Hanging the final garish decoration on the tree, I watched
her spring up with a slight gasp. Hands on hips she grinned, barely containing
her pride and excitement. It always amused me to watch her prepare for
Christmas. She seemed to fluctuate between fierce warrior maiden in the local
shopping centre and domestic Goddess. Or at least her own interpretation
anyway, which involved a lot of over-floured worktops and disappointed bakes.
She had
never looked happier than in that very moment. I loved how her blue eyes
reflected the twinkling fairy lights, not dimmed by the years of hardship we
had endured. For her, the two weeks in the run up to Christmas always brought a
much needed respite. She didn’t notice that the tinsel was worn and flaking
little specks of glitter on to the laminated floorboards. She didn’t see the
woollen snowman with the missing button, or the chipped glass bauble. Or that
the presents scattered underneath the synthetic tree numbered less than a
couple of years back. All she needed were a few sugared candy-canes and an
angel watching over her.
She turned and glanced at me. Her
red lips were curved upwards with pure joy. I smiled back, hoping it wouldn’t
belie my heavy heart. As much as I knew she would enjoy this year, I prayed
that next year things would get better. It was my Christmas wish to myself once
again.