Archive of Our Own

Hurrying towards 9 Taylor Avenue, where his family’s detached one-story aluminium prefab bungalow stood, its soft-grey paint peeling and chipping, Johnny Watson raced across the lawn and up the creaking wooden steps to the sagging wooden porch. He swung open the front door and darted into the front room, where he slipped his backpack containing his schoolbooks and writing materials from his back and dropped it on the dusty coffee table, and then he looked around the living room. It was Friday after school, and he had urgent news for his mother. He brushed his light sandy-blond hair out of his eyes with his left hand and scanned the untidy front room, where crumpled beer cans lay scattered all over the dirty, bare wooden floor. “Hi, Mummy! Guess what! I got something to tell you!”

There was no answer. The entire prefab was silent.

“Mummy?” Johnny furrowed his brow. There was no answer.

With a shrug, Johnny trudged outside and sat on the kerb, where he tossed a pebble onto the street. It landed with a ping! on the concrete and bounced twice before landing again. A car sped by him; he watched as it turned the corner into the junction and disappeared.

After a few moments, he jumped to his feet and rushed back into the prefab. “Mummy?” he called again. There was still no answer. He searched every room and found no sign of her. “Mummy?!” he called, more loudly. Still no answer. Darting out the kitchen door and down the wooden porch steps, he raced through the dead grass towards the shabby wooden garden shed in the back and stepped in. She was not in there, either.

I’ll bet she’s still in the cupboard, he thought, as he went back into the kitchen. The seven-year-old boy frowned, chewing his lower lip. His mother had been hiding in the kitchen’s walk-in cupboard ever since her awful argument with Daddy the day before, and he and Harry had had to make their own breakfasts and get themselves ready for school that morning; apparently, Mummy still hadn’t come out. Johnny was afraid to be alone in the prefab with his father when he got off work later, let alone try to tell his mother the good news with his father there. Harry was apparently still at her girls’ grammar school; no telling when she would get back home! Especially if she decided to hang out with her friends first.

With a shrug, Johnny ambled out the door and across the street to the semi-detached aluminium prefab where Mrs. Templeton lived. It would be safer with her, when Daddy came home, than it would be at home.

Standing in front of her door, he knocked. “Come in!” he heard his godmother’s friendly voice calling. Smiling, he pushed her door open and entered the clean, tidy front room, where he found Mrs. Templeton seated in an armchair, embroidering.

“Hi, Aunt Alice!” he said.

“Hi, Johnny.” Mrs. Templeton smiled at him. “How’s your mummy?”

Johnny grimaced. “She’s in the cupboard again.”

“Your parents fight again?” A sorrowful expression crept over Mrs. Templeton’s face.

Johnny nodded. “Yesterday.”

“And she’s been hiding in the cupboard ever since.” Grimacing in her turn, Mrs. Templeton shook her head. “Where’s Harry?”

“She’s not home.”

“And you’re afraid to be alone with your daddy when he comes home.” Swallowing hard, Johnny nodded. Mrs. Templeton laid her embroidery aside, rose to her feet, and put an arm around him. “Well, I can always use the company, Johnny. Why don’t you take your coat off?” Smiling, Johnny removed his coat, his woollen winter hat, and his woollen mittens, and laid them on the light brown sofa, and then he brushed his blond hair out of his eyes again and followed his godmother into the kitchen.

“So, how was school today?” she asked, him, as she opened the biscuit tin and handed him a homemade shortbread biscuit.

“Fine, thanks. Thanks for the biscuit.” Smiling, Johnny took a bite of his soft, chewy shortbread. It was delicious. After he had swallowed it, he said, “Hey, guess what! There’s gonna be a Christmas pageant at school next week, Aunt Alice! Next Friday!”

“Really?” Mrs. Templeton raised her eyebrows. “That sounds like fun! What’s it going to consist of?”

“A Nativity play! I’ve got a part in it. The kids have been practising ever since the half-holiday was over.” Johnny took another bite of shortbread. As soon as he had swallowed, he added, “And there’ll be a Christmas fair all day, and a Christmas concert! That night!” The little boy smiled broadly.

“What did your mummy say about it?”

