A Mummy for Christmas (2 page)

The voice on the other end of the phone brought her back to the present with a jump.

“Yes, I'm here, sorry. My name is Carly Jefferson, and I'm calling from the
Bramley Herald
. I was wondering if I could come over and have a few words with Mrs. Johnson about the history of the school for an article I'm writing in the run up to your Christmas party on Thursday. And if possible, speak to some of the children about what they want for Christmas.”

She tapped her pen on the desk and then grinned at the head mistress's response.

“I'll be right over. Thank you so much.” Slamming down the phone, she grabbed her bag and notebook. Slinging the camera strap over her head, she headed for the door. She might even make the three o'clock deadline for tonight's press run.

~*~

Stan sat on Haley-Jo's bed and looked at her. “So how was school?”

“There was a reporter this afternoon. She was pretty.”

He smiled. “You think most women are models of some description.”

She giggled. “That's because we are all pretty inside. You know that. She asked all sorts of questions about Christmas and what we wanted or hoped Father Christmas would bring.”

His interest piqued. “Really? And what did you ask for, because I have no idea what to get you.”

Haley-Jo shook her head. “Not telling, and I didn't tell her either. But I did point out that Christmas was Jesus' birthday, and I'd be going to church with you if you weren't working.”

Stan hugged her. “I have the whole of Christmas off once I get back from work on the twenty-third.” He paused. “Do you believe in Father Christmas?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. You always said he's a myth. Believing in an invisible God is one thing, and I do have an invisible unicorn, too, but everyone else says it's safer to believe in Father Christmas even if it's just in December in case he didn't leave any presents. I really don't want to be the only person in the world who wakes up to nothing.”

He tweaked her nose. “Not that that's likely to happen.”

She tilted her head. “But is that like believing in God just in case you die in surgery or in a car wreck like Mummy?”

Stan caught his breath. He had no idea what to say. Talking about Julie was hard on a good day, but when asked bluntly like that was impossible. His insides curled up into a tight ball. “You shouldn't believe in God just in case. God is for life, not just for Christmas.”

She smiled. “And better than a dog.”

Stan nodded. That child paid way too much attention to things she'd heard on the TV. “Exactly. Now say your prayers.” He watched as she obediently put her hands together and closed her eyes. His eyes stung and he rubbed a hand across them. Oh, if only he had the faith of a child. It'd make things so much easier at times.

~*~

Stan eased the red coat over the padding around his stomach and sighed. He looked a total prat. Never mind felt like one. He really hoped no one with a camera was going to be there. Only there would be. He'd forgotten for a moment that someone from the press was coming.

He pulled the belt tight. “OK, there are Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen, Cupid and Comet, Donner and Blitzen and….” He paused counting on his fingers. “I thought there were nine. That's only eight.”

“There
are
nine. You forgot Rudolph.” A Welsh voice from behind him almost rang with laughter. “Some Father Christmas you'll make if you can't remember all your reindeer.”

He spun around to find himself face to face with a woman almost his height.

Her long dark hair hung over her shoulders, brown eyes sparkled, and her ample figure was highlighted by her red Christmas jumper, black jeans, and knee length boots.

“First day on the job,” he said holding out a hand. “I normally fly planes not sleighs. Stan Fuller.”

“Carly Jefferson.” Her touch was cool and short. Her smile showed a tiny gap between her front two teeth. “Reporter. I'm here to cover the party and your encounters with the children. All the parents have signed releases for the photos—”

“Have they?” he interrupted, knowing he'd never received a letter about this.

The reporter nodded. “Yes. Either signed by parents or guardians. Mrs. Johnson made sure of that. I'm assuming you don't have any objections to me using your photo?”

He sighed. It didn't look like he had a choice. “Just make sure I'm in full costume, Miss Jefferson.”

“Please, call me Carly.”

“OK, Carly. I can't afford anyone finding out it's me underneath this costume. Especially my daughter.”

“What's her name?”

“Haley-Jo. She's eight.”

