Page 109 of Not Just for Christmas

‘I’m going to fly real planes one day, big ones! I’ll take you and Mummy all over the world,’ Sam cried.

You and Mummy. I felt a lump in my throat, marvelling at Sam’s innocent acceptance of Dylan’s place in our future, when I’d fought it, and fought myself, every step of the way.

‘Can’t wait,’ I managed to croak, holding back a tear.

‘Talking of all over the world, shall we phone Granny Linda and Grandad?’ I said, sifting through the wrapping paper to find my phone.

I FaceTimed them with Dylan and Sam squashed beside me on the sofa and we waited to be connected with our family on the other side of the world.

‘Merry Christmas!’ chorused my parents from their iPad screen when Mum had finally managed to set it up so they could both see. They were sitting side by side outside on their porch, dressed in T-shirts, sunglasses pushed up on their heads.

‘Good day, Gramps and Granny Linda,’ said Sam in his best Aussie accent. ‘Thank you for my karaoke machine.’

‘Yes, Mum and Dad,’ I said with a wry smile. ‘Thanks for that, it’s every parent’s dream gift. It’s all right for you, ten thousand miles away.’

‘Hello again, Dylan! Twice in one day, good to see you, son,’ said Dad.

‘Shush!’ Mum exclaimed, digging him in the ribs. ‘He might not have told her yet.’

‘Might not have told me what?’ I looked at Dylan who produced an envelope from the pocket of his dressing gown.

‘This might be a good time to give you this,’ he said, handing it to me. ‘A gift. From me to you.’

He held out the envelope. I took it from him, puzzled, turning it over in my hands.

‘He rang us up,’ Mum blurted out, ‘middle of the night your time. We thought something bad had happened.’

‘Got that wrong, didn’t you, Linda?’ Dad chuckled smugly as Mum scowled. She wasn’t a fan of being wrong.

I looked at Dylan, who shrugged. ‘Too excited to sleep,’ he said sheepishly.

I tore at the edge of the flap.

Beside me Sam wriggled excitedly. ‘Open it, Mum!’

‘Last night, when you told me about the changes you want to make to the farm,’ Dylan said, reaching his arm around my shoulders, ‘I had an idea.’

‘And he called us up to ask our opinion,’ Dad chimed in.

‘Don’t interrupt the man,’ Mum tutted.

‘I thought if we set a timeframe, to … you know.’ Dylan and I looked at each other complicitly and I nodded. We’d agreed to wait until after Christmas to tell Sam about selling the herd. ‘Then there was no reason why we couldn’t—’

Sam couldn’t contain his excitement any longer, whisked the envelope out of my hands and pulled out a piece of paper.

‘Huh?’ he wrinkled his nose, not understanding what it was.

But I did.

‘Flights to Australia!’ I gasped, staring at the booking confirmation. ‘Next spring! I don’t believe it!’

‘Believe it, love,’ Dad beamed. ‘Dylan checked it all out with us first.’

‘You’re coming to stay with us, my angel!’ cried my Mum, tears streaming down her face.

‘Oh Mum!’ I said with a trembling voice. I hadn’t been over there to see them since Sam was a tiny baby.

‘Just Mummy?’ Sam asked, a worried little frown wrinkling his brow.