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The Introverted Duckling

A Christmas Wish

(A short story for the season, by myself.)

Phoebe looked like she had been born to be a Christmas elf in a television advert. She had a round, rosy face, deep-blue eyes and small, pointed ears. Her hair was the lightest blonde and fell in delicate curls to her small, thin shoulders. Today it had been swept back out of her face and pinned behind her ears with two sweet little ladybird clasps. Although of a naturally sunny disposition, today her eyes looked far away and clouded over. She clung on to the hand of a stern-looking social worker, with squeaky-clean skin and thick-rimmed spectacles.

“So you must be Phoebe,” said the beautiful lady who was going to foster her. She was tall, wore lots of rings, had perfectly manicured finger-nails and smelled of expensive perfume.

“I suppose I must be,” said Phoebe, quite seriously. Ann, the social worker, scowled.

“Well, I am Marjorie,” laughed her foster-mother-to-be. “I’m very happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Then you’ll have heard that I don’t eat brussels sprouts,”explained Phoebe, once again in all seriousness.

“I didn’t know that, Phoebe, but I am very glad because I don’t like them either. My husband tries to make me eat them but I feed them to our dog when he isn’t looking.”

Phoebe’s face broke into a smile. Perhaps Christmas wouldn’t be so terrible after all. Marjorie seemed nice. Much nicer than those social workers who had taken her away from her mother. They hadn’t believed her when she’d told them that Mummy had only ever hit her when she had needed to be punished. And the bruises around her wrists, that hadn’t been Mummy; that had been Mummy’s new boyfriend, Alec. They had taken her away from Mummy because they were horrible people and hated children. She hoped Marjorie didn’t hate children.

Holding tightly onto Phoebe’s hand, Ann followed Marjorie up a perfect little garden path through an idyllic little garden, and up the steps of a pretty little porch with a swing. Phoebe took in every detail with her wide, curious eyes. Her wild imagination began to run riot, as it was apt to do when she felt frightened. She tried to see beneath the freshly-cut grass and wondered how many worms lived in the soil and if they had had enough to drink this winter. There had been barely any rain at all since the start of autumn. She imagined that the tree branches bobbing in the wind were waving at her and welcoming her. A tabby cat appeared from behind a bush and looked her up and down, it’s bright eyes telling her that she would have to prove herself to be deemed worthy of a home here.

Marjorie’s kitchen was clean and pretty, just like her. The curtains were green-gingham, the walls were a soft, pastel shade of blue and on the table sat a jug of fresh flowers. Hyacinths. Blooming even though they grew all alone, away from the garden soil.

“You have a copy of all the papers?” asked Ann, eyeing-up Marjorie and the kitchen with an expression that contained equal parts of boredom and envy.

“Every last one,” said Marjorie, with a smile. “Phoebe and I shall be quite fine here together, shan’t we?” She gave Phoebe a wink.

“You can go now, Ann,” said Phoebe, letting go of Ann’s hand. “It all looks very clean. I don’t think there’s a single germ anywhere.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” retorted Ann, coolly. “I just want to make sure that everything has been finalised. Your husband – Matthew – isn’t here? I would have preferred to have met both of you.”

“The agency already knows about that,” said Marjorie, colouring a little. “He’s overseas just now. You know, with the Army.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Ann, with an air of condescension. “So, he’s a soldier. Well, I can only hope that you folks know what you’re doing, taking a child into a household like that.”

As Marjorie escorted Ann to the door and wished her a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year (Phoebe thought it very kind to wish an unkind person a happy Christmas), Phoebe took the opportunity to begin exploring her new dwellings. She wanted to get a feel of the place.

An open doorway led from the kitchen into a small but cosy living-room with a real, open fireplace, a rug that looked like a polar bear that had been run over by a bulldozer, and a beautifully-decorated Christmas tree with twinkling fairy lights that stood protectively over a pile of elaborately-wrapped presents in various shapes and forms.

“You’ve found the Christmas tree,” said a voice from behind, surprising her. Whenever Marjorie spoke there was the hint of a laugh in her voice. And even when she wasn’t speaking – as Phoebe now observed - her eyes sparkled so brightly that she felt sure there must really have been some laughter trapped inside her soul.