“Haven’t got to tell her.” Johnny pouted. “We kids have been rehearsing the play since our half-term holiday was over; I’m gonna be a Wise Man. I only found out after I went back to school, when I was well enough. But I only just found out about the others today. At school. Can’t tell Mummy till she’s out of the cupboard.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and Mrs. Templeton handed him a paper napkin, which he used to wipe the rest of the biscuit crumbs off his face.

“Well, let’s go see if we can coax her out of there.” She gestured toward the kitchen entrance and followed the little boy into the front room. As she put on her coat and woollen winter hat, Johnny also bundled up, and then the two of them left her half of the semi-detached prefab. Once back in his prefab and inside the front room, Johnny led the way into the kitchen, where he knocked on the cupboard door.

“Jean?” Mrs. Templeton called. “Jean, your son and I need to talk to you!” There was no response.

“Jean!” Mrs. Templeton sounded stern. “Your son’s got some news to tell you, and I don’t think you want to make him wait till Hamish is home before he can give it!”

Johnny heard a sigh, followed by the sound of a lock being opened. To his relief, the cupboard door creaked open, and his mother stepped out, her face dusty and sweaty, and her hair messy. Shaking her head and frowning, Mrs. Templeton removed a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to Jean. “Have you been in the cupboard since yesterday?” she scolded, as Jean wiped the sweat and dirt off her face.

After handing Mrs. Templeton the handkerchief back, Jean sighed. “I’m afraid so. Hamish was…” Grimacing, she shook her head and followed the other two into the front room. Perching on the back of the light brown armchair, she swiped her hair out of her eyes and then she faced her son. “What is it you want to tell me, Johnny?”

A broad smile spread across the little boy’s face. “Remember there’s gonna be a Nativity play at school, Mummy? And I’m gonna be in it?” Jean nodded, scratching her neck. “Well, guess what! There’s gonna be a Christmas fair at school, too! The fair’s going to last all day! And at night, there’s gonna be a Christmas concert!” He bounced on his heels as he spoke.

Jean smiled. “That’s wonderful, son! What days are they on, next week?”

“Last day of school, same as the play. All of them. Next Friday.” Johnny fidgeted. “We gotta continue to rehearse for the play and stuff until then.”

“I see.” Jean nodded.

Fidgeting, Johnny chewed his lower lip as he thought for a long moment. “Mummy,” he asked hesitantly, “do you think Father Christmas would give me an Action Man for Christmas? If I asked him?” Some of his classmates had Action Men, including his best friend, David Pitman, who lived next door; David had three of them. Johnny yearned to have one himself.

Jean exchanged a look with Mrs. Templeton. “Well, sweetheart, there’s only one way to find out. Write him a letter.”

Johnny nodded. “OK, I will.” He hugged his mother, and then he perched on the dark-brown sofa’s soft but fraying cushion, which creaked as he sank down onto it, and unzipped his backpack; removing his notebook and pencil, he opened the notebook, laid it on the coffee table, and carefully wrote in manuscript a letter to Father Christmas.

‘Dear Father Christmas,’ he wrote, ‘I have tried to be good this year. I want an Action Man for Christmas. Johnny Watson’ In between and just above the two words, ‘Christmas’ and ‘Johnny’, he added the word, ‘please’.

“When can we get a Christmas tree?” he asked his mother, as he tore the letter out of his notebook, laid it on the coffee table, and shoved the now-dusty notebook back into his backpack.

“When we always do, Johnny. On Christmas Eve.” Glancing at Jean, Mrs. Templeton nodded in understanding. Christmas trees were always at their cheapest then, and since the Watsons always had to watch every penny, they had to keep an eye out for bargains and purchase things that were on sale. Johnny shrugged. Of course. The Watsons would decorate the tree and the prefab on that day, as they always did. And then they would leave up the decorations until the day after New Year’s.

For a moment, Johnny sat there thinking about the upcoming Nativity play. As it was every year, it would be a play about the first Christmas—the birth of Jesus. There was also going to be a Christmas pageant about the first Christmas that he was going to participate in at Chelmsford Cathedral on the Sunday after the school Christmas festivities; he had been attending the rehearsals every Sunday afternoon. He looked forward to his participation in both events on those days. Just then, though, he wanted to go outside and play with his friends. The sofa mattress creaked again as he leaped to his feet.

“Please, Mummy, can I go play with David?” Johnny asked.

Jean nodded. “For a little while.”

Johnny smiled broadly. “Thanks.”