Carly nodded. “I remember meeting her a couple of days ago. Really cute kid. She told me that Christmas is about Jesus, not presents.”

Stan grinned. “That's my girl.” He pulled on the hood and the beard. “How do I look?”

“Fine. May I?” She waved the camera at him.

He nodded and, shoving down any embarrassment he felt, posed for her while she took a few photos.

Carly smiled. “Thank you. OK. I'd best get out there. Now the reindeer are?”

Stan recited them perfectly, including Rudolph, and then took a deep breath. Flying a fully laden jet liner was much easier than this. He could hear the children's voices echoing down the hallway, screaming and calling in delight as they played party games in the hall. He hoped Haley-Jo's princess hat had remained intact. He'd had to staple the streamers in twice before she'd left for school, and he'd only make the cone hat the previous evening.

Mrs. Johnson put her head around the door. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I'll ever be.” He swung the sack over his shoulder and took a deep breath.

“OK. We'll sing ‘Jingle Bells,' and then when we've finished, you ring your bell and come in.”

Stan nodded, following her down the corridor to the hall. His stomach was in turmoil and his palms were damp beneath the white gloves. He prayed for a calm voice, that Haley-Jo wouldn't give the game away when she figured out it was him, and that he wouldn't fall flat on his face and make a complete idiot of himself.

This was definitely the first and last time.

If he'd wanted to be an actor, he'd have gone to stage school.

Sixty voices in unison started singing, and despite himself, Stan found himself humming along. Then, as they paused, he rang his bell and entered the hall to squeals of delight.

Mrs. Johnson led him to a throne set on the stage. “Look who's here, children,” she said.

Stan smiled below the beard, praying it wasn't going to fall off. “Hello, boys and girls.”

“Hello, Father Christmas,” they all chorused back.

“Are you having a fun party?”

“Yes…”

He did a couple of “ho, ho, ho's” and got the children to guess the names of his reindeer, who were currently up on the roof of the school. Then in dribs and drabs the children came up to receive a wrapped gift. Some were so shy he could barely hear their names, while others, bolder, sat on his lap and gave him a long list of what they wanted.

Finally, Haley-Jo reached the head of the queue. She looked at him, recognition dancing in her eyes. She climbed onto his lap.

“And what's your name, little girl?” Stan asked, praying she'd keep his cover.

“Haley-Jo Fuller, with a hyphen,” she said. “I use both names, not just Haley.”

Stan nodded. “And what would you like for Christmas?” he asked.

Carly knelt in front of the stage. She snapped several pictures, the recorder taking notes for her.

Haley-Jo looked him in the eye. “I only want one thing for Christmas,” she said in a loud voice, clear enough for the whole hall to hear her.

“Just one?” he asked, slightly worried as to what she was about to come out with. She'd been so adamant about not telling him. “Everyone else had a whole list.”

“All I want for Christmas is a mummy.”

Stan looked at her stunned. “A mummy?” he managed.

Haley-Jo nodded. “I don't have one. And I think it'd be good for Daddy to have someone to help look after me as he works so hard all the time. Don't you? And I know he misses Mummy and doesn't like being alone because he's sad a lot.”

Stan nodded, dumbfounded. “A mummy is a tall order, but I'll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Father Christmas.” She leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and whispered “I know it's you, Daddy,” in his ear. Then she giggled as she jumped down. “Your beard is all tickly.”

Somehow, Stan got through the rest of the present giving and waved goodbye before heading out with his empty sack. He almost ran to the office where he changed back into his jeans and shirt.

How do I get out of this one, Lord?
He prayed.
I can't find a mother or wife in the next couple of weeks. The next time I say something rash, just send a lightning bolt to hit me on the head or something. And I didn't realize Haley-Jo noticed so much.

He opened the door, intending to make a swift, unseen exit.

Carly stood there. “So, how's Father Christmas going to manage that one?” she asked.

Stan just shrugged. “I wish I knew.” He turned and headed rapidly to the exit. The only thing running through his mind was Haley-Jo's voice.

