The Magic of Christmas E-Book

DC Thomson

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 212

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Celebrate the joy of the festive season with “The Magic Of Christmas”, a fabulous anthology of short stories devoted to this most special time of year. There are stories for everyone, encapsulating the hope, joy and love of Christmas time. An array of best-selling authors will entertain and inspire you with their stories, including Alison Carter, Gabrielle Mullarkey, Leonora Francis, Liz Filleul and Val Bonsall. Romance, drama and, of course, as it’s Christmas, family matters can be found in this special anthology. Published by DC Thomson, “The Magic Of Christmas” contains 18 feel-good stories that capture the true spirit of Christmas.

Leseprobe

THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS

Published by DC Thomson

CONTENTS

1 A Christmas Gathering, Leonora Francis

2 A Warm Reception, Alyson Hilbourne

3 Adventures In Tasmania, Liz Filleul

4 All Change At Oakley Lodge, Suzanne Ross Jones

5 An Upside-down Christmas, Gabrielle Mullarkey

6 From The Heart, Alison Carter

7 Home For The Holidays, Beth Watson

8 Making Merry, Alison Wassell

9 Mistletoe And Wine, Karen Houseman

10 More Sprouts?, Kathryn Sennen

11 Pass The Parcel, Kate Blackadder

12 Perfectly In Tune, Nicola Martin

13 Seeing The Light, Sally Waterbury

14 Special Delivery, Julia Douglas

15 Truly Scrumptious! Alison Carter

16 When A Child Is Born, Mary Hudson

17 Window Dressing, Jacqui Cooper

18 Winter In The Willows, Val Bonsall

A Christmas Gathering

by Leonora Francis

Steadman sat down and switched on the TV. He flipped from channel to channel but there was nothing that took his fancy.

My goodness, he thought, there was not one thing; not one programme, which had anything to say.

What was he paying his TV licence for?

He sat back in his chair, turned on the radio and found himself listening to some sort of story.

The reader had a good voice, Steadman thought, but could at least put a bit more “oomph” into it.

At this rate he’d be falling asleep.

With nothing to do, he leaned back against the headrest and thought about things.

He could rattle around in a house with too many rooms, too many memories and too many things that he ought to throw away.

Then a memory popped into his head.

It was a memory from when the house was full of four females. Three were human and one was a dog.

* * * *

Steadman had taken to popping into the corner shop on his way to walk the dog.

He didn’t like dogs and, as predicted, he’d been saddled with walking it.

He’d made the prediction to his daughters days before the dog arrived.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “This is my house and I should have the final say.

“Don’t like dogs. Don’t like the mess.

“Don’t like that you have to walk them every day and I know, I just know, that it’s me that’s going to end up doing it!”

As usual, his eldest daughter, Joan, had sweet-talked him.

“But it’s for Lesia’s birthday . . . your granddaughter! She’s always wanted a dog.

“And look how well she’s doing at school. Top of the class! She deserves it with all her hard work, and besides . . .”

On she went. Joan should have been a barrister rather than an accountant.

She always had a way of getting to him with sweet words and constant talking.

He lost the battle and the dog arrived.

It was cute, small and fluffy and white, but it was an inconvenience.

And if it wasn’t for Lesia, who fell in love with it as soon as she laid eyes on it, he would have stood his ground.

Steadman looked down at the little dog pulling on its lead excitedly.

He couldn’t love the dog no matter how he tried.

When he was growing up in the Caribbean, there were lots of dogs and he never fell in love with any of them.

They were mostly kept as guard dogs and the tiny ones seemed to bark the loudest.

They were housed in the yard and they weren’t allowed to lick you or sit on your settee.

They didn’t chew slippers or make a mess, and they weren’t allowed to go anywhere near the comfort of a bed.

Yet they were strong and had shiny coats and you had better watch your backside if you thought you could creep up on a house without first being invited.

He tied the dog to the lamppost outside the corner shop.

No-one would steal that mongrel even though it was white and fluffy.

The shop was empty and Dilip, who had run the shop for as long as Steadman could remember, was sitting at the counter reading a newspaper.

They were both very fond of each other and regularly chatted away about the state of the nation, or the world, or new builds that were going up on every inch of spare green land.

“You are looking tired today,” Dilip said.

“You’d be tired if you lived with three women. Four if you count the dog.”

Dilip laughed.

“Yes. It is very difficult at our age. Women are enchanting and exhausting. My wife and daughter, well, I have been blessed.

“They have other things to get on with, like spending all my money, rather than bothering me.”

Steadman chuckled as he picked up his strong mints.

