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“Uncle Isaac, tell us a story?!”
It’s that time of year again, and I’m round at Nick and Charlie’s to spend time with my godchildren. They’re warm and soft and pajama’d and Ari and Paula know exactly how to get me to stay far longer than I might have intended.
“Come on up, cherubs,” I say as they run to me and climb up onto the sofa either side of me and snuggle in under my arms.
I think about the Christmas that we’ve had, the festive season of great food and wonderful family, and I consider for a few seconds to make sure that I’ve got a story well laid out. It’s got to be a corker. They’re bigger now and they’re starting to see the cracks in some of the myths. Nick and Charlie said that they had to work a lot harder to keep the magic of Father Christmas alive for Ari this year. The little smartypants is all science and logic and there are just too many children for Santa to make it to all their houses, and that’s not to mention him trying not to explore, or crash the sleigh drunkenly into a tree with all the mince pies and brandy left out for him.
I can work with that.
Once upon a time there were two children, named Ari and Paula.
I pause, but they apparently learned from last year, and they don’t interrupt the magic of the story by squealing about being in it themselves. I suppose at this point I’ve put them into enough stories that they’re used to it, but still, I’m impressed at their restraint so I give their fuzzy shoulders a squeeze before continuing.
Their stockings had been full of the obligatory satsuma, walnut and sugar mouse. Santa had clearly been busy learning all about them, though, because Ari had wooden puzzles to test his mind and Paula had colouring pages and new crayons to support her budding creative side.
There had been a light dusting of snow overnight that had made for the briefest of white Christmases, so the absolutely mandatory walk in the woods was actually frosty for once. While their parents were doing all the cooking, Ari and Paula went out into the garden, to build a snowman.
They squeezed a small handful of snow together and then rolled it around in the powder to make it big enough to be the body. As they were repeating this method to make a snowball for the head, Paula heard a jingle from under the snow.
Inquisitive as ever, she reached her mittened hand under the top layer and extracted a bell.
It was round, the metal shiny and bright, gleaming in the bright sunshine. There was a small slit in the underside, revealing a little metal ball inside, just too big to fall through the slit. On the top, a red bow and what had once been a loop but was now a dangling ribbon showed how it had once been secured. Secured to what though?
“Ari, what do you think this was from?” she asked her brother.
Ari studied the bell, gave it an experimental jangle, and shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look like it came off anything of ours. Where did you find it?”
“Right here,” she pointed at their Daddy Charlie’s prized roses, all pruned back for the winter. “I was just rolling up the snow for the snowman.”
“That’s an unusual place for a bell. It’s too big to have come off a collar for a pet, it looks like it fell off something, though.”
“Well then, we need to find out what, and return it,” Paula insisted.
Ari wasn’t so sure about that. While the bell looked shiny and relatively new, it didn’t look like it was so special, and it didn’t have anything on it that was going to give them any hints about who it belonged to or how to find them. It was the festive time of year, though, and he knew their dads would be proud of them for trying, so he agreed and they settled in with a pad of paper.
First thing, they decided, was to figure out some things that a bell like that might have fallen from. Then they could start tracking it down.
Isaac feels the kids start to squirm. Ari is particularly restless, and he knows that he’s worded himself into a corner a little bit. He kisses Ari’s head to reassure him and keeps going.
Ari’s first concern, and even Paula couldn’t disagree, it couldn’t very well have come from all that many places, they were in their back garden. It couldn’t have come from a shop in town or from a decoration on the street lamps that were all up and down the road. Gravity only makes things fall down, not down and around the corner to bury bells under Daddy’s roses.
The problem with having decided this was that it left them with very few options for where the bell came from and they both looked straight up in the air from where Paula had picked it up.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Not a balcony, not an overlooking building, not even a well proportioned tree branch sat directly above the spot.
“Ari,” Paula started, unsure how this was going to go, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Ari wanted to say no, that it couldn’t possibly be, but the more he sat and quietly stewed the fewer other options he had that still allowed gravity to work like he’d been reading.
Falling objects fall downwards.
Towards Earth.
From above it.
Plane windows don’t open because of air pressure, helicopters could be low enough but they’d have heard one flying over their garden dropping bells.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. HIs sister’s eyes widened. Ari didn’t admit that often. “Maybe?”
“Should we show it to Dads?”
“And say what?” Ari asked, not unkindly, and sounding genuinely unsure. “Dads, look what Paula found in the garden, we think we found an actual bell of Santa’s actual sleigh, it looks like the ribbon holding it on broke off when it landed on our roof to deliver our presents.”
“Well - yes.” Paula, a couple of years younger than her brother, took the world less literally, and found a lot more joy in whimsy than he did. He found comfort in facts and reading to find answers to help the world around him make sense. He’d memorised the dinosaur encyclopedia by three, and a book on the solar system by four. She enjoyed playing pretend, inventing mystical worlds where charming dragons married fair princes and sunflowers soaked up actual sunlight into batteries that could be tapped into if you were in a pinch.
