The Gift

Clara sighed again. She would never get used to it, the space atop the picture frame where the elf should sit. She berated herself for her sentimentality. Why get so worked up about a pipe-cleaner, felt and ping-pong ball creation which had seen better days even before her mother gave it to her? That was the rub – another connection to her mother, lost. Clara cussed the removal people for their carelessness. Who misplaces a whole packing case full of casserole dishes? They denied it, but it never reached her new home. So, the old, delicate and fragile elf placed inside a dish for safe keeping, was lost.

A knock at the back door broke Clara’s reverie. She rose from her chair to see who was there but was cannoned by Adrian, her seven-year-old grandson, in the kitchen.

‘Granny,’ he shouted, ‘we’ve got you an early Christmas present.’

Adrian threw his arms around Clara and buried his face in her warmth.

‘A present? For me?’ she said, looking up at her daughter, Ellen, who closed the door and stood smiling at her.

‘He’s been wittering on about it for ages,’ she said.

‘I do not witter,’ said Adrian from the depths of his granny’s embrace. ‘I nag.’

Clara and Ellen laughed.

‘Tea?’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Ellen. ‘But first, let him give you his present or he’ll burst.’

Clara untangled herself from her grandson. ‘Shall we go through? Opening presents shouldn’t be done standing up. Not at my age.’

They followed her into the snug lounge where a colourful Christmas tree twinkled in the corner. Clara made herself comfortable on her high-backed chair, the one with the festive cushion and throw.

With a tenderness that brought a lump to Clara’s throat, Adrian took a long box from his mother’s shopping bag and placed it on Clara’s knee. ‘Open it.’

Clara gazed at her grandson’s face. What an unexpected joy he was. Coming so late in her life.

She ran her fingers over the box and finding where the lid was tucked in, gently lifted it. Red tissue paper concealed whatever lay within. Clara unfolded the tissue paper. A jolt, like the surprise at meeting an old friend, beat through her.

‘How…?’

She lifted the elf from the box and laid him along her arm, his head on her palm, to inspect every detail. The lop-sided grin, the green hat with a bell, and the ridiculously long legs leading to silly, pointed white boots. He was flawless.

‘Adrian made him,’ said Ellen, unable to disguise the pride. ‘He’d spotted him in an old photo of grandma’s, so I told him how it as lost in the move and how sad you were.’

Clara took the elf, bent his pipe-cleaner legs and sat him on the frame. He grinned down at them from his vantage point.

She pulled Adrian into her arms and hugged him tight. ‘He’s a perfect match; you clever, wonderful boy. Thank you.’