Christmas In July

There’s something to celebrate in this emotional short story by Alyson Hilbourne.

Why had Ellie chosen to wear that particular sweater to school today?

WELL, would you look at that – she’s wearing a Christmas jumper in July!” I feel a squeezing in my chest and I want to pull

Ellie behind me out of sight as I hear the woman’s voice ring out across the road.

I look down at Ellie but she appears not to have noticed.

She is playing the game of not stepping on the cracks in the pavement with a determination that blots everything else out.

I’d like to disappear down one of the cracks myself.

Instead, I tighten my grip on her hand slightly and we continue walking to school.

I could have stopped and explained to the woman.

“Ellie’s a little different,” I could say. “She’s still adjusting to the world.”

But why should Ellie conform to others’ expectations?

The school allowed the children to choose a costume for this last day of school in order to raise money for charity.

This is Ellie’s choice. I thought she’d pick her unicorn onesie or a party dress, but she was quite determined to wear the green and red sweater with a large snowflake on the front, unconcerned that it might be a bit warm for July.

“This, Mummy,” she said proudly, handing it to me to help her dress.

“That’s nice,” Dave said at breakfast.

“It’s for the fancy-dress day at school,” I explained, wondering if he’d pick up my note of worry.

“I don’t think anyone else will be dressed like that,” he said, completely missing the point.

So Ellie and I head towards school for the last time this year.

I’ve smuggled her onesie into a bag just in case when she gets to the playground and sees her friends dressed as Elsa, Alice in Wonderland, Harry Potter and dinosaurs, she might change her mind.

At the school gate Ellie runs off to play with friends and I wander inside to speak to her teacher.

Ms Slade has been wonderful this year, patient and accommodating, as I know Ellie has taken more than her fair share of time.

“Ellie is wearing a Christmas sweater,” I explain.

“I’m worried she might want to change at some point so I’ve brought this.” I hold up the bag with the onesie.

“That’s fine,” Ms Slade says. “Put it on her peg, and if there’s a problem I’ll help her change.”

“Thank you.” I smile with relief. The woman is so serene. Nothing rattles her. “Have a good day!”

“It’ll be manic,” she says. But she smiles back. Really, she’s a saint.

Still, I spend the day worrying about Ellie. She’s only been with us a year.

The social worker warned us she’d had a very difficult start in life and was slow to develop in many ways.

It had been a long process to adopt her because they were concerned we wouldn’t cope.

There were many visits – us to her, her to us – then trial days.

Eventually, though, papers were signed and hands shaken and we brought her home.

We have exercises to help her fine and gross motor development, and she has extra help in class, but I know she is still a long way behind other children of her age.

“Just give her a place of love, where she feels safe and happy,” one of the care workers said. “Don’t push things.”

So we’ve taken things slowly, gradually introducing her to our world and expectations.

She still needs lots of help, but since she’s come into our lives she’s brought so much laughter and joy that I can’t imagine how we lived so long without her.

I go to the shops for the weekend shopping still thinking about Ellie’s choice of clothing. I walk home, put the shopping away and make myself a coffee.

I’ve half a mind to phone the school and check on her, but I’m sure they would have rung if there were a problem.

They had to do that several times in the first term when school had all been too much for Ellie and I had to collect her early, but since Christmas she’s really settled down and has been enjoying herself.

Still, my heart is in my mouth as I go along at three o’clock to fetch her.

I don’t want her last day of school to have been a problem that we have to spend the summer holidays smoothing over.

I get to the classroom door and can see many mothers are inside, peering at a board of pictures that has been put up today.

Ms Slade beckons me over.

“Go and have a look,” she says.

My mouth goes dry. I don’t like surprises where Ellie is concerned.

I stare at the pictures. The children have drawn themselves in their fancydress costumes and given a reason for their choices.

I chose Harry Potter because I like the story – Max.

I am Elsa because I like her – Chloe.

Hurriedly, I search for Ellie’s picture.

Then I see it. Her drawing is barely recognisable as a person, although it’s better than she used to do.

The writing is Ms Slade’s, although Ellie has written her name in block capitals.

I chose my Christmas sweater because every day is like Christmas with Mummy and Daddy – ELLIE.

Tears spring to my eyes and I can’t turn round and look at anybody.

I stand staring at the picture until I feel a small hand working its way into mine.

“Mummy.” Ellie tugs at me. “It’s time to go home.”

“It is,” I say. “And do you know what? When we get back home, I think I’ll put my Christmas sweater on, too.”

The End.