“I didn’t find it, it must have already been there,” said Phoebe, matter-of-factly.

“Why don’t you have a look at some of those presents that Father Christmas dropped off a little early this year?” urged Marjorie, taking the little girl by the hand and guiding her closer to the tree. Her hand was soft and warm.

“Do you want me to see who they are for?” asked Phoebe, her beautiful blue eyes looking solemnly into Marjorie’s much lighter ones.

“That would be lovely,” said Marjorie. “And while you do that I shall make us a hot chocolate. I rather fancy one in a tall glass, with lots of cream and marshmallows. Do you like hot chocolate, Phoebe?”

“I love hot chocolate,” said Phoebe, beginning to remove her coat and scarf. Marjorie stepped forward to help, but remembering that Phoebe was a strong and independent little girl who didn’t like to be ‘babied’ (as it had stated on her profile), she stopped herself and straightened the cushions on an armchair instead.

“However, hot chocolate is rather expensive, and I only have a few coins left over from the ones Mummy put in my purse. Perhaps I shall just settle for a glass of tap water,” reflected Phoebe. She finished removing her scarf and jacket and set them across the arm of the sofa, folding the sleeves just-so, and removing a piece of fluff from the collar.

Marjorie smiled. She was beginning to fall in love already with Phoebe’s earnest expressions and the funny things she said.

“But Phoebe, since I am to be your foster-mother, I do not expect you to pay for a single thing whilst you are here. Think of me like… like an aunt. You don’t pay for things when you go to your aunt’s house, now, do you?”

“No,” said Phoebe, thoughtfully. “Alright then. But you must let me help you with the dishes and rub your shoulders when they are sore. Mummy always says that if you aren’t helpful then you aren’t good for anything.”

Marjorie so badly wanted to pick up the little child and enfold her in a warm embrace. Her heart must have been starving for love, with a mother who told her such awful things.

“You can help around the house, but I won’t expect you to do it very often. What I’d like for you is… is to enjoy your time here with us. I want you to have fun, to drink lots of hot chocolate, to make new friends and to learn some new things. What do you say? Does that sound good?”

Phoebe looked thoughtful for a moment. She stroked one of her blonde curls with finger and thumb, and looked far out into a place only she knew.

“OK then. Let’s sign a form, like the one you signed for Ann. You can write down what you require of me and I’ll write down what I require of you. Then, if we’re both happy, we can sign it.”

Marjorie agreed. Afterwards they drank lavish hot chocolates whilst Phoebe marveled over how many presents Father Christmas had dropped-off for her already, and speculated as to how on earth he had come to find out that she wouldn’t be home for Christmas, but here with Marjorie and her husband instead.

***

The afternoon passed pleasantly, and it was evening before they knew it. After a delicious tea of home-made pizza (Phoebe had been allowed to choose her own toppings) and ice-cream for pudding, Marjorie and Phoebe had curled up on the sofa to watch a Christmas film together, joined by the couple’s dog, a boisterous, doe-eyed golden retriever with caramel-coloured curls who enjoyed having Marjorie throw a wet and slimy tennis-ball across the floor for him to fetch.

Marjorie was so lovely, and Phoebe had so enjoyed her day with her that she had barely even thought about Mummy and the dull ache in her heart.

Come bedtime, Phoebe was so exhausted that Marjorie had to carry her to her room. It was any girl’s dream bedroom, with pink walls, a poster bed, a play-tent, some Barbie dolls sat having what looked like a tea-party atop a fluorescent-pink bean bag, a bookcase lined with brightly-coloured books, some posters of Disney princesses and best of all, her name, ‘P-h-o-e-b-e’ hung across the door in flashing letters.

Marjorie lifted the covers and Phoebe slipped under them. Her day had been so wonderful that she felt that to ask for a story would have been to tempt fate. After all, there was only so much happiness a girl could be entitled to.

“Marjorie?” asked Phoebe, her voice so soft and elfish, barely a whisper over the noise of the creaking door as Marjorie attempted to slip away.

“Yes, Phoebe?”

“Is this all just a dream? Are you my fairy godmother?”

“No, this isn’t a dream, sweetheart,” laughed Marjorie. “But we can pretend I am your fairy godmother, if you like.”

“I’d like that,” agreed Phoebe, with a yawn. “Please, don’t be gone by the morning.”