“You can, it was your discovery after all.”
“What are we going to do with it if we can’t give it back and you won’t tell Dads?”
At this point it is Nick and Charlie getting squirmy and I realise that I probably needn’t have a story in which I encourage their children to hold out on them, even over something as whimsical as a sleigh bell. I look up and smile to reassure them.
“No, you’re right, we have to tell them. If it really is - and I’m not saying that it is - from Santa’s sleigh,” he said the words with a little shiver, “our chance to give it back is gone for this year. He only comes around once a year, and clearly he’s been and gone.”
“There has to be a way to get it back to the North Pole,” she said.
The children wriggle with excitement and I squeeze their shoulders, instilling some confidence in their fictional ability to figure out how they were going to reunite Santa with the bell.
It was a few days later, and Nick and Charlie had been shown the fancy silver bell, its clapper inside soft and dull despite no visible damage to it. As a family they’d all put their heads together to try to figure out a plan. Leaving it out with next year’s milk and cookies had been one suggestion, and while this might work, it was vetoed by Ari for making Santa have to wait too long. Other plans felt too confusing or held too much risk of the bell being damaged or lost.
“How are they going to do it, Uncle Isaac?” Paula asks, her earnest little face upturned. I smile down at her.
“What do you think, little one?” I ask, willing to see if I can work her answer into the story.
She leans up and whispers into my ear. “That’s perfect,” I say and I get back into narrator mode.
Eventually, after much debate, Paula’s idea wins. It’s simple and effective and the best chance they have of there not being anything to get in the way of a smooth transit for the pretty bell.
“Alright, Paula, you do the honours,” Ari said as they all stood around the letterbox that they’ve used since they were really small to send their letters to Santa in the run up to Christmas. As Paula said, it’s a one way letterbox, no Postman to lose anything, no other parcels that might mean the bell gets squashed or damaged and it’s a direct line to the North Pole.
Paula looked down at the bell in her hand, at the note that she’d tied to the top to carefully explain to Santa what had happened.
“Bell,” she said.
“Check,” said Daddy.
“Note,” she said.
“Check,” said Papa.
“Glitter,” she said.
“Check,” said Ari.
“Ready,” she said.
“Ready,” they all said.
She opened up the flap of the letterbox and carefully placed the bell inside. Ari sprinkled the magical glitter over the top and they all wished the bell a safe trip back to the North Pole as she closed up the letterbox and they all stepped back.
For a moment, nothing happened.
They waited.
A little flash of white light spilled out of the sides of the door and they all jumped, a little startled. This was new, but then again, this was also the first time that they’d used the letterbox after Christmas, so maybe it was to be expected that there would be a bigger reaction.
They all looked at each other. Then Daddy, feeling brave, opened the letterbox up and they all gasped as they stared into the empty box, a few remnants of glitter remained in the bottom - because glitter is eternal - but otherwise, nothing.
“Wooooow,” Paula entoned, awe running through the word as she drew it out.
“Wow indeed,” Ari agreed. They looked at their dads, waiting for one of them to reveal on their face how they’d managed this little trick, but Daddy and Papa looked as impressed as Paula did.
“How did it work, Uncle Isaac?” Ari looks up at me, and I know my sweet fact-based godchild is going to need me here.
“Have you never wondered how the letters get to Santa, Ari?” I ask them.
“Of course,” they say, trying to sound dismissive. “But honestly, I just don’t know how any of it’s possible, there are just too many children in the world, and new ones being born every second and it’s one night and one Santa Claus, supposedly.”
“Supposedly, huh? So there’s no room in your thoughts for an answer grounded in physics? I mean, using timezones he’d have around 32 hours, and if he travelled at speeds near to the speed of light he’d make very good time. Also, how about wormholes and his expert use of string theory?”
“Wormholes?” Ari asks, their little face lighting up with the possibility of an explanation they can get behind. “Oh!” There’s wonder in their tone for the first time in a while and I realise that I need to challenge his literal mind a little more so that he can build the whimsical muscles too.
“Wormholes.” I nod.
Ari looks pensive and Paula is giving me a look that says that she’s not buying any of it. Thankfully, the darling has held onto the magic, and I love that for her.
The family stood around the little letterbox and looked into it. Nick and Charlie looked at each other, marvelling with the kids at the wonder of having just returned the bell to the North Pole.
“Well,” Charlie said in wonder, “that’s definitely your good deed for the month, kidlets.”
Nick nodded. “I agree with Daddy, I think you two are so wonderful to have wanted to get that bell back to Santa. He’ll definitely keep note of that when it comes to choosing presents for next year.”
Ari and Paula smiled, both immediately setting off into a daydream of what that could mean.
“What happened after that, Uncle Isaac?”
The family settled into their post Christmas routine. Panatone turned into eggy-bread, festive films on the TV, Nick being a pyromaniac and lighting a fire every chance he got, board games and basically being snuggled in together.
