Letter to Santa

I will always remember Christmas Day a few years ago. I thought it was going to be a normal Christmas.

The story really starts on Christmas Eve just before lunchtime. I did always hope it would be a white Christmas but today was just a typical December day, cold, wet and windy but no sign of snow. I stopped by the post box and dropped three late Christmas cards through the slot. I knew they would arrive late. But I would have felt guilty if I hadn’t sent them. As I turned round to head home a sudden gust of wind blew a piece of paper into my face.

I unravelled the paper and looked at the writing on it. It was a child’s handwriting. It said, “Dear Santa, I hope you are well. I have been a good boy this year. Please can I have a bicycle for Christmas. I’ve been really sad since Charlie was knocked down by a car. But a bicycle would cheer me up. Love from Timmy Smith (aged 6).”

Where had it come from? I looked round to see if there was anybody around who might have dropped it. I went up to a young woman and asked if she had dropped a piece of paper. She shook her head. On the other side of the paper was an address, presumably the address of the little boy who had written the letter.

I had a funny feeling. But I couldn’t decide whether it was sadness or curiosity or maybe the bacon sandwich I had for breakfast. So I went home and carried on getting ready for the big day.

However, I couldn’t stop thinking about the letter so in the middle of the afternoon I put on my coat and took the dog for a walk, thinking that I would call in on the address and give the letter back to young Timmy Smith. How pleased he would be!

Feeling slightly stupid, I knocked on the door of the house and a young woman came to answer it. I guessed that this must be Timmy’s mother.

“Hello. Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for a young boy called Timmy Smith.”

“There’s no Timmy here. We just moved in about six months ago. Perhaps the family before had children. I don’t know. We didn’t have anything to do with them.”

“Do you have a forwarding address for them?

“I think they moved to the other side of town. Hang on a moment.”

Two minutes later she came back with a post-it note on which was written an address on the other side of town.

I was determined to get to the bottom of this. So I dragged the dog to the other side of town, found the right house and knocked on the door.

“Hello. I’m looking for a Timmy Smith. Does he live here?”

“I’ll just get him,” said the middle-aged woman who had come to the door.

Two minutes later a young man of about 18 appeared. He looked like a student, not the angelic young schoolboy I had been imagining.

“Oh sorry,” I apologised. “There must be a misunderstanding. I’m looking for a young lad called Timmy Smith. You’re too old.”

He looked at me with suspicion. I was feeling fairly embarrassed. Even the dog was a bit embarrassed.

“You see, I found a letter to Santa. I thought it was from you. And I thought…”

I took the letter from my pocket and handed it over to him. He looked at it carefully, reading it through. Then he chuckled to himself.

“I remember this. I wrote it to Santa. But I didn’t send it as dad said I couldn’t have a bicycle after Charlie was knocked down.”

“Was Charlie your brother?”

“No. He was our cat. He got hit by a car and we had to have him put down. Must be 12 years ago.”

"Your cat?"

“Anyway I wrote another letter to Santa asking for a Manchester United shirt. That was the letter I posted. I was a big United fan in those days.”

So the mystery of the Christmas letter was solved. I had wasted most of the afternoon and was way behind on my present wrapping but at least the mystery was over.

On Christmas Day we exchanged gifts as usual in the morning and everyone seemed happy. It felt like things were going according to plan. The turkey was ready on time so we sat down to a huge lunch. Even the dog behaved himself. After lunch I let him out to run about in the back garden. We could hear him barking happily as he ran round letting off steam.

One of our traditions was to relax in front of the TV and wait for the Queen to start her annual Christmas message. Just as the programme started the doorbell rang. I couldn’t believe that anybody would call round at this point on Christmas Day. I thought about ignoring it. The doorbell rang again. So I got up and went to answer the door. It opened to reveal a man standing there dressed as Father Christmas.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Who do you think I am?” he replied in a slightly grumpy manner.

“Well, what do you want?”

“One of the reindeers has got a rusty nail in his hoof. I haven’t been able to finish delivering all the presents and I’m running out of time. Can you help me.”

I was feeling a bit mischievous so I said to him. “OK. If you really are Santa Claus you will remember what Timmy Smith wanted for Christmas 12 years ago.”

“Let me think…”

“12 years. Timmy Smith. What did he want?”

“Kids round here always want United kit. Costs a bloody fortune. And if you ask me it is always a load of complete crap. I’m a City fan myself.”

I looked at him, “Do you take me for a complete idiot.” I said and slammed the door.

I settled back in front of the TV…but then out of the window I saw a sleigh flying through the air drawn by five reindeer and a dog that seemed strangely familiar. And then it started to snow.