“My girls are still under my feet. I had got rid of Joan when she married, remember?”

“I remember,” Dilip said. “It was about the time my son got married and moved to Canada.

“I was upset, but absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Oh, fine, fine. I have no complaints with him.”

“That’s good. Joan got divorced and came back. I’m her father so I couldn’t say no, could I?

“Sharon’s a different matter. Don’t think she’s ever going to get married.

“I think I’m going to be stuck with her for the rest of my life!

“Ah,” Dilip said. “The responsibilities of fatherhood.”

“Yes, indeed,” Steadman agreed.

By the time Steadman reached the common and let Crystal – a ridiculous name – off her lead, he was definitely breathless.

He fell on to a bench to catch his breath. Lord, he knew his time was coming.

There was the breathlessness and a tiredness that was all consuming.

He’d already decided not to fight the inevitable.

He’d seen his wife, Yvette, do that.

She’d fought for the sake of her girls, but she’d lost and had passed peacefully away in Steadman’s arms.

The memory of her passing brought him low.

He looked around him at the grey sky, the fallen autumn leaves that only minutes ago had crunched under his boots, and found himself saying a prayer.

“Dear Lord, I’m afraid for my daughters. They’re a mess. They have no direction. I blame myself.

“I allowed them to do anything they wanted, even if I didn’t like what they were doing.

“In my own home I am a mouse. Give me the strength to become a lion.”

He loved his daughters, Joan and Sharon, and his granddaughter, Lesia.

He wanted them to be out and settled. It was for their own good . . .

* * * *

Later, Steadman woke with a start. And it was a good thing he did. The tiny chicken he had treated himself to would be more than cooked by now.

He went to the kitchen and looked at the sorry thing sitting in the oven.

It was cooked but unappetising.

He sighed to himself as he went to cook some plain white rice.

* * * *

Maureen was expertly rolling the Jamaican festival dumplings and popping them into the frying-pan.

While she stood and waited for them to fry, she thought about her brother.

Steadman loved festivals, but he didn’t deserve them after the scare he’d given her last year.

She had gone to visit him. Joan and Sharon were at work and Lesia was at school.

He had been huffing and puffing and out of breath as he had opened the door.

“What have you been doing to get so breathless?” she asked.

“Walking downstairs,” he said.

“All you did was walk downstairs? Not up then down?”

“Just down.”

He was her only brother. It was just the two of them so she wasn’t taking any chances.

She made a fuss, told him to get his coat on and shoved him out the door.

It was no use being sweet and gentle with Steadman. He could be as stubborn as a mule.

After what had happened to his poor wife she knew he would be scared. So he needed tough love.

He needed a firm hand. A hand that took him by the scruff of his neck. That took him to the doctor.

Maureen made a hullaballoo when she got to the surgery and was told they needed to make an appointment.

“Yes, I know that,” she told the receptionist.

She also told the receptionist what was wrong with her brother, then she gave the receptionist a look that could set the entire building on fire.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll speak to the doctor but I can’t promise she’ll see him.”

Steadman was seen by the doctor and the nurse did an ECG.

Bloods were taken and he had to breathe with all his might into a tube of some sort.

He went for an X-ray. Then he was informed a doctor would call him with the results a few days later.

Maureen almost laughed with joy when Steadman told her what was wrong.

He had taken it upon himself to become a vegetarian several years ago.

“The doctor called and said that I’m anaemic,” he told her on the phone. “I thought I was dying.

“She said I’m as fit as an ox but I need to get my iron levels up quickly, so she’s given me tablets.”

Maureen gave a sigh of relief but wasn’t going to let him off easily.

“Well, have you been eating spinach?”

“No.”

“Greens?”

“No.”

“Fish?”

“Difficult to cook,” he said. “I mostly eat bread, rice and potatoes.”

“Oh, brother!” Maureen exclaimed. “You really are an old fool.” Then she laughed. He laughed, too.

“I took a tablet this morning and I think I’m feeling better already.”

“It doesn’t work that fast, Steadman.”

“You won’t tell the girls, will you? They’ll worry and want to come back home. It was hard enough getting rid of them!”

Maureen sighed.

“No, I won’t tell the girls.”

Maureen laughed as she carefully lifted the festivals from the frying-pan. They were perfect.

Now she’d start on the fried chicken. She was an expert at making those, too, and at least Steadman would now eat a bit of it.

* * * *

Joan was making ackee and saltfish. It was difficult to get it just right but she tried her best.

While she was boiling the salt out of the fish, she made herself a cup of coffee and thought about her dad.

He could be the most cantankerous and obstinate man that walked the earth, but she loved him very much.

