Brightest Star
A child and mother separated from a father and husband, a husband and father apart from his wife and son at Christmas... but a child’s book offers them a beacon of hope
Emily brushed Adam’s dark hair away from his forehead. “Night, darling. Sleep tight and don’t let –” “The bed bugs bite!” Adam finished for her. Reaching out a Spiderman-covered arm, he held up three fingers. Only three more days, Mummy, and then Christmas will be here.”
“Don’t you mean Father Christmas?” she asked, bending to kiss her son’s cheek. Adam turned to face the wall, pulling the duvet up so it covered his face.
“No, just Christmas.”
Emily’s heart contracted. She knew she should ask why he’d said that but, fearing his reply, she didn’t.
Above their heads, a mobile gently spun. It was one she hung up every Christmas from a hook that her husband, Tom, had fixed to the ceiling.
Three shining silver stars and one large golden one, hanging lower than the others. They glinted when they caught the light from the lamp.
“The brightest star,” Tom used to say, as he gently blew on it to make it turn.
“Would you like me to read you another story, Adam?”
They’d already had three, but Emily didn’t want to go downstairs. It would just be another evening the same as the one before: she’d close the curtains against the night sky and flick through the usual Christmas films and reruns of old sitcoms.
She sighed. Without Tom, things that she’d once enjoyed held little pleasure. “Can I have a Christmas one?”
“If you like.” Reaching up, Emily pulled a book from the shelf above the bed. It had Father Christmas on its cover. “What about the one where Santa gets stuck in the chimney?”
Adam shook his head.
“No, not that one.”
“Why not? I thought it was your favourite?”
“It’s not.” He folded his arms and his bottom lip trembled. “I hate it. It’s stupid.”
“You liked it last year.”
Picking the book up, Adam threw it across the bed.
“Father Christmas isn’t even real!” Emily watched in surprise as a tear slid down his cheek.
“Adam, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” It broke her heart to see her son cry.
His reply was so quiet, Emily could hardly hear it.
“I wish Santa was my dad.”
Emily quickly blinked away tears.
In the past it had been Tom who filled Adam’s stocking, but not this year. This year, she would be the one creeping into the darkened bedroom and placing the bulging stocking at the foot of the bed, hoping her son wouldn’t wake.
Tom would be with his parents, making plans for a new life without them. Emily lay down next to her son. “You wouldn’t want a dad like Santa. He’d have a long white beard and a big belly.”
Adam turned to look at her, his lashes wet.
“Yes, but Santa’s always there on Christmas morning. Wherever you are, or whatever you’ve done. Briony said that he came even when she was in Australia visiting her auntie.”
Struggling to keep her emotions in check, Emily forced a smile.
“Your presents will be here on Christmas morning, just like always, Adam.”
“But Daddy won’t be.”
Emily pulled Adam to her. All the presents in the world wouldn’t make up for the fact that Tom wouldn’t be there.
The agreement was that he’d see Adam on Boxing Day. It had seemed the right decision at the time.
“I want the story about the star.” Her son’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“We don’t have that one, Adam. It’s from the book of Christmas stories at Granny Tessa’s.”
In the past few years, in the week before Christmas, they had gone to stay with Tom’s parents.
At Adam’s bedtime, either Tom or his mum would read him a story. The Brightest Star had been his favourite.
“Can you tell it to me, Mum?” His eyes were filling with tears again.
Realising she’d never been in the room when the story was being read, Emily had to think fast.
“I know,” she said. “Why don’t you tell the story to me, Adam? That way, I’ll remember it for next time.”
“OK.” Adam put his hand in hers. “It starts with, ‘Once upon a time’.”
Emily smiled and watched the stars circle above their heads.
“I thought it might.”
Tom stood in his old bedroom and ran his finger along the shelf of books. Many of them were ones he’d had when he was a boy, rescued from the box in the attic when Adam was born.
They were as familiar to him now as they had been when his mother used to read them to him.
That was because Adam had heard them all, too, he thought sadly. He loved
them as much as Tom once had.
On the floor beside him, his suitcase lay open and empty, his shirts and work trousers now safely stowed in the wardrobe where his teenage jeans and T-shirts had once hung.
