A Mummy for Christmas (4 page)

“It's up to your father.”

Haley-Jo turned on him. “Please, Daddy. Please, please, please, please.”

“OK,” Stan said reluctantly. “You still need a bath, and it's a school night.”

The child scowled. “I am not having my picture taken in jammies. They'll laugh at me.”

“I can take your photo first. Then I'll help your dad with the dishes while you're in the bath.”

“You don't have to,” Stan said. “You're a guest.”

“Yeah, I do. It can be my way of thanking you for a lovely meal.” Besides the fact she'd probably learn more about him while chatting over a sink full of dishes than in a full on interview.

3

Having sat for a couple of photos, Stan took Haley-Jo upstairs and ran her a bath. He gave strict instructions on not bath skating and flooding the place, before he came back downstairs to find Carly had stacked the dishwasher and hand washed the couple of pans and dishes. He found her in the lounge looking at the photos on the mantelpiece. “Was I that long?”

She smiled. “There wasn't much washing up to do.” She held out the photo in her hand. “Who's this?”

Stan swallowed, his heart aching as he gazed at the woman in the picture. “That's Julie, my wife.”

“Haley-Jo's mother?”

He nodded. “She died four years ago.”

“It must be hard, doing this alone.”

“I have a lot of help.” He indicated the couch.

Carly sat and pulled a small recorder from her bag. “Is this all right?”

He nodded, perching on the couch beside her. “Sure.” Her scent overwhelmed him. He hadn't noticed it until now, but that, combined with her nearness, almost crushed what little composure he had. He hadn't been this close to a woman in years, not even in church. He always made sure he sat on the end of the row with Haley-Jo beside him.

Carly turned on the recorder. “So you're a pilot.”

He nodded. “Yes. I do the domestic routes mainly, with one or two long hauls a month. The airline would like me to do more, but it's not really compatible with being a single parent.”

“That leads onto my next question. How do you balance work and child care?”

“The school has a breakfast and a supper club that I use a couple of times a week if I have to be in extra early or back late, or my mother can't collect her after school. If I'm on the long haul flight, I'm away a couple of days, so Haley-Jo either stays with my mother, or Mum stays here.”

“What's flying like?”

“Fun. I wouldn't do it otherwise. It's a lot more technical than people think. I'm one of a rare breed—a hands on pilot who doesn't like the autopilot.”

“Even on long haul?”

“That's why we have copilots. The computer is fine up to a point, but there are certain things it can't do. Like land, take off, or cope in an emergency. I'd rather be in control up there in case the unexpected happens.”

“Have you ever had an onboard emergency?”

“A few times. Most flights are totally uneventful, but I've had a baby born at 37,000 feet, and a passenger had a heart attack.” He paused. “I got caught in a crosswind while landing and also had an engine flameout. That's when the engines stop working due to weather conditions or something else.”

She clicked her fingers. “The plane at Heathrow about a month or so ago. It was something like a bird strike, and the plane lost both engines about forty miles out over the North Sea. That was you?”

Stan nodded. “It wasn't nearly as dramatic as the news reports made out. We flew into a flock of birds as we descended through thick cloud and lost both engines. We glided in.”

“Only just making the airport, from what I heard. Didn't they put several of their top pilots in the simulator and none of them made it within ten miles of the airport before crashing?”

Stan shrugged. “God was with me that day. No one was injured, and we all got to go home to our families.”

“You talk about God a lot.”

He smiled. “He's a big part of my life, as is my faith.”

“Despite losing your wife.”

Stan looked at his hands, the faint mark of the wedding band on his left hand still visible. He'd taken the ring off six months ago. “Julie died in a car accident four years ago. A drunk driver shot a red light, hit her sideways on.”

“So you're saying God had nothing to do with it.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “I'm saying the driver of the other car made a conscious decision to drink far too much before he climbed in to his car and drove. Yes, God could have stepped in and stopped him; or had the police pull him over; or had Julie turn left instead of right; or asked me to pick up milk and bread instead of Julie going to get it herself. If she'd walked instead of driven or gone another way, things might have been different. There are too many variables to go through.”