As he scampered out the front door, Jean turned to Mrs. Templeton. “It’s good to see you.” She smiled wanly.

“And you, now that you’re out of that cupboard.” Mrs. Templeton wagged her finger, and Jean shrugged. Warmth entered Alice’s eyes. “I’m just so glad you and the rest of the family are well once more.”

Jean nodded, biting her lower lip. *Back in early September, the lean-to behind the prefab bungalow and the back of the prefab had caught fire and had filled with smoke when the old gas space heater in the lean-to had exploded. Fortunately, since there had been no gas in the heater, only the lean-to, the back wall of the prefab, and part of the ceiling had been damaged by the fire; since the walls and ceiling were covered with wood, there was danger of the fire spreading throughout the prefab. Thankfully, since the prefabs on Taylor Avenue were all held up off the ground by pier-and-beam foundations, the explosion’s force hadn’t been able to transfer through the bungalow easily, as it would have done if the prefab rested on the ground.

The fire department had arrived before the fire had had a chance to melt any of the prefab’s outside or burn the entire inside to a crisp, and none of the family had been burned or otherwise injured. However, the entire family had got lots of smoke and had suffered smoke inhalation; each one had lost consciousness. While in hospital, Jean and her son had spent the first week heavily sedated and in critical condition, fighting for their lives in ICU; they had also spent the first week on ventilators, and after the first week, they had been extremely weak. Even though Hamish and Harry had not been in danger of death as Jean and Johnny had been, they had been in serious condition nonetheless, because of thermal burns in their airways. All four of them had also come down with bacterial pneumonia. It had therefore taken the entire family a couple of months to sufficiently recover from their injuries and their pneumonia that the children could go back to school, and Hamish could go back to work on the assembly line at Britvic, a factory that made fizzy drinks, a position he had held since not long after Johnny’s birth. For several years, he had also previously been a member of the Army Reserves, but he had sought and received a discharge when Johnny had been just two years old.

“Me, too,” she said. “That smoke could have killed us all, Alice, so easily. Johnny and I could have died in the hospital because of the damage the smoke did to our lungs; for a while there, it looked like we would. I’m so thankful none of us did, and that my son'll get to participate in the Nativity play and in the pageant at church.” She sighed. “And thank goodness our insurance paid for the repairs, and the repairs were finished while we were in hospital! I am so glad!”

Mrs. Templeton laid a hand on Jean’s arm. “I am, too, Jean. Glad about all of it, and thankful you’re all alive and well.” She looked at her watch. “Well, I’ve gotta go. I need to get supper started.”

Jean glanced at the wall clock. “Yeah. So do I. Hamish’ll be home after a while, so I’ve gotta get started on supper.” She paused. “I think I’ll keep an eye on the toys at Poundstretcher, to see if it’s selling any Action Men.”

Alice smiled. “Would you keep me posted?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you a hand with the stocking stuffers, and we’ll pick up the tree together on Christmas Eve.”

Jean smiled at her neighbour. Since the Watsons only had one car, and since Hamish used it to drive to work in and back, Jean had to ride with Mrs. Templeton or take the city buses whenever he had the car, to go anywhere that wasn’t within walking distance. “You’re a good neighbour, Alice.”

With a kind smile, Mrs. Templeton touched Jean’s arm again and then left. Jean smoothed her dark-blonde hair back, returned to the kitchen, and turned on the radio, setting it to a station that was playing Christmas songs. As Nat King Cole sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”, she took out of the refrigerator the leftovers of the vegetable soup that she had made a few days before. There was just enough soup for one more supper.

I’ll just have to see if Poundstretcher has any Action Men. If it doesn’t, I don’t see any way to get one for Johnny, since I can’t afford to go to **John Lewis, she thought. Chelmsford didn’t have a John Lewis store, but London did, and Jean didn’t have the option of doing any of her shopping in London.

Heading toward the kitchen table, she picked up the book of crossword puzzles that she had bought at Poundstretcher not long before and a pencil so that she could fill out another puzzle while she was waiting for Hamish to get home, and then she returned to the stove, setting her crossword puzzle book on the counter and opening it to the first puzzle that she had not completed yet. She would work on the puzzle and listen to the Christmas music while waiting for the soup to heat up.