“I won’t, promise!” said Marjorie. She winked and disappeared through the door, drawing it shut behind her. Phoebe was left alone in her strange, new bedroom. But despite this, and despite even the dull ache in her heart, she felt warm and peaceful, like floating on a cloud of pleasant dreams. She closed her eyes and made a wish. A Christmas wish.

***

The days unfolded much like the ones before them. There were trips into town to see the Christmas lights and hear choirs of bald men singing Christmas carols. There were plenty of delicious meals, and one day they even had a ‘grown-up tea-party’ with real cucumber sandwiches, scones with cream and jam, and pink lemonade in fancy glasses with slices of lemon. They had it in front of the fire atop a checkered picnic blanket whilst listening to some country music. Marjorie loved country music. And Christmas. In fact, it appeared that she loved life in general.

Gradually, Phoebe’s solemn facade began to melt away, and she became the happy little girl with bouncing curls that she had once been. She laughed as hard as Marjorie, and played as much as any child would on the lead up to Christmas. She did help Marjorie around the house, but only for a short time in the morning, or to help prepare the lunch. Her chores didn’t feel very much like housework, as they listened to music and danced around the kitchen whilst doing the dishes. Marjorie would make Phoebe laugh by tying a tea-towel around her head like a bandanna.

One day, whilst snuggled up on the sofa drinking yet again another lavish hot chocolate, and with her head almost resting on Marjorie’s shoulder, Phoebe asked, “When will I get to meet Matthew?”

Phoebe thought she saw a tinge of sadness in Marjorie’s expression as she replied,

“I’m not really sure, sweetheart. He was meant to be coming home for Christmas, but now he’s been asked to stay a little longer. It might be early next year before they let him home. We’ll see, Phoebe. Let’s keep hoping, though.”

Phoebe thought about the Christmas wish she had made all those nights before. A wish, she believed, was something that the fairies heard and took straight up to God. But once you had made that wish (or so she believed), you couldn’t take it back again. That would be against the rules. However, it was Christmas, and wasn’t it meant to be God’s birthday? Perhaps He would be in a particularly good mood and let her change her wish, just this once.

That night, before shutting her tired eyes to fall into the world of peaceful slumber, Phoebe concentrated hard on the ceiling, willing the fairies – and God – to hear her.

“Please, I’d like to change my wish. I know I asked that I could go back home to be with Mummy, and that Mummy would become happy and kind like Marjorie. But now I’m asking that Matthew (he’s Marjorie’s husband) will be allowed to come home for Christmas. So ends my wish. Goodnight.”

***

It was the eve of Christmas Eve, and, just like in a perfect dream, snow had begun to fall. The tops of the trees looked as though they had been dusted in icing-sugar; as did the flowers in Marjorie’s flower-pots. A solemn hush had descended over the world, as though it had decided to go to sleep until Christmas.

The past couple of days had been difficult for Phoebe. That dull ache in her heart had become more than just a dull ache, and she thought about Mummy very often. She wondered if Mummy thought about her. She also wondered how Mummy would be managing without her. Who was making her lunch and cups of tea? Who was rubbing her shoulders? Not Alec. He was far too unkind.

It was just after tea on the eve of Christmas Eve that Phoebe finally made her decision. It wasn’t right that she was here with Marjorie, having so much fun, whilst Mummy was at home, probably starving to death and crying a lot (she always cried, but surely it would be worse now that Phoebe was gone). So she took herself upstairs, packed a small bag of her belongings and waited until Marjorie was taking a bath to slip out of the house into the cold, night air.

The fallen snow made a crunching sound under her little boots as she hurried along the main road towards the roundabout where she knew she would be able to catch a bus home. She would take the same bus – bus 19 – that she had arrived here in with Ann. She had counted out her coins and knew that she had just enough for her bus fare. She hoped that the bus driver would let her on without an adult in tow.

The bus arrived at precisely seven o’clock. When Phoebe climbed aboard, the bus driver looked her up and down and cocked his head. He had a nice face; a bit shiny, but friendly.

“Where’s your parents, little girl?” he asked. His voice was warm and mellow. It made her think of Father Christmas.

Phoebe didn’t like to lie. But she didn’t want to be sent off, either.