He sighed. “But then, if God steps in and stops every bad thing happening in the world, what happens to our free will? I don't know why it happened. I do know it wasn't because she was a worse person than anyone else. And I also know that God will give me the strength I need to carry on without her.”

“How long were you married?”

“Eight years.” He smiled and pulled a wedding photo from the book next to the couch. “I was twenty, Julie was nineteen. Her parents didn't approve, they thought we were crazy. But we were happy.”

“Is Haley-Jo your only child?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Haley-Jo bounded into the room, dressed in her pink rabbit onesie. She had the hood pulled up over her head. “Are you talking about Mummy?”

He held out his arms. “How did you know?”

“Cause you're crying.” She climbed onto his lap and hugged him.

Stan hugged her back and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” Carly said. “I cry sometimes when I think about my husband.”

He looked at Carly's left hand over the top of Haley-Jo's head. There was no ring, but then, he didn't wear his anymore. He glanced up at her. “You're married? And there I was calling you Miss Jefferson.”

“I'm widowed. Tony died in what the police said was a botched burglary several years ago. I wasn't there. I was in hospital after being involved in a car crash myself. The doctors still aren't sure how I survived. I was in a coma for several weeks afterwards. By the time I came around, Tony's family had buried him already.” Carly's eyes filled, and she rubbed a hand over her face. “Look at us, right pair aren't we? Both lost family in tragic circumstances. Sometimes I wonder why I was spared.”

“I'd say that's because God had work for you to do here on Earth, still.” Stan's hand covered hers for a long moment. Then he pulled back, not liking the way her skin felt under his, and the way his nerves responded. He was on dangerous ground.

This was an interview. Nothing more.

He didn't even like journalists.

Carly shifted. “I guess so.” She sucked in a deep breath. “But it is Miss Jefferson. I go by my maiden name again now. So, Haley-Jo, can I ask you about Christmas?”

“Sure.” Haley-Jo snuggled into Stan, and he ran his fingers through the hair sticking out from under her hood. “What do you want to know?”

“What decorations do you have up? How early do you get up Christmas morning? What do you do? That kind of thing.”

“I wake really early, but I'm only allowed to open the present on the bottom of my bed. Then at six o'clock I can wake Daddy up and open my stocking under the tree. At breakfast I can open one more present. Then we go to church and have dinner and we open everything else after the Queen's Speech, which waits ages. Daddy makes a yummy roast turkey dinner.”

“Sounds like my house when I was growing up.”

“We have lights on the outside of the house, and Daddy puts lights on the tree in the garden. We have a tree by the fireplace and lots of tinsel on the pictures. We have those paper things hanging from the ceiling and a holly wreath on the front door.” Haley-Jo tilted her head. “What about you?”

“I don't decorate my house.”

“Not even a tree?”

“No. I don't see the point when it's just me.”

“You should help us put ours up.”

“I couldn't possibly…”

“Sure you can. Can't she, Daddy?”

Stan looked at the awkwardness on Carly's face, surprised it matched how he felt. That was something Julie had loved doing, and he always found it hard doing alone. However he wasn't sure he was ready to share that with another woman. “I'm sure Carly has other things she'd rather be doing.”

Indecision flickered over Carly's face for a minute, before she came to a decision. “Actually, I don't. I'd like that.”

Stan looked at her, wondering why she'd changed her mind. Did she have an ulterior motive? Maybe she just figured it'd make a good story.
Single father tries to make the house as festive as possible for his daughter
. He could almost see the headline.

“It could be part of the story you're writing about us,” Haley-Jo chattered. “We have lots of stories behind all the ornaments. There's one for each year of my life and for each year Daddy was married. Even ones from when he was little.”

Carly smiled. “Sounds nice. So, tell me about your request to Father Christmas. There must be something else you want other than a mummy.”

“No.” Haley-Jo shook her head firmly.

