluck up courage, so I found out later, but I was too impatient for all that waiting nonsense.”

Sarah noticed the wedding ring on her finger. “Is he still… are you…?”

“Oh yes, he’s still around. He’s waiting outside actually, he doesn’t like service stations.” The old lady smiled. “He helps our son occasionally when he’s busy. Well, we all do really. You have to pull together when you’re family, don’t you?”

Sarah had no experience of that. Her lot didn’t pull together at all and so she’d been determined not to have a broken, dysfunctional family. She’d never have got pregnant if had she not believed that she and Rob weren’t in it for the long haul. She felt a total failure.

“I suppose I’d better get on my way,” said the lady. “I think the road must be clear by now.” She stood and Sarah knew exactly what Toby had meant because the old lady did look like Father Christmas with her rotund build and long white hair. “I hope you both have a wonderful Christmas when it comes.”

Sarah nudged Toby. “Say goodbye to the lady, Tobes.”

“Oh, bye,” said the little boy. “It was very nice to meet you.”

“What lovely manners,” smiled the lady. “I think you’ll be getting exactly what you want for Christmas, Toby. The BIG present.” And she winked.

“Really?” Toby’s grin was as wide but Sarah’s wasn’t. Oh, she wished the lady hadn’t said that; it wasn’t her who’d have to deal with Toby when he found a jigsaw in his stocking and not a dad.

Still, she knew the old lady was only trying to be kind so she didn’t say anything. Toby would have forgotten it in three weeks, she hoped.

“You take care,” Sarah told her. “Too many idiot drivers this time of year.”

“Oh, it’s fine. My husband is driving. We always take the quiet route.” The old lady gave a warm, throaty laugh and waddled off. Sarah didn’t like to tell her that there was no quiet route on the M1.

The night before Christmas Toby was in bed asleep and Sarah was arranging all his presents under the tree.

There was a sizeable pile, which she hoped might offset the disappointment that there wouldn’t be a dad wrapped in Christmas paper with a big bow on his head. She’d hoped by now that Toby would have forgotten all about the old lady and her promise, but he hadn’t.

She imagined Alex the fireman lying underneath her Christmas tree. If only.

A quiet knock on her door pulled her out of her reverie. She opened it to find Alex on her doorstep and gulped.

“Hi.” He smiled and Sarah’s heart thumped. She could feel her cheeks colouring already. “I’m so sorry to call but I’m desperate. I’ve run out of Sellotape and I just thought that, as a fellow parent on Christmas Eve, you must have some.” “Come in. I’ve got plenty.” “I can’t believe I’ve run out,” he said, scratching his head. “I’ve got everything but tape: bows, ribbons, gift tags… but no tape. I could have sworn I bought some.”

Sarah reached into her big bag of Christmas stuff. “Is one enough?” “How many have you got?” “Six,” she replied. “I ran out of tags two years ago and so I feel your pain.”

“Two would be great if you can spare them,” said Alex. I’ve a massive doll’s house to wrap and loads of other stuff.”

“I’m assured the presents get smaller the older they get,” smiled Sarah.

“I’m Alex,” he said, holding out his hand. It was large and warm as she shook it and stuttered her name “Ssss… arah.”

“Look, I’ve got to dash back, I’ve left Beth asleep but I’ve been meaning to bump into you… hoped… hoped ttto…” He was stuttering worse than she was. “OK,” he began again, after a deep breath. “Can I thank you for the Sellotape by taking you out for a bite to eat soon? Maybe you and your son. A play park? The kids can go and climb things and we can have a coffee.” Well she wasn’t expecting that. “Oh… that would be lovely, but you don’t have to thank me.”

Willyoushutup, said avoice inside her. Justlethimthankyou.

“I insist,” he said. His smile was as warm as his hand had been. “I’ll call over after the madness of tomorrow, if that’s OK and we’ll arrange it. I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Sarah.”

She carried on wrapping until midnight and didn’t stop grinning. She thought this Christmas might be rather lovely after all.

And upstairs, Toby turned in bed, disturbed by the distant tinkle of sleigh bells and a lady’s warm throaty laugh that he recognised, even in his dreams…

She IMAGINED Alex the fireman LYING under her CHRISTMAS TREE