A few minutes later, as bubbles started to form on the soup’s surface, and its savoury aroma began to waft through the kitchen, Jean heard the front door slam open and then closed; a moment later, Johnny appeared in the kitchen doorway, carrying a stick he had found outside in the front garden, and hurried straight for the tap. Picking up the plastic glass on the rim, he filled it with water and drank it. As he set it back down and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, the front door slammed open and closed once again; seconds later, Harry hurried into the kitchen, her light-blonde hair looking dishevelled when she removed her woollen winter hat. School had let out for the day at Chelmsford County High School, a local grammar school for girls that Harry had attended ever since she had been old enough to leave junior school when she’d been eleven, and one of the town buses had dropped her off down the street.

“Hi, Mum,” she said. “Yeah, I got my homework.” She rolled her eyes.

An amused smirk crept over Jean’s face, and then she set the stove burner underneath the saucepan to simmer. “Good. I’d hate for you to fall behind, you know. You and Johnny both had to spent weeks while you were recovering, studying with the teacher who came here every day to keep you up in your studies until you were well enough to go back to school. I don’t want you to fall behind, Harry, now that you’ve finally back in school.” She turned to Johnny. “You, neither, Johnny.”

Rolling her eyes, Harry shook her head. “Ugh! Don’t remind me!” With a groan, she grimaced and, frowning, Johnny bit his lower lip. Both of them had missed two months of school while they and their parents had been in hospital and then had recuperated at home; once they had been well enough to leave the hospital, a teacher had been sent to their home on a daily basis to teach them so they’d catch up on their schoolwork, and then stay caught up until they had gone back to their schools. Fortunately, when the two children had finally returned to school, there had still been a role in the Nativity play that Johnny could take: the Wise Man carrying the myrrh. He had eagerly accepted the role. Harry got herself a glass of water, which she gulped down; leaving the glass in the sink, she started to leave the kitchen.

“When you’ve taken off your jacket, Harry, come back to the kitchen and help me with supper. Johnny, I’ll need you to set the table when supper’s almost ready.” Johnny nodded. That had long been his job.

Freezing in the kitchen doorway, Harry shook her head and then sighed. “Mum! I was gonna go hang out with Amy.” Amy was David Pitman’s older sister, and the two girls hung out together a lot.

“You can go visit her after you’ve helped me with supper. It won’t take long. Now go hang up your jacket.”

Harry sighed again. “Yes, Mum.” Shaking her head and scowling, she left the room.

Picking up his stick, Johnny followed his older sister into the front room, and then he went to the small bedroom that he and Harry shared. Since their detached prefab bungalow had only two bedrooms, having his own room wasn’t an option, even if Harry was a girl. Harry hung up her jacket in the closet and, scowling, left their bedroom. Getting out his colouring book and crayons, he got down on the cold, dirty, bare wooden floor, lay on his stomach, and folded his legs upward.

Opening the colouring book, Johnny started to colour a picture inside. Like his older sister, he had his own homework to complete, but that could wait till after supper. At least I don’t have lots of homework to finish like Harry!

Time passed as Johnny lay on the dirty wood floor, propped himself up on his elbows, and finished colouring the picture; at that point, he scrambled to his feet and picked a storybook off the shelf, lay on his soft single bed, and started reading it. Upon finishing the final page, he tossed it on the floor, plopped back down on his bed, and lay on his back, holding his hands up over his head. For the next few minutes, he played with his fingers, and then, picking up the stick, he started pretending it was a man walking to the shop.

“Johnny!” his mother called; startled, Johnny dropped the stick on the bed. “Almost suppertime! Time to set the table, son!”

Scrambling to his feet, Johnny looked out the window and looked out; the sky had turned dark, and he could see twinkling stars dotting the cloudless sky, and the moon rising above the prefab next door. He had been so engrossed in his play that he had failed to notice that his room had darkened.

He darted into the kitchen, where he saw that his daddy had come home and was sitting slumped in his chair at the kitchen table, muttering, his wavy, light-brown hair dishevelled. His mother was dishing the soup into four plastic bowls on the counter; near the bowls, four plastic saucers contained several saltine crackers on each, and two of the plastic glasses were filled with milk. Johnny removed three spoons from the drawer and laid them at three places; removing three napkins from the napkin holder on the counter, he laid each one by a spoon.