All I want for Christmas is a mummy.

2

Back at the newspaper offices, Carly put the camera down on her desk and looked at her boss. “It went rather well,” she said. “Setting aside the fact that Father Christmas forgot about Rudolph when he initially listed the reindeer, but he insists it's his first time, so we'll let him off. It was really good. The kids all had a great time.”

Marc leaned on the edge of her desk, his shirt stained with the curry he'd had for lunch. He folded his arms and gave her
the look.
“Well?”

“Well, what? I haven't had time to review anything yet, never mind look at the photos.”

“What did the kids ask for?”

“Usual stuff. Freddie Jones wants video games, Sophie Rees wants a baby sister, not a brother because boys smell funny apparently, Tommy Willis wants a racing bike with ten gears. Oh, and Haley-Jo Fuller wants a mummy.”

Marc raised an eyebrow. “A mummy?”

Carly met his gaze. “That's what she said. She was very specific about it. She wants a mummy to…” she flicked back through her notes, “…to stop Daddy from being sad and having to work so hard is a paraphrase of what she said. I have the whole thing on tape.”

“A mummy for Christmas. I like it. Perhaps we follow up that one.”

Carly snorted. “And how do you propose we find the child a mother? We can't just pick a random woman off the street and marry her to Mr. Fuller now, can we?”

“No, but you could do a follow up on the family. Find out what it entails to be a single parent at Christmas. Maybe befriend the kid…”

She shot Marc what she hoped was a derisive look. “Now I
know
you're having a laugh. I have no intentions of being a surrogate mother for the child. She doesn't want or need that. What she needs is…”

“Love. And maybe she isn't getting enough of it at home if her father works full time. Find out what he does, how much he's in the house, day care arrangements, that kind of thing. Do some investigative journalism.”

“Spy in other words. Dig up so much dirt that you'll get child services involved and ruin both their lives.” Carly broke off before she said something she'd regret. Sometimes her fiery Welsh temper was hard to control. “I'll do the follow up, but I'm not writing anything that Mr. Fuller isn't happy with before it goes to print. Trust me; I've seen enough broken homes and families back in Wales without seeing any more here. Let alone be responsible for one.”

“It'd make a great story.”

“Oh, have a heart, will you? It's Christmas. And speaking of which, I have a story to write.”

“Ring Mr. Fuller and get an interview, Carly. I want it for Monday's paper.”

Carly dropped into her chair. “Right away, boss. Just as soon as I've gone through these photos.” Taking the card from the camera, she inserted it into the computer and waited impatiently for the pictures to load. Then, she slowly scrolled through them, pausing at the ones she'd taken of Stan Fuller on his own.

His eyes almost shone, and she gazed into them. Were they really the windows to the soul? What had he been thinking when she took the photo? In a couple of the shots, he almost looked sad. How much of a front was he putting on for his daughter?

She played back the tape of the children talking to him and listened again to the part where Haley-Jo said daddy was sad. Maybe Marc was right and this family did need help. Well, she was pretty sure she wasn't the person to give it, but maybe she could aid a little. First, she needed background information, which she could find on-line, and then, she'd arrange an interview.

She typed Stan Fuller into the newspaper's history files, but nothing came up. Nothing in the marriage or death files either, but maybe he'd moved here after his wife died. He said he flew, so she hit the major search engines. Fuller was a more common surname than she realized.

Then, she found him.

Captain Stanley Matthew Fuller was thirty-two and one of the top pilots flying for British Airways. He looked so handsome in his flight uniform. He seemed to have a perfect record and had been the youngest man to get his captain's stripes in the history of the company. From there she searched a little more and came up with a few facts she noted down.

Then she rang the number in the phonebook. The call was answered by a woman, presumably the babysitter. Carly put on her brightest, most professional voice. “Hi, this is Carly Jefferson from the
Bramley Herald
. Is it possible to speak to Mr. Fuller, please?”