“What about a princess outfit with a tiara, or a doll, or a trip to a theme park or something?”

She shook her head. “We went to a theme park in Paris for my birthday this year.”

“Wow. That sounds like fun.”

Haley-Jo nodded. “We went there on the train under the sea and stayed in a huge hotel.”

Stan smiled wryly. “Going on holiday by plane isn't really my thing. I don't like flying as a passenger.”

Carly nodded. “I can understand that. Haley-Jo, tell me why you want a mummy for Christmas? What sort of things would you want her to do?”

“Not just for stories and stuff, though that would be nice. She might plait my hair for me or make me a party dress like Becky's or be here when I get home from school or to look after me when I'm sick. And so Daddy won't be lonely.”

“I'm not lonely, sweetheart,” Stan said, hugging her. “I have you.”

“The Bible says it's not good for man to be alone and kids don't count.”

Carly hid her smile behind her hand.

Stan rolled his eyes. “And just where in the Bible does it say kids don't count?”

Haley-Jo rolled her eyes back. “You need a wife, Daddy. Someone to hold hands with in church or when you go out and put your cold feet on in bed and keep awake with your snoring.”

Stan's face grew uncomfortably warm, and he wished for once he hadn't told Haley-Jo to always speak her mind. “Kids do count, and right now it's late and a school night. And there is a whole section in the Bible about obeying your parents.”

She tilted her head. “Are you telling me to go to bed?”

He kissed her forehead. “Yes. I am. Go on up. I'll be there in a few to tuck you in.”

Haley-Jo jumped off his lap. “Goodnight, Carly.”

“Goodnight.” Carly watched her leave the room. “She's a cute kid.”

“She has her moments. I still can't believe she said that.”

Carly turned off the recorder and packed up her stuff. “It could be worse.”

“How?” Stan asked. “She asked for a mummy for Christmas, and once you print this story, the whole village will know I was Father Christmas.”

“For one thing only the head mistress and I knew you were playing Father Christmas, aside from your daughter, who recognized you, and I have no intentions of breaking your cover. My boss told me to follow up Haley-Jo's request, so that's what I'm doing. And yes, it could have been worse. She could have joined a dating agency on your behalf.”

“Don't put that idea in her head, whatever you do. If ever the time comes for me to get involved again, I'll make the decision myself.” He stood. “We'll be decorating the tree on Wednesday. I'm in New York until Tuesday.”

“I've never been there either. Actually, until I moved here, I'd never been outside of Wales.” She paused, glancing at the photo on the sideboard of Stan and Haley-Jo. “Leaving her must be hard.”

Stan nodded. “It is. Do you have kids?”

Carly visibly hesitated. “No, no I don't. I'll, uh, let you see this before it goes to print.”

4

“A Mummy for Christmas” screamed the headline.

Stan gazed at the paper in disbelief. The photo of him and Haley-Jo took prominence under the headline. His gaze took in the first paragraph.

“Local girl, Haley-Jo Fuller, 8, told Father Christmas this week that all she wants for Christmas is a mummy to keep her lonely father company.”

He put the paper back on the shelf. He left the corner shop in a hurry, his heart in the soles of his polished work shoes. So much for trust.

His phone rang as he headed back to the car. He pulled it from his coat pocket. He didn't recognize the number, but decided to answer it anyway. “Hello.”

“Stan, it's Carly Jefferson.”

He scowled. She was the last person he wanted to talk to. He hung up. The phone rang again. “Yes?”

“I need to talk to you.” This woman was nothing but persistent.

“How did you get this number?”

“Your mother gave it to me. I've just seen the paper, and I am so, so sorry. My editor changed my story, and then ran it without telling me and…”

“I trusted you.” He pointed the keys at the car, barely hearing the click as the lights flashed.

“He changed what I wrote.”

“It's your byline and now the entire village knows what a failure I am as a single parent. Plus, I'm now going to have every unmarried woman within a hundred-mile radius queuing up to become the next Mrs. Stan Fuller.”