Returning to the counter and grabbing one of the glasses of milk, Johnny hurried toward the table; in her haste, Harry ran into him, causing him to drop the glass. It landed on the floor, with the milk spreading on the hard wooden floor every which way.

Hamish swore; rage snarled his face. Leaping to his feet, he advanced on his son and grabbed the little boy’s left wrist so hard and jerked it so viciously, intense pain exploded in it. “Ow!” Johnny cried out. Letting go of the child’s wrist, Hamish backhanded his son across the face so hard, Johnny was forced to stagger backwards; an explosion of stars shot through his momentarily blackened vision. He howled in pain.

“Now, you clean up that sodding mess you just made!” Hamish shouted at him, swearing at him and pointing a quivering finger at the spreading puddle of milk on the floor. Sobbing loudly, Johnny tried to take hold of a paper towel, but the renewed explosion of intense pain in his left wrist made that impossible, so he was forced to grab hold of it with his clumsier right hand. After he had awkwardly and clumsily managed to wipe the floor dry with the paper towel with his right hand, and had tossed the dirty, milk-sodden paper towel into the kitchen bin, still sobbing and without saying a word or looking at any of the other family members, he darted out the kitchen door and towards the ramshackle garden shed in the back garden. He didn’t feel like eating anything now; in fact, he didn’t feel like doing anything, least of all homework. Moonlight dimly illuminated the back yard. The rickety shed door creaked as he swung it open; hurrying inside, he slammed it shut. Sliding down the wall into a sitting position on the floor, Johnny folded his legs upward, rested his head on his knees, and sobbed violently. His left wrist throbbed non-stop. Eventually, his sobs subsided into snuffles.

When his snuffles finally stopped, Johnny gazed down at his now-swollen wrist, which he could just barely see in the dim moonlight shining through the cracks in the wall, and touched it with his right index finger. It’s sprained, he thought. He was left-handed, and it was his left wrist that was sprained. He was supposed to be the Wise Man offering myrrh to the baby Jesus in the Nativity play, but now that his wrist was hurt, he wouldn’t be able to hold it with his left hand, and his right hand was too clumsy to hold the fake myrrh without spilling it.

What am I gonna do? he wondered. Can I still be in the play if I can’t hold the myrrh? And how am I gonna do my homework with my left hand hurt? I won’t be able to hold my pencil! He laid his head back on his knees, tears trickling down his cheeks. I didn’t mean to be bad! I didn’t mean to make Daddy mad at me!

Johnny stayed in the garden shed until he knew it was his bedtime. Silently, he left the shed and crept back into the now-dark kitchen, slowly closing the door with his right hand so it wouldn’t creak, and just as silently crept towards the bedroom he and his older sister shared. Soft light flooded the front room, he noticed, and he could hear the telly in the background. Apparently, Harry hadn’t gone to bed yet; she was sitting in the front room with Mummy, watching telly. He didn’t know where his daddy was.

Without saying a word, he crept into the hall. In the bedroom, carefully and clumsily, Johnny managed to remove his clothes and put on his pyjamas with his right hand, and then he turned off the light, slid under the soft bed covers, and softly said his prayers. He would have to do his homework in the morning before school. It was going to be quite hard to write down his answers with his right hand, since he was left-handed, but he would have to try.

The next morning, after Harry had boarded the minibus that took her to Chelmsford County High School, and Johnny had eaten his breakfast and finished his homework in the kitchen—both of which he only managed to complete with much difficulty because he was forced to use his right hand to eat and write with, and because of his parents’ enraged screaming fight in the front room, which kept disturbing his concentration—he shoved his completed homework into his backpack. His mother rushed past him towards the cupboard door and, hurling it open, darted into the walk-in cupboard, slamming the door behind her; he heard her locking it from inside the cupboard. It would be hours, if not days, before she came back out. Hamish slammed the front door as he left the prefab to go to work at the factory.

Pouting, Johnny went to his and Harry’s bedroom and, with his right hand, swung open their shared closet. All of his and Harry’s clothes were threadbare and faded, and neither of them had lots of clothes. Jean could only buy the family’s clothes at a nearby charity shop, and she couldn’t afford to get them many, and therefore, Harry and Johnny’s closet couldn’t hold more than a small number for each of them.

