Richard G Stevens, click
here to update your pages on AuthorsDen.
Blogs by Richard G Stevens
PRESENTS OF MINE 3/2/2018 3:11:42 AM
Extract from my new novel, Sea of Duplicity, due to be released in April
“Even at four I’d started to question how Santa could read a note that caught fire as it rose in the chimney. My dad said it was magic because the writing still showed and Santa had a special way to read it. I remember dad wrote ‘Nicholas’ on a piece of paper then burnt it to show me it was still possible to read my name. That pacified me for a while but because the burnt paper was so fragile I soon started asking questions again, but each time dad had an answer ready.
This particular Christmas morning I’d opened my presents in my room but the big tricycle, I’d asked Father Christmas for, clearly wasn’t among them. This set me thinking about how Santa carted the bigger things around and got them into the houses. Briefly the tears welled-up as I thought maybe Santa hadn’t brought my trike, even though I’d tried my best to be good. Maybe even his magic couldn’t get it down the chimney and he’d taken it away again.
Anyway, just before the trickle of tears turned into a flood, my dad shouted for me to come downstairs. I ran down, dressing gown flapping, and here in this very dining room was the red trike, I wanted, in the fireplace.
The trike’s front wheel sat in the grate that still contained the previous night’s embers, its handlebars flush with the patterned tile frontage below the mantelpiece and its two rear wheels rested on the raised edge of the tiled hearth, which once came out to here,” I said, slapping my foot down well in front of the panelling.
“So you were happy after all,“ said Nadine, “Saint Nicholas had managed to deliver your present.”
“I already knew all about the tricycle I wanted, I’d seen them in the shops; no, what interested me was how those two wide back wheels had been squeezed through the gap where the fire normally sat behind two bronze knights in helmets and armour. After dad lifted the trike onto the floor, all I wanted to do was look up the chimney and wonder about the fantasy I’d been spun. From that day onwards I knew the presents must already be in the house and the following year I set about finding them with total success until I was nine. Eventually I realised the ritual was kept alive because the parents’ Christmas present was watching the child’s enjoyment.”