Last year, when she told him she and Lesia were leaving home because she’d finally found a house to buy, he’d raised his hands to the heavens and cried, “Praise the Lord!”

“You don’t have to be so happy about it,” Joan had said. “You’ll miss us when we’re gone.”

“I won’t,” he said.

“You will.”

“Won’t. As long as you’re not moving to Canada or America or Singapore or Angola – because I’m not getting on no aeroplane.”

That made Joan laugh.

“We’re moving down the road, Dad.”

“Good, good,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Just one more to go.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sharon. She’ll go next and I hope it’s soon.”

Joan laughed again.

“You’ll be lucky.”

Now, Joan was happy with the ackee and saltfish and put it aside to cool.

She washed up and unpacked the dishwasher in preparation for the mess that would ensue.

When she was happy with the state of the kitchen, she called through the door.

“Leave off playing, Lesia. Come and make the salad and macaroni cheese.”

* * * *

Sharon was full of joy while she worked.

She was making rice and peas – although technically they were beans.

She washed the rice until the water ran clear, then added it to the pot of red beans that she’d cooked earlier.

The difficulty when making rice and peas was that the beans couldn’t be hard – or everyone was likely to get food poisoning – nor soft enough that the skins came away while the rice was cooking.

After she added the rice she put in fresh thyme, salt, scallion and garlic and carefully placed a scotch bonnet on top.

Then she turned the fire down and waited for the rice to cook while keeping her fingers crossed.

If that scotch bonnet burst then she’d have to start all over. It was only used for its special flavour, not for heat.

Her husband, Edwin, came and placed his arms around her waist.

“Mmm, that smells good,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He turned her around to face him.

“I’m so glad I found you, Sharon. I was sure I was going to remain a bachelor the rest of my life.”

She smiled and looked him in the eye.

“Do you need anything in particular? Is that why you’re bothering me while I’m trying to cook?”

Edwin raised his head and laughed out loud.

“Oh, so I’m not allowed to tell my wife how much I love her.”

“Not while I’m cooking. You’ll put me off my stride.”

When Sharon had been living with her dad, she was absolutely sure that she would remain single for the rest of her life and end up like her aunt Maureen.

She’d dated, of course, but no man met her high standards. That was, until she met the new postman.

Theirs was a whirlwind relationship; a coming together of souls looking for the same things in life.

“My old friend Patrick used to say, for every old sock there’s an old shoe,” Steadman had said.

“Don’t ask me which of you is which, but Edwin’s a lovely man, Sharon. I couldn’t have chosen better for you myself.”

“You’re not just saying that to get rid of me?”

“Do you think I would ever do that?”

“Sorry, Dad. It’s just that you’re always asking me when I’m going to leave.’

“It’s because I want you settled, not married to someone I don’t like, and worse, you think you like!

“I really do like Edwin. You’d be a fool to let him go. Anyway, why you asking me? I’ve got nothing to do with it!”

Sharon smiled at the memory. Best of all, when she took the lid from the rice and peas, the scotch bonnet was intact.

* * * *

“Mum!” Lesia shouted from the kitchen. “How do you make the sauce again?”

“Sorry,” Joan shouted back. “Got my hands full here. Look on the internet.”

Lesia found a recipe and followed it step by step. Salad was easy but macaroni cheese was hard.

While she waited for it to bake she looked out the window and up at the sky. It looked like it might snow.

She loved snow and so did her grandad.

He said that when he first arrived in England he had never felt cold before and it seeped into his bones.

As soon as he could, he bought a couple of pairs of long-johns and he learned to layer up.

“I was padded up like the Teletubbies and that’s no joke.”

He made Lesia laugh. It was one of those laughs that seemed to last for ever and made her tummy ache.

She could make one of his moods disappear with just a smile.

When Crystal first arrived, Lesia had looked at him and he’d looked at her and given in.

He’d said he hated dogs, but he loved Crystal to bits. They became best friends.

“Is something burning?” her mum called.

Lesia quickly opened the oven and fanned away the steam. Saved by the bell, she thought happily.

The macaroni cheese was perfect.

* * * *

Steadman had no regrets.

He was happy. He had declined when Joan had asked if he wanted to come over to them.

“No,” he’d said.

Sharon had asked him, too.

“I’m going to be busy.”

“Doing what?” she’d asked.

“Mind your own business,” he’d replied.

Even though he knew he wasn’t going to pass away any time soon, he couldn’t break his promise to his lovely wife.

She’d asked him to make sure that they were settled. He’d promised he would.

She’d said she didn’t doubt him because he was a lion. Now he was as happy as could be.

