I hope that you've enjoyed Advent every day, LizzieC! As I shall have a busy night tonight, this is my final present to you. Merry Christmas to all
In the bright night sky above a full moon beamed down on the houses tossed casually below, smiling benevolently on the people scurrying about, while stars twinkled invitingly, a huge canvas for an experienced artist as old as time itself. Not a cloud came to mar the picture, and the heavens truly seemed open to anyone who found the time to glance up from what they were doing.
In the streets below, the sound of footsteps was everywhere, as, like mice preparing for a hard winter, men and women hastened to gather presents for loved ones before the day should fall when they should all come together in celebration. Street lamps cast pools of light on the pavements, and from houses came the sounds of joyful laughter. There was a sting to the air that made people whisper excitedly of snow for Christmas day, until the word seemed to hang in the air above them, a promise which made everyone from the smallest of children to the oldest of men anticipate its coming with delight.
It was only in one house that the atmosphere failed to pervade, the occupants much too concerned with other affairs to realise the significance of the date despite the standard decorations adorning the rooms. In one window sat a boy, evidently nearing his teenage years, looking gloomily out at the jolly scene before him. The assurance of snow failed to reach him, drowned out by the sounds of his father's raised voice and his mother's tears. He sat alone, even the maids fearing to deviate from their usual routine and admit that something was amiss.
Suddenly, into the room burst an older girl, her hair askew around her face and her eyes wild. Red marks in the shape of fingerprints stained her cheek, and livid anger caused tears to glitter in her screwed up eyes. Without hesitating, she came forwards and took her brother by both arms, drawing him close and kissing him repeatedly across his face. Slowly, when she noticed that he failed to move at all, her furious energy left her and she collapsed against him, burying her face in his hair.
“I'm sorry, Jem,” she whispered, holding him close to her. “I'm sorry but I have to go. Father is being insufferable, and has insisted that I don't see Stephen again, but I can't bear that. I must go, tonight, before he can stop me. You understand, don't you?”
She stepped away from him, smoothing her hair and straightening her dress. Her tears were falling now, but before he could talk, could comfort her, could do anything, she stepped away from him, smiling as soothingly as she could. It was only when she reached the doorway that he suddenly called,
“But it's Christmas eve. You can't go tonight.”
“I have to,” she whispered. “If I go to Stephen tonight I can stay with him until we can get married. You don't understand. I have to be with him.”
Jem didn't reply, he only turned back to the window to hide his tears. What he wanted, more than anything, was to shout that he did understand, he understood that she loved Stephen more than him, and that she was going to ruin Christmas for him because she was being selfish. Sometimes their father could be overbearing, but it was just his way, he only did it because he cared.
Numbly, he sat in the window until a different set of footsteps approached him, calmer this time, and a soft hand fell on his shoulder. He didn't need to look around to know that his mother had come, but this didn't comfort him as it had done before. Together, they silently watched Margot pulling a case of clothes behind her, as their father stood in the porch, just visible from above, watching stonily.
Once Margot had rounded the corner and was out of sight, the front door shut, making his mother jump. She turned and hurried out of the room, to find his father, leaving him alone. Suddenly he turned and ran to his room, where he flung himself on the soft blankets and screwed up his fists until he cut into his palms, in an effort to stop his tears. Nobody called him downstairs to roast chestnuts over the open fire and tell the story of Christ's birth. Christmas spirit rattled through the deserted corridors, as ignored and alone as he.
.
