The Christmas Tree

Every decoration held a memory for Jackie – and she couldn’t wait to share the stories with Brian

- Claire Buckle

ON TIPTOE, I reached up to one of the highest branches of the Christmas tree and hung the delicate pink bauble. “For an angel of a granddaughter” was printed in black lettering on one side and on the other, a cherubic baby’s face beamed out.

“Amy will be the first of many babies, I’m sure, darling,” Mom had said when she presented me with the bauble, knowing how I longed for a big family.

The thirty-four years since then had flown by. And standing in front of the tree today it would be easy to dwell on what might have been – if Amy’s father hadn’t decided children weren’t something he wanted after all but divorce was.

I focused on happier thoughts, like being with Brian for Christmas. He’d helped me get the decorations down from the attic and once he’d untangled the tree lights, announced he was going into town to do some shopping.

“On a Saturday afternoon?” I’d said. “Parking will be a nightmare.”

But he was already slipping on his coat. “It’ll be fine,” he said, with a big smile on his face. He dashed off, whistling away, as though he was relishing the idea of the crowds.

I sighed as I took the lid off the box of tree decorations. I’d been looking forward to explaining the significance of each one. Now, that would have to wait.

Before starting, I lit the row of scented tealights on the mantelpiece and found a radio station playing Christmas songs. The songs were old favorites, but it was a comfort to know some things stayed the same. Like my ritual of making mince pies on Christmas Eve and taking the decorations down on Twelfth Night.

It occurred to me that I didn’t know if Brian liked mince pies and I had no idea if he was superstitious. He liked chocolate chip muffins though. He was eating one when we met for the first time.