They let themselves forget about the bell, and what they’d witnessed as they sent it hurtling back to the North Pole. The weather warmed, eventually, and a wet April turned into a bright and sunny summer. School was out for the summer, and Ari looked at Paula.
“Do you know, this year is the first year since exams even started that I’ve not had one on my birthday.”
“What do you mean?” Paula asked, pausing to think about the dates. “Oh my goodness, you’re right.”
“It’s not the only thing that’s gone right this year, you know,” Ari went on. “It was a sunny day for the football final, Daddy’s tests were all normal when he went to the doctor’s last month, Poppy’s dancing around like a puppy again.” They paused for a second before going on. “I haven’t heard even one person say something rude about my pronouns or tease me when I don’t change in the locker room.”
Paula hugged her sibling, hard, knowing all the ways that they’ve had to deal with being bullied since they’d come out.
“You know, you’re right, this year has been a bit - “ she trailed off, unable to find the words.
“Right!” Ari agreed.
They were sitting on a blanket in the garden, Poppy scampering around as they idly threw her ball for her, and the sunshine was warm on their faces. They lapsed into quiet reflections.
“How were they having such good luck, Uncle Isaac?”
“Why do you think, my little beasties?”
“Was it about the bell?”
“What would the bell have done?”
Ari looks thoughtful. “They’re supposed to ward off evil, Uncle Isaac. That’s what the legend says. They’re for good luck.”
“But they gave the bell back, Uncle Isaac,” Paula adds, excitedly.
Nick and Charlie are looking at me fondly, getting the kids thinking about this is apparently just what was called for.
“Well, let’s keep listening and see what happens, shall we?” I say.
The summer holidays were over and the year was racing towards Christmas again, the way that Autumn always seemed to. Ari and Paula had kept a lookout for other moments where there seemed to be more luck in play than was traditional. They smiled at each other when they saw it.
It was the night before Christmas and all through the house -
“Not a creature was stirring -”
“Not even a mouse!”
“Thank you, my little helpers,” I grin at them.
It was the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Ari and Paula were sitting up on Ari’s bed, their traditional Christmas Eve pajamas donned, their hair and teeth brushed, their stockings hung. It was another Christmas Eve, just like the ones before it. Yet Paula felt like she was fizzing.
“You feel it too, don’t you Ari?” she asked her sibling.
“I do, you know I do, but we have to try to sleep, nothing’s happening while we’re awake.”
“Alright. I know you’re right. Goodnight, Ari!”
“Goodnight, Paula.”
The pair laid in their beds and willed themselves to sleep. The effort finally made them drift off, and when they woke up in the morning, it was light outside. They’d slept later than usual.
Nick and Charlie are looking at me on that one, willing this to become a reality no doubt, I know they haven’t had a lie in for a while, not since the last time the kids spent the night with me.
I smile over at them and carry on.
Stockings hung from their beds, long had they done away with them being hung on the mantlepiece and found them on their beds, or outside their doors. Paula grabbed hers and ran with it into her sibling’s room.
“Ari, wake up!” she called out as she jumped on their bed.
Ari roused themself and reached for their own stocking.
Neither was sure what was different, nor why this Christmas morning felt like there was something crackling in it, but they both eagerly unwrapped their presents. Each of the things that they’d asked for were there.
Amongst the traditional chocolate coins, satsuma, nuts and sugar mice; Ari had a small lego set of some flowers, and a note that a stocking would be filled for one of the kids from the tree at the library. Paula had a pink crocheted octopus and another note about a donation in her name.
They both thought they were done, and were beginning to play with their spoils when Paula realised that her stocking wasn’t empty.
“He didn’t do it, did he, Uncle Isaac?” Ari asks, and I’m torn about whether to keep the ending that I had or change it to suspend their belief that they always see these things coming.
But it’s Christmas and I don’t feel like disappointing Paula just to subvert Ari. I put my finger to my lips and glance in her direction, sending a silent note to Ari that we need to make sure she believes.
They nod and I smile conspiratorially at them. They’re a good sibling.
In the bottom of Paula’s stocking was a sleigh bell, a broken tassel showing where it had fallen away from the sleigh and a small dent where it had landed on the ground.
A note was attached to the bell.
DEAR PAULA,
FOR YOUR HONESTY, INTEGRITY AND DETERMINATION TO RETURN THIS BELL TO ME, I BESTOW IT UPON YOU AS A KEEPSAKE.
MAY IT BRING YOU THE LUCK THAT YOU NEED AND WARD OFF WHAT IT WILL.
LOOK AFTER YOUR FAMILY,
SANTA
“She got the bell back?” Paula is bouncing on the sofa beside me, excitement radiating from her.
“She did. Santa was impressed by how she used the magic to try to return it. We should always try to get lost things back to where they came from, wherever we can.”
“What a lovely story, Uncle Isaac!”