Toni’s Blog

“Can we decorate the tree now?” My seven-year-old daughter was jumping excitedly from side to side on the doorstep.

“Oh, Lauren, be patient for a bit longer, please,” I grumbled as I searched in my bag for the key.  “The tree will have to wait.  Let’s get this shopping in and have something to eat.  I’m cold and I’m hungry.”

I didn’t add that I was thoroughly fed up, too.

Undeterred by my bad mood Lauren hurtled into the house, discarding her coat and mittens as she went.  I sighed as I watched her.  Oh, if only I had her unfailing optimism and energy.  Maybe then life and its problems would be easier to cope with.

The house felt warm and welcoming, yet I couldn’t conjure up one ounce of Christmas spirit.  In fact I dearly wished I could sleep right through the holiday and wake up on the first of January!

“Come on, Mum,” Lauren called.  “I’ll help you put the shopping away.  What are we having to eat?”

I looked down at her eager, innocent little face and hugged her.  It wasn’t her fault things hadn’t gone the way Steve and I had planned, or that the bills were piling up.  And it certainly wasn’t her fault that I was so miserable.  Come on, Amy, make the effort, I told myself firmly.  Things could be a lot worse.

“What would you like for lunch?” I forced a brightness into my voice.  “Beef burgers?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed.  “Then can we do the tree?”

“Yeah!” I laughed as I reached into the deep freeze.  “Then we can do the tree!”

It was Christmas Eve after all, and I couldn’t put it off any longer.  I’d bought the tree a week before, and it had been sitting in the garage ever since.  It was the one thing about Christmas I’d been dreading.  Since our first Christmas together Steve had insisted on making a ritual of decorating the tree.  He regarded it as his and Lauren’s special contribution to the festivities.  One in which I wasn’t allowed any part.  It was just for fathers and daughters, he’d told me proudly.

Only this year Steve wasn’t here.  He was working away and we didn’t know when, or even if, he’d be able to get home in time for Christmas.

As soon as Lauren had finished eating she made a bee line for the garage.  By the time I’d got there she’d already dragged the tree halfway out of the door, leaving a trail of loose pines on the concrete.  It wasn’t as big as our previous trees had been, even so it took both of us to manhandle it into the house and set it upright in the tub.

“Right, that should do it,” I remarked as I tested the tree to make sure it was safe.  “Can you get the decorations, Lauren.  They’re in the spare bedroom.”

As she ran upstairs I gazed at the brightly painted tub holding the tree and a tearful lump came into my throat.  Steve had bought it for Lauren’s first Christmas and each year he’d freshened the paint lovingly.  It had become part of the ritual, and there was a special reason for it.

“When I was a kid we always had one of those silver plastic trees on three legs that sat on the table,” he’d told me that first Christmas.  “And I said then, when I had children of my own they’d always have a real tree in a proper tub.  It’s pure magic coming down on Christmas morning and seeing their eyes light up at the pile of presents under a well decorated green pine tree.  It makes it special somehow.”

I brushed away the stray tear that had escaped down my cheek.  Only there wouldn’t be piles of presents this year.  We didn’t have the money.  In fact I’d thought twice about buying the tree.  It seemed an unnecessary waste when there were so many bills to pay.  Then I’d seen a special offer at the market and I’d relented.  I had put my foot down about new decorations though.  The old ones would have to do, I’d told Lauren firmly.

Even so, as we sorted through the box I couldn’t help feeling they looked a bit tatty.  Lauren, however, didn’t seem to notice and started hanging the baubles on the lower branches.

“It’s a pity Daddy isn’t here, don’t you think, Mum?” she asked suddenly.  “’Cos this is his job really.”

“He’s got to work, love, you know that,” I said as I stifled an irritable sigh.

“Oh, I know,” Lauren agreed easily.  “He will be home for tomorrow though, won’t he?”

“He said he’d try,” I told her lightly, not wanting to spoil her Christmas before it had even begun.  “But it’s a long way from Brussels, and he didn’t know what time he’d finish work today.”

The truth was very different.  When Steve had phoned last weekend he’d tentatively told me that the company were paying triple time to work over Christmas.  The fact he’d told me about it meant he’d actually been considering working over the holiday, and I’d exploded.  I told him if he couldn’t be bothered to come home for Christmas he needn’t bother coming home at all.

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Christmas Story