Seeing Santa
by Ed Blundell
“Why can’t I go to Santa’s grotto?”
“Because you’ve got a very bad cold, and the doctor said you should stay in bed and get better for Christmas.”
“But it’s nearly Christmas now.”
“Yes, and if you stay in bed and keep warm today, you’ll be a bit better tomorrow, which is Christmas Eve and you’ll be well enough to open your presents on Christmas day after Santa has been here.”
Jane resigned herself to her mother’s instructions. She had learned there was no use arguing with her when she spoke in that tone. She’d miss seeing Santa at the grotto, but maybe he’d bring her what she asked for in the letter, the doll that cried and perhaps the pink ballet shoes.
Fred sipped at the second large glass of red wine. Better not to have too much if he was going up onto the roof. And he was going up onto the roof. He was determined to put the inflatable Santa up there again this year in spite of Linda’s jibes. He’d tied him to the TV aerial or the chimney every year for at least six years now so he could see him bobbing in the wind as he drove home up the avenue.
Linda, his wife, was sceptical about it.
“The other neighbours put coloured lights outside, flashing strings of pretty blues and white. Why don’t we do that instead of having that ridiculous, bobbing fat balloon on the roof?”
Fred was determined though. Linda had gone to her sister’s that morning, her annual pre-Christmas visit. She wouldn’t be back till late the next day. Fred smiled to himself at the thought that the first thing she would see when she got out of the taxi would be Santa waving from the roof and bowing to welcome her. It was late afternoon and already gloomy outside. Better get on with it, he resolved, swigging down the rest of the wine.
He placed the ladder against the side of the house and inflated the Santa. He climbed slowly and carefully up and eased himself onto the roof, holding the edge of the chimney, the red- and white-coated Santa attached by a cord to his arm. As he scrambled on the roof, he slipped and, in panic, he grabbed at the chimney and scrabbled both feet over the guttering, dislodging the ladder. It slid slowly sideways and crashed down onto the patio below. Cursing, he untied the Santa and fastened it to the TV aerial and assessed his situation. He was stuck on the roof with a thirty-foot drop to the ground on each side. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He was stranded.
Jane was bored. Lying in bed was no fun. She’d read the magazine that Mummy had bought her and was tired of talking to Lucy, her doll. She slipped out of bed and went to the window. Maybe if she was lucky, Santa would be coming early, and she’d catch sight of his sleigh and the reindeer. It was starting to get dark outside, and he had to visit hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of boys and girls with their presents so he’d have to start early somewhere. She knew that there were some presents hidden in Mummy’s wardrobe. Perhaps he came more than once.
It was cold on the roof, bitterly cold. The temperature was dropping, and the light was fading. Looking down the avenue, many of the houses were in darkness, and there was no sign of anyone he could signal. He had tried shouting for help but he guessed his voice wasn’t strong enough for anyone to hear. If anyone was at home, they would probably have the television on or music playing.
At the bottom of the avenue he could see a light in a bedroom window. He waved and waved but to no effect. To make matters worse, the grey sky had darkened and a few flakes of snow were beginning to swirl in the rising wind. Inside the house, far away, he could hear the phone ringing. Probably Linda to say hello and see you tomorrow. She would assume he was taking the opportunity of her absence to go down to the Collier’s Arms for a couple of beers.
Looking out of her bedroom window, Jane saw that it was starting to snow. The flakes were slow at first and then falling faster. Oh, she did hope that it would stick and then, if she got wrapped up, she could build a snowman with Daddy.
At the top of the avenue through the gloom, she could see a man on a roof. He seemed to be dancing around a chimney. Then it looked like he was waving to her. It was hard to see through the twilight and the falling snow, but sometimes he looked just like Father Christmas. She couldn’t see any reindeer, though.
Through the darkness Fred could see a shape, a movement at the window. We waved frantically. He was becoming desperate now. Night was falling fast, and the snow was thickening and starting to stick. He was cold, cold to the bone. He waved and waved at the distant window, shouting for help into the snow and wind.
“Mummy, I’ve seen Father Christmas. He’s at the house down the road. He was on the roof, getting ready to go down the chimney and he waved to me.”
“Now Jane, you shouldn’t have got out of bed. If you catch a chill you’ll be poorly on Christmas day and you don’t want to miss the turkey and crackers do you? I don’t think Father Christmas will be here for another day yet. He only comes when you’ve gone to sleep on Christmas Eve. Now drink this cocoa and let me tuck you in.”
“But I did see him, Mummy, and he waved to me.”
“Yes, dear. I think it was probably just shadows in the darkness. It’s evening now and snowing very hard. Daddy has just come home and says its freezing outside. The man on the television says it’s going to fall to minus five tonight. There, I’ve closed your curtains, and its all snug and warm.”
“If it gets very cold, what will Father Christmas do on the slippery snowy roofs?”
“Oh, don’t worry about him, dear. I’m sure he’ll manage. After all, he does it every year.”
Copyright © 2019 by Ed Blundell
