Page 89 of Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Right then. Stop right there, Rachel Swinton, pull yourself together, Maisy needs to see you happy and cheery, Rachel rallied. She located the whisky, took a deep breath, and headed back to the living room, where she found one of Dad’s cut glass tumblers in the cabinet.

‘Here we go. Shall I pour it out? Just a small one, mind. Santa’s got to drive his sleigh, you know.’

‘Yes, we don’t want him crashing,’ Maisy added seriously.

‘Oh, and we need the list, Maisy. Where’s your special Christmas wish list that you wrote out the other day?’

‘I know, I know. It’s in my room.’

‘Well, it’s time we sent it up the chimney.’

‘Yes, yes.’ She scampered off up the stairs, returning a few minutes later, clutching her neatly-written note that she’d decorated with glitter and stars and snowmen.

Rachel used to do this same ritual with her dad every Christmas Eve. He’d light the corner of the Christmas list with a match and hold it carefully above the fireplace where the draught of the chimney would take it up and away, as Rachel sent it off with a silent Christmas wish. And, guess what, the list had always worked, the gifts delivered with love.

The flame flickered, the paper soon catching alight and curling, then off and up it went. Maisy watched it go then squeezed her eyes closed for a few seconds – making an extra wish, no doubt.

‘Thank you, Father Christmas,’ the little girl said aloud.

Rachel went to settle Maisie, who was finally starting to get sleepy after two full readings of ’Twas The Night Before Christmas and The Snowman in bed. Rachel tucked her down under the duvet, with Olaf the snowman by her side, and gave her a big kiss. ‘Sweet dreams, petal.’

‘Mummy,’ she whispered, ‘I wished for some real snow so we can make our own really big snowman tomorrow. The stormy snow was too bad, so we never got to make him, and the first one was really little.’

‘Ah, well, we’ll have to wait and see what the weather does, won’t we.’ Hmm, well, that was one present she couldn’t wrap up and deliver.

‘It’s time to go to sleep now, Maisy, or Santa won’t be able to come.’

‘O-kay.’

Rachel well knew that it might take her little girl some time to drift off, however. Granny Ruth, who was staying over, had retired to bed early too, happy to be propped up against plump pillows with her book and her knitting for a while.

Tom had nipped back to his farmhouse to collect terrier Mabel, who was going to come over for the evening, and also to have a last check on his farm and see that all was well with the cattle in his shed.

When Rachel came back down to the living room, Mum was sitting quietly, gazing at the fire. She seemed thoughtful, quiet.

‘All okay, Mum?’

‘Yes, of course, love,’ she replied, but her tone had a trace of sadness though it.

‘You sure?’

Jill nodded, but then, after a pause, added, ‘I dropped by the churchyard earlier, on my way to fetch Granny Ruth for the carol service. Had a few words with Dad.’

‘Ah …’ Rachel had seen the three white roses laid against the headstone. It had been Mum who’d left them.

‘Well, I knew we’d all be busy tomorrow.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mum, you must be really feeling it today.’

There was a pause as they both watched the orange flames flickering in the grate.

‘We went to visit Dad too, me and Maisy, just before the service,’ added Rachel, after a while.

‘Oh, did you, love? Thank you.’

‘Yes, Maisy wanted to take her Christingle orange for Grandad.’

‘Oh, bless her.’