Pulling his woollen jacket off its hanger with his right hand, Johnny managed to put it one-handed, to pull his woollen bobble hat down over his head with his right hand, and to slip his backpack handles over his shoulders, and then he left for school; David and some of his brothers joined him as he passed their detached prefab next door to his family’s. Johnny and the Pitman boys walked away from the few semi-detached and detached aluminium prefabs and then past the one-story brick houses and council houses lining both sides of the road further down, toward Langton Avenue and West Avenue, which they always took to Kings Road, where ***Kings Road Junior School was. Johnny trudged silently alongside his friends the whole way, and his mind was in turmoil the whole time. David’s clothes were nicer than Johnny’s, and so were his brother’s; it helped that their parents could buy their clothes at the local Poundstretcher, Johnny knew.

“I brought my Action Men, Johnny,” David said once. “I got them in my backpack. Why don’t we play with them at lunchtime?”

Johnny managed to smile. “Sure. That’ll be fun.” I wish I had an Action Man, too, he thought dully. David’s so lucky—he’s got three! And some of my other friends do, too. I hope Father Christmas’ll bring me one. He scowled down at his swollen wrist. Trouble is, my wrist is gonna make it hard for me to play!

When the boys reached the school playground, instead of joining the other children in their play as usual, Johnny entered the building and headed towards his classroom. Miss Livingston, his teacher, was sitting at her desk when he entered. Sunlight poured through the windows spanning the upper half of the opposite wall, forming rectangles of sunlight on the classroom’s white linoleum floor.

Miss Livingston raised her head as he entered the classroom. “Good morning, Johnny.” She smiled.

Johnny smiled wanly and held up his left hand as he approached her. “My wrist is hurt,” he said. “I sprained it last night.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m not gonna be able to hold the myrrh in the play now. Not with my left hand. If I try to hold it with my right, I’ll spill it.” He pouted. “It’s gonna be hard to write, too.”

Miss Livingston frowned as she looked at his swollen wrist. “You need a bandage for that wrist, Johnny. Why was one not put on?”

Johnny shrugged. He didn’t want to go into what his daddy had done to him the previous evening, or that he had hidden in the garden shed till bedtime, nor did he want to tell her that his parents had been fighting that morning, and that his mother had once again hidden in the walk-in cupboard following their argument.

Miss Livingston scooted her hardback wooden chair back, which made an annoying screeching noise as she did so, and rose to her feet. “You can switch with David and hold the gold instead, Johnny. You’ll be able to manage that with your right hand. David’ll hold the myrrh; I’ll tell him when it’s time to rehearse. Meanwhile, let’s go to the nurse’s office and get you a bandage for that wrist, and then we’ll figure out a way for you to complete your written homework while your wrist heals.”

Johnny smiled. “Thanks, Miss.” At least, he didn’t have to worry about spilling a bag of pretend gold if he held it with his right hand; he’d be able to pick it back up with his right hand if he dropped it. And if someone else had to hold the myrrh instead of him, he was glad it would be David. He followed his teacher out of the classroom and down the hall toward the nurse’s office.

XXXXXXX

Unlocking the cupboard door, Jean crept out into the kitchen and, smoothing her hair back and wiping her face with her handkerchief, looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was ten o’clock. With a sigh, she put on her well-worn jacket, got her handbag, and left the prefab to go to the bus stop at C3, Langston Avenue. Minutes after she had arrived there, a city bus pulled to a stop in front of her, and she boarded it and took a seat on the right, so she could go to Poundstretcher, where she liked to do most of her non-grocery shopping. Minutes later, the bus stopped in front of the bus stop that was nearest to Poundstretcher, and Jean stepped out and hurried toward the shop.

She entered the bustling discount shop and strode towards the toy section. For the next few minutes, she searched for the Action Men. However, to Jean’s disappointment, the toy section was completely sold out of them.

Scratching her neck, Jean sighed. Unless they get some more in stock before Christmas, I can’t get one for Johnny. The ones they sell at John Lewis in London cost too much. I’ll just have to see if someone can help me. Maybe one of the cashiers can tell me when they’ll get some more Action Men in.

She approached one of the cashiers at an empty checkout and asked her. “You know, I just don’t know. But if you’ll wait here, I’ll ask the manager,” she told Jean, who nodded; the cashier left the cash register. A few minutes later, she returned, accompanied by the manager.