Shutting the case with his foot, he reached up and pulled a book from the shelf. It was large and shiny, its cover having seen better days. On the front, Santa’s sleigh and reindeer were flying over snowy rooftops.
Why he’d chosen that book he didn’t know. Maybe it was because Christmas at home would be different this year.
At home. Tom sighed. He supposed he shouldn’t be calling it that any more. In the New Year, he would be looking for a new house.
A new life. He wondered why this didn’t excite him.
Lowering himself on to the window seat, he opened the book and read the inscription inside the front cover.
“To Thomas, for his sixth Christmas – our little star. Love, Mum and Dad x”
This had been his favourite book. Adam’s, too.
Looking down the table of contents, he found the story he was after – The Brightest Star.
It was the tale of a poor boy who followed a bright star, travelling day and night to find out what lay beneath it.as a picture of Adam’s star mobile came into his head, he quickly pushed it away, unable to cope with the image of his small son lying beneath it, his mother’s dark head against his as she read to him.
There was a loud rap, and his mum’s head appeared round the door.
“I’m making your dad a cup of tea, and I wondered if you’d like one?” Tom turned back to the window. “I don’t mind.”
His mum hesitated, then came into the room.
“I see you’ve unpacked.”
“Yes. It seemed silly to be living out of a case.”
She came over and joined him at the window.
“The Brightest Star,” she said, looking at the open book in his hands. “How many times do you think we’ve read that over the years?”
“To me, or to Adam?”
His mother laughed.
“Both.”
Tom’s hand caressed the picture of the small boy who looked up at the bright star.
“I miss him, Mum. I miss them both.” “I know you do. I do, too. What went wrong, love?”
He shrugged.
“I don’t know. After we had Adam, Emily and I seemed to lose our way, and forgot the people we’d been before we became parents. We were just too tired of the arguments and it seemed easier to split up.”
His mother studied his face. “Things got too difficult,” she said. “I suppose so.” He hung his head, ashamed to admit it.
Taking the book from his hands, his mother pointed to the picture of the boy climbing up a mountainous path with only a pair of leather sandals on his bare feet.
“I wonder what would have happened if this boy had given up when the path became too difficult, Tom. Sometimes difficult roads lead to beautiful destinations and he may well have missed out.”
She smiled at him.
“Do you remember how you used to make me take you out into the garden to look at the stars?”
“Yes.” As he looked out of the window at the night sky, it seemed like only yesterday. “I hoped I might see the brightest star, too, but I never did.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I was a bit worried that if you did, you might try to follow it! Though, of course, you were only a boy then,” she said. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His mother didn’t answer, but flicked over the page.
“I always loved the ending. ‘Beneath the star was the most wondrous sight he’d ever seen’.
“I always thought it strange that the story never said what that was. I suppose they wanted to leave it up to the reader to decide.
“Why don’t you take a walk in the garden, Tom? Do some thinking.” Tom kissed her cheek.
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
When Tom came in later, his cheeks were red from the cold. But, for the first time in a long while, his head was clear.
His mum looked up.
“Well?” she prompted gently. “Did you see the brightest star?”
Tom shook his head.
“No, I didn’t see it, Mum.” He placed a hand against his heart.
“But I felt it in here.”
It was Christmas morning and, from the sound of wrapping paper being ripped off presents, it was clear that Adam was awake.
Putting on her dressing-gown, Emily went into his room.
“Merry Christmas!” Dropping a kiss on to Adam’s forehead, she sat on the bed and watched him shake the stocking to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
“Look at all my presents, Mum!” he cried, holding out his arms.
“I know. Christmas has been very kind to you this year.”
“Father Christmas, you mean.” Seeing Tom’s Christmas story book lying open on the bed, Emily laughed.
“Of course. Father Christmas. I see Daddy’s already been in to see you this morning.”
When Tom had arrived on her doorstep the previous evening, the book clutched in his hands and a sheepish look on his face, she hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry.
They’d spent the evening talking and had agreed to give their marriage another go. To try harder.
“I know what was under the brightest star, Emily,” he’d said. “It’s the most beautiful thing you can imagine. In my case, it’s you and Adam.”
She remembered the story Adam had told her. The one about the boy who’d travelled a difficult road to find what he was looking for.
She pictured the star he’d put his faith in.
I see it, too, she thought.