Sharon was with the lovely Edwin. Joan and Lesia had each other.

It was time for them to enjoy each other’s company – without him.

Steadman was watching Sister Maria sing a song about a lonely goatherd when his doorbell rang.

He got up feeling a bit annoyed because he liked that song.

When he opened the door he was shocked.

“Dilip?” he said.

“You said you were spending Christmas alone,” Dilip said, “so I thought I’d cheer you up.”

Dilip handed him a card and a bottle of wine wrapped in tissue paper.

“It’s a tonic wine, fortified with iron, to give you a boost.”

Steadman could hardly speak at the kindness of his friend.

“Anyway, I put a sign up at the shop to say I would be back in five minutes. I know there’ll be a queue.

“People always forget something on Christmas Day. Merry Christmas, Steadman.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too.” Steadman was almost in tears. “Love to the family.”

When Steadman got back to the warmth of his living-room, he shivered.

It was cold outside and looked like snow. He liked snow.

The goatherd song had finished but he didn’t mind.

It was when Sister Maria was dancing with that captain bloke that he heard noise at the door.

Then there was a bang, bang, bang as if someone was kicking it with their foot.

He got up and ran to the door. When he threw it open he was shocked for the second time that day.

“Joan?”

She stepped past him.

“Well,” she said. “We weren’t going to let you spend Christmas on your own, were we?

“Move out the way, Dad. My hands are full and the rest are coming.”

Steadman stepped aside and held the door open, while Sharon, Edwin, Maureen and Lesia carried in bowls of food, wine, Christmas crackers and presents wrapped in pretty paper.

“Merry Christmas,” they said as they passed him by.

Last to arrive was Crystal. She looked as white as snow.

Steadman scratched her behind the ears.

She jumped into his arms and he couldn’t help but hug her.

“Merry Christmas, old girl,” he said with tears in his eyes.

Before he closed the door he looked up at the sky and gave Yvette a wink. He heard her voice in his head.

“You are a lion, Steadman! Look how fine our family has become.”

He was a lucky man. His girls were now independent of him and very happy.

Steadman smiled and went to join his family, carrying Crystal, all fluffy and white, in his arms.

A Warm Reception

by Alyson Hilbourne

Mum primps the tree, turning the ornaments and adjusting tinsel.

The house is warm and the smell of roasting turkey wafts from the kitchen.

Christmas cards hang on the beams and presents are piled under the tree.

Some contain chocolate or soap – I’ve sniffed them all.

Mum’s sister, Aunt Grace, and family are coming for Christmas Day.

Usually we go to their mansion, where Aunt Grace spends the day showing Mum all the new things they have, and on the drive home Mum moans to Dad.

“Who needs a flat-screen TV in the toilet and an Alexa in every room?”

But today, for the first time, Aunt Grace and Uncle Dermot are coming to us.

Dad looks out the window.

“No sign of them.” He wipes the pane.

The sky is grey and the trees flail in the wind.

Eventually, just as Mum grumbles the turkey will be overdone and the sprouts soggy, there’s a knock at the door.

“Difficult to find.” Uncle Dermot comes in, rubbing his hands. “Satnav took us the wrong way.”

Aunt Grace exchanges air kisses with Mum.

My cousin, Ronan, is last in and immediately hits his head on a beam.

“Not very big, is it?” Aunt Grace looks round.

“Let’s have your coats,” Mum says through gritted teeth.

Dad ushers everyone into the living-room.

“No signal?” Ronan waves his phone.

“You’ll have to use Wi-Fi.” I give him the password.

He rolls his eyes.

At that moment there is a fizzing; the lights flicker several times, then go off.

We are plunged into the gloom of a midwinter day.

“What?” Aunt Grace’s voice is shrill.

“Power cut,” Dad says cheerfully. “I’ll find candles.”

“Does this happen often?” Aunt Grace asks.

“All the time,” I say.

“How do you manage?” Aunt Grace asks as Dad returns, clutching matches.

“The Aga works,” Mum says crisply. “We’ll eat by candlelight.”

Aunt Grace scowls, but says nothing.

Despite the log fire the mood is icy.

Mum has decorated the table and it looks pretty in the glow.

We pull crackers, don silly hats and read out the awful jokes. No-one mentions the soggy sprouts.

“How do you manage with just one loo?” Aunt Grace demands as she and Ronan get up from the table at the same time.

Mum asks Dad to pass more wine.

The meal finished, the adults move to the sofas while Ronan and I clear up.

“This is primitive,” Ronan says, loud enough for Mum to hear.