“This cashier tells me you’re inquiring when we’ll be getting some more Action Men,” the manager said.

Jean nodded. “That’s right. My son, Johnny, wants one for Christmas.”

The manager folded his hands across his chest and furrowed his brow. “We’ll be getting some more toys in stock next week; it may be that some Action Men will be included with them. What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Jean Watson.”

“Well, Mrs. Watson, if you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll ring you if we get any more Action Men in stock.”

He handed her a piece of paper, and with a grateful smile, Jean removed a ballpoint pen from her handbag and wrote her name and phone number on the slip of paper. She handed it to the manager. “Thank you,” she said. Smiling back at her, the manager returned to his office, and Jean left the shop and returned to the bus stop, sitting down on the hard wooden bench to wait for the next bus. Fluffy white clouds drifted in the sky, and a cold breeze brushed against her cheeks.

I’ll just have to make sure I have enough money. Hopefully, when they get some more in, I’ll have enough. Hamish’ll be getting his pay-check next Friday; it’ll be directly deposited in our bank account.

XXXXXXX

On Sunday afternoon, Johnny took part in the rehearsal for the pageant at Chelmsford Cathedral, and every afternoon at school, Johnny and the other children who had roles in the school Nativity play, including David, rehearsed it. Since all that Johnny had to do was to approach the manger, hand the bag of jangling fake gold to the children who were playing Mary and Joseph, and then kneel on the hard, smooth wooden floor before the baby doll lying in the hay-filled manger, it should be possible for him to keep his bandaged left wrist from harm. In truth, though, it wasn’t so easy as that. To his frustration, he kept bumping his left hand and his wrist on the objects he passed on his way to the manger, causing intense pain to shoot through his wrist every time. “Aaahh—eee!” he cried out every time.

Will Miss Livingston have to take me out of the play if I keep doing this? he kept wondering. He couldn’t bear the thought of having to leave the play!

On Wednesday, when Johnny had done that for the fourth time during rehearsal, Miss Livingston came to him. “What’s the matter, Johnny?”

“I keep bumping my hand.” Tears streaking down his cheeks, Johnny held up his left hand. “I keep hurting my wrist again!” He looked up imploringly at his Year 3 teacher. “Please, Miss, I want to be in the play!”

Miss Livingston laughed. “I know you do, Johnny. Why don’t we find you a sling to rest your arm in while we rehearse? That way, you won’t keep bumping it.” Johnny smiled his gratitude, and his teacher took him back to the nurse’s office to ask the nurse for a sling. Once his left arm was resting in it, they returned to the rehearsal, which proceeded without a hitch afterwards. Even though his Beaver Boy Scout Colony was scheduled to have its weekly meeting late that afternoon before supper, he had already put on his Beaver uniform, so he tried to keep the sling from messing up his red-and-white Beaver scarf.

XXXXXXX

The phone’s noisy jangling startled Jean from the paperback novel she had checked out of the library and was now reading. Dropping it onto the seat of the armchair, she leaped up, switched the telly off, and hurried toward the phone. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. “Jean Watson.”

“Hello, Mrs. Watson. This is Mr. Murphy.” It was the manager she had spoken with at Poundstretcher the previous week. “We got some more Action Men in today.”

A smile spread across Jean’s face. “Thank you! I’ll come by as soon as I can, to have a look at them. And thanks for ringing me to tell me!”

“You’re welcome.” The phone clicked as the manager hung up, and the dial tone resumed; she placed the receiver back on its base. Putting on her jacket and getting her handbag, she hurried out the front door and down the street towards the bus stop on Langston Avenue, where she waited until a bus pulled up to let her board it.

At Poundstretcher, Jean hurried toward the toy section and went straight to the aisle where the Action Men were sold, her shoes clicking on the smooth, white tiled floor; as soon as she came to the place where the Action Men were on displayed, she stopped to look at them and at the price. Jean froze. “Ouch,” she said in a low voice. I thought the price would be lower than this! She turned her gaze back to the Action Men. And there’s only a few of them on the shelves. If I wait till Friday to get one, they might be sold out again.

Sagging her shoulders, she sighed. Unless I can withdraw some more money on Friday, I won’t be able to get one, and they may be completely sold out again by then, if I wait. I think I’ll speak with the manager again.