“They’re at home. I’m going home. I was just visiting my grandmother but she’s too old to walk me to the bus stop.”

“Your grandmother, eh? Will sit down then, my dear. Where do your parents live?”

“Green Grove Council Estate,” replied Phoebe, in her most grown-up voice. “Flat 1.”

“Right-i-o,” said the bus driver, cheerily.

After Phoebe had sat down, and the bus had pulled away, the bus driver spent the next few minutes on his radio in a hushed voice. Phoebe had sat near the back of the bus and felt too sleepy to pay attention to what he was saying. She was aboard the bus and going home to Mummy. That was all that mattered.

***

When the bus pulled up at Green Grove Council Estate, there was a tall policeman waiting, and an official-looking lady with leather gloves. Phoebe’s heartbeat quickened. She would have to avoid them. She hoped they weren’t here to take her away again.

The bus had two doors. The policeman was standing at the door closest to the bus driver. Phoebe got down through the second one. The official-looking lady looked at her and smiled. Phoebe did not give her a chance to say anything. She turned on her heel and ran, ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, along the side of the road to the entrance to the estate. Luckily, their flat was the one closest to the road. Phoebe pressed the buzzer and willed her mother to pick up immediately.

It was Alec who answered.

“Open the door, please Alec. I’ve come home.”

“Is that you, you little….?” (And here he swore, enough to make Phoebe’s ears feel red-hot.)

“We don’t want you no more. Go back to your fancy lady.”

“But Mummy wants me. Please let me speak to Mummy.”

Her mother’s voice came on the speaker. It sounded strange and slurry, as though she had been drinking a lot of wine.

“ ‘S’at you, Phoebe?” she hissed. “Phoebe, go back to Miss Marjorie. She’s the one who’ll take care of you now. We… we ain’t got nothing to offer you here. We don’t want you no more.”

A lump formed in Phoebe’s throat. The pain in her heart became so intense that she wanted to scream, but the scream wouldn’t come out. It felt like it was stuck inside her soul, just like Marjorie’s laughter.

Just then, someone put their hand on her shoulder. It was the tall policeman, with the official-looking lady standing about a meter behind him, out of breath and on her phone.

“What’s your name, little lady?” he asked, kindly. “Are you Phoebe, Pheobe Manning?”

“I shan’t tell you,” said Phoebe, crossing her arms and turning her face away so that he wouldn’t see her tears.

“Phoebe, this is Tracy, a social worker. She wants to take you back to your foster parents. That’s where you should be, isn’t it?”

“I should be here, with Mummy!” shouted Phoebe, as tears began to roll down her cheeks and land in a puddle next to her boots. “But Mummy doesn’t want me anymore.”

Just then, a car pulled up. It was Marjorie. She came running out of the car and swept up Phoebe into her arms, crying uncontrollably.

“Phoebe, you gave me such a fright. Please come home, darling.”

“But it’s not my home,” said Phoebe, through her tears. Her voice was shaking. “This is my home, with Mummy. Only… Mummy doesn’t want me anymore.”

“I want you,” said Marjorie, stroking the little girl’s soft curls while she cooed into her ear. “I want you, and I think I want you forever and ever. You can be my little girl now.”

Phoebe stopped crying and looked up into Marjorie’s eyes. They were beautiful eyes, so full of love. And right here, in her arms, she felt safer than she had ever felt before.

“You mean, you want to be my mummy?”

“If you’d like that, Phoebe. But for now, let’s go home. I’ll tuck you up in bed and read you your favourite story.”

***

On Christmas day, Marjorie got a very special Christmas gift. Someone rang the doorbell at about 10am. When she opened the door there was Matthew standing on the doorstep, looking very handsome in his uniform.

He was as kind and as gentle as Marjorie, and they had a very happy day together. Phoebe missed her mummy terribly, but she forgot all about it when Matthew pretended to be a pony and take her for a ride around the house, and when Marjorie tickled her feet and let her eat all the chocolate from her Christmas stocking before dinner.

At one point on Christmas day (she was not exactly sure when), she thanked God that her Christmas wish had come true. And she made another wish, that one day Marjorie and Matthew would be her real parents.

And one day they were, and Phoebe almost forgot entirely about the pain in her heart.

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