“We can’t watch TV,” Aunt Grace moans. “What about the Queen’s speech?”

“You can get it on catch-up,” Mum offers.

“Not the same, is it?” Aunt Grace says with a pout. “Living in the country must be so difficult.”

“At least we have our own house,” Mum snaps.

The air crackles and sparks.

Aunt Grace presses her lips together. Uncle Dermot clears his throat.

I look at my shoes.

Uncle Dermot’s business went into administration last year and he lost the mansion, so they’re renting a flat.

That’s why we’re hosting Christmas.

“We have Monopoly.” Dad’s voice cuts through the silence. “Grace, you can be the old boot.”

Aunt Grace glowers.

Dad pours drinks as Uncle Dermot passes out starter money.

“Should you be handling the money, Dermot?” Aunt Grace says icily.

He rolls his eyes.

Dad and Uncle Dermot buy the expensive streets and team up to build houses and hotels.

Mum is left with the cheap streets and soon loses her money.

When Aunt Grace is sent to jail, she and Mum give up and move to the sofa.

Dad and Uncle Dermot are discussing a business deal to buy up cheap housing and let it out to students.

“Bound to make money,” Uncle Dermot says. “I’ve got people I could talk to.”

Before Aunt Grace can intervene, the power blinks back on, and the room is brilliantly lit.

“Turn that off!” Mum cries.

“Do! It’s nice without it,” Aunt Grace echoes.

Dad rushes to the switch, but as he passes the window, he gasps.

“Snow!” he calls.

We crowd to the porch, watching the flakes fall quietly from the sky.

Uncle Dermot’s car is covered and the trees are draped in white icing.

I slip my shoes on and step outside, scrape some snow together and throw a snowball at Dad.

He runs out to get his own snow.

Ronan comes out, then Uncle Dermot, who aims a snowball at Aunt Grace.

“Oh!” she splutters, wiping her face. “I’ll get you!”

For five minutes we are all outside, scooping up snow and throwing it.

We are laughing until I shiver and realise how cold and wet I am.

“Come in,” Mum calls.

“You’ll stay the night,” she tells Aunt Grace. “I’ll find dressing gowns while we dry your clothes.”

To my surprise. Aunt Grace smiles.

“That would be nice.” She links arms with Mum. “It’s a cosy house you’ve got.”

Mum puffs up.

“We like it,” she says. “David has done a lot of work. Next thing is another loo, under the stairs.”

Uncle Dermot claps Dad on the shoulder.

“Could you do anything about our kitchen in the flat? Grace has been after me since we moved in to add more cupboards.”

“Can I have that Wi-Fi code?” Ronan asks me. “I’ll show you that game I was talking about.”

As they go inside I take a look at the snow whirling under the outside light.

It has brought a bit of magic with it – and a thaw in family relations.

Adventures In Tasmania

by Liz Filleul

“I have something to tell you,” I said, shifting uneasily on the sofa as I prepared to give my parents the news. “I’m not coming home for Christmas.”

On my iPad screen, I saw my mum’s face fall.

Dad, who sat beside her, cleared his throat. Perhaps he had been expecting this.

“Why not?” Mum asked.

“Look,” I began tentatively. “Christmas hasn’t been the same these last couple of years.

“I have quite a bit of leave accrued, so I thought I’d travel away this year.”

“You’ve missed seeing Anwen, haven’t you?” Dad asked.

“That’s right.”

“But Christmas is family time, Georgia,” Mum protested. “It won’t be the same without you!”

“Actually, you’ll barely notice I’m not there,” was what I wanted to say, but I kept quiet. I didn’t want to hurt my parents’ feelings.

The truth was that Christmas at Mum and Dad’s had become boring.

Rather than enjoying my time, I’d endured it.

I would count down the minutes till I could return to London and celebrate New Year with my friends.

For a start, we were a small family. It was just me, my parents, my sister, her husband and their two children.

I loved them all, but it was hard being the only single person.

It wasn’t as bad when my best friend’s parents still lived near Mum and Dad.

Anwen and I would travel home together for the festive break and catch up regularly at the local pub.

But Anwen’s parents had retired and moved to the coast, so her Christmas this year was at the seaside instead.

“Where are you planning to go?” Mum asked.

“Tasmania,” I answered. “I’ll catch some sunshine.”

I went to Australia six years ago and backpacked up the east coast from Melbourne to Cairns.

There I met travellers who had visited Tasmania and raved about how brilliant it was.

I became determined to visit “Tassie” if I ever returned Down Under.

“Who are you going with?” Mum enquired.

“No-one,” I replied.

“You’ll be on your own for Christmas?” She looked horrified.