Perfect timing!
Poppy abandoned the baubles for a moment and danced to thewindow excitedly. I smiled to see the white flakes drifting down, alreadyturning the garden into a Christmas card. It was a good omen, I decided.
‘Ready for the switch-on?’ A little later, I beamed at heras she stood in front of the finished Christmas tree, her eyes wide withexcitement.
‘Can I do it, Auntie Enzie?’
‘Of course you can.’ I passed her the control. ‘Just pressthat button there.’
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she pressed, and whenshe opened them, the tree was flashing its multi-coloured lights frantically, likea Seventies disco scene.
‘Ooh, I think we need to tone them down, love,’ I murmured.‘They’re just a tiny bit migraine-inducing as they are.’
We tried out the alternatives until Poppy nodded her heademphatically.
‘We’ll settle on that, then, shall we?’ I smiled, as thelights faded then sparkled on a continuous loop.
Poppy plopped down on the bed. ‘Do you think Santa will putmy presents underthistree or the one downstairs?’
‘Downstairs, I imagine. Less far for him to walk and as he’sgot so many houses to visit, that’s probably a good thing.’
She nods. ‘Saving time.’
‘Exactly.’ I smiled at her serious face. ‘Now, how about amince pie?’
‘Yuk!’ She sprang off the bed and ran for the stairs.
‘Ah, yes, of course. Not your favourite.’ I followed herdown with a smile. ‘I’ll have to eat them all myself, then. What a terrible shamebut I’m sure I’ll manage. A mug of my special hot chocolate, then?’
‘Yes, please.’ Poppy ran into the kitchen. ‘What’s thespecial thing?’ she asked, scanning the ingredients I was pulling out.
‘Giant marshmallows.’ I held up the packet. ‘We’re going tomake a snowman and you’re going to give it a smile.’
Her eyes shone as I tore open the packet. I pulled out twoof the large white marshmallows and joined them together with a mint chocolatestick from a box I’d bought specially. Snapping another chocolate stick inhalf, we stuck one in either side for the snowman’s arms, then I opened thesmall tube of chocolate icing.
‘Can I do the face? Can I do the face?’ Poppy begged.
‘Of course you can. There you go. You have to squeeze thetube.’
She applied too much pressure in her eagerness and a bigdollop of icing landed on the bench. ‘Oops.’ She giggled. ‘Ooh, Auntie Enzie,the milk’s boiling over.’
She pointed at the hob and I whisked it off just in time.
The pan was a bit burnt and Mr Snowman had ended up with apeculiar lopsided grimace rather than a smile, lying across the top of the muglike he’d raided the drinks cabinet before breakfast. But Poppy was delighted.
Perched at the breakfast bar, she announced, ‘I’m going tosave Mr Snowman. He’s too nice to eat.’ I hastily grabbed a saucer and she laidhim down. Picking up her mug carefully because I’d overfilled it, she took aglug of her drink, which gave her a hot chocolate moustache.
I watched her, smiling, wondering how long she’d be able toresist eating her snowman. It made my heart sing to see her giggling and chatteringaway, back to being just a normal eight-year-old again.
As she finished her drink and I nibbled on a mince pie, wechatted about what goodies we’d leave out for Santa on Christmas Eve (Poppy wasin favour of a pint of beer but as I didn’t have any in, we decided peachsquash was a good substitute. With a mince-pie and a carrot for the reindeer,of course.)
Hot chocolate mug drained, Poppy cast a longing glance atthe contents of the saucer.
She gave a dramatic sigh. ‘It’s no use, Mr Snowman. I’mgoing to have to eat you.’ She held her creation out to me. ‘Do you want abite, Auntie Enzie?’
‘No, no. Well, perhaps one of his arms?’
Solemnly, she removed it for me. And with the snow driftingpast the window, Poppy decapitated Mr Snowman with triumphant relish, and wemunched happily in silence for a moment.