She returned to the front, where the checkouts were; at her request, one of the cashiers went to the manager’s office to ask him to come out. A few minutes later, the manager came out again, and Jean explained her problem to him.

“If you’d got some more of them in, I could wait till Friday, when I’ll have enough money,” she said. But since so few of them came in this time, if I wait till then, they may be sold out again. Would you be willing to hold one for me?”

The manager stood silently for a moment, furrowing his brow in thought. “I can reserve you one till Friday, if you’ll come in that day. Otherwise, I’ll have to put it back on the shelf.”

Jean nodded. “I understand.”

“Then why don’t we go back to the aisle they’re on, and you pick out the one you want to give your son?”

The manager accompanied Jean back to the aisle where she had found the Action Men. After looking over them carefully for a few minutes, Jean chose the one that was dressed like an army soldier, an infantryman, and picked it from the shelf.

She handed it to the manager. “I choose this one.”

“Then I’ll reserve it for you till Friday.”

Jean smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you.”

She left the shop and returned to the bus stop; several minutes later, a bus pulled up, and she stepped aboard it. Fifteen minutes later, the bus pulled up at the stop on Langston Avenue, and Jean stepped out of the bus and returned to her prefab. She needed to get started on supper.

XXXXXXX

On Friday morning, careful to avoid using his left hand, Johnny leaped out of bed. Harry had already got up and left their bedroom, he noticed; she had already made her bed. This was the day of the Nativity play, and the Christmas fair, and the Christmas concert! The Christmas fair would last all day, the Nativity play would be performed that afternoon, and the Christmas concert would be held that evening. There would be no classes that day, only a whole day of fun—and then Christmas break, the Christmas pageant at church on Sunday, Christmas Day, and presents! Presentspresentspresents! Maybe even an Action Man! Johnny couldn’t wait!

Smiling broadly, he hurried to put remove a set of his clothes out of the closet and dresser and put them on; he still had to use just his right hand to get dressed, which slowed him down and made him clumsy. Once he had finished managing to get dressed and brush his hair, before hurrying towards the kitchen to eat, he first paused to find out if he could hear his father’s voice. He could not hear his daddy saying anything at all. Good. Maybe Daddy had already left for work.

Johnny crept into the hall and walked softly towards the front room and into the kitchen. His mother and sister were already there, and his mother was preparing breakfast. Weetabix, Johnny noticed. His mummy set Johnny’s plastic bowl of Weetabix on the kitchen table and placed a stainless-steel spoon and a paper napkin next to it, and Johnny plopped onto the chair and began to clumsily eat with his right hand, trying very hard to eat neatly as he had been taught. However, despite his best efforts, he kept spilling milk onto the table, and he kept having to wipe up the milk using his clumsy right hand. Next to him, Harry ate in silence, and so did their mummy when she joined them to eat. Neither of them spilled any of the milk or cereal, Johnny noticed with a pout.

“Mummy, Harry, we’re going to the Christmas concert tonight, right?” Johnny asked, after he had swallowed his last spoonful.

Jean smiled. “I see no reason not to, son.” Johnny looked at his older sister hopefully.

Harry shrugged and did not smile. “Yeah, Johnny, I’ll be there.”

Smiling broadly, Johnny leaped to his feet and brushed his hair out of his eyes with his right hand. “Thanks!”

“Thanks!” Running back into the front room, he slowly and carefully put on his threadbare jacket, woollen mittens, and woollen winter bobble hat with his right hand, and then he grabbed his backpack, carefully using his right hand to sling it over his shoulders onto his back. “Bye!”

Waving at them, he darted out of the prefab and onto the grass, where he was joined by David and some of his brothers. As the boys and some other kids who soon joined them trotted past the brick houses and the council houses up Taylor Avenue towards Langston Avenue, which would turn into West Avenue at the junction and take them towards Kings Road and to school, the cold wind blew on their faces. Clouds covered the sky; Johnny could not see the sun.

At one point, he slowly and carefully stuffed his left hand into his left threadbare jeans pocket. The day before, Mrs. Templeton had given him some money to spend at the Christmas fair, and he wanted to make sure it was in his pocket. And it was, along with his sling.

I should have put it in my right pocket this time, he thought ruefully. It’s gonna be awful hard to take it out with my left!

On the school playground, Johnny and David played with their classmates until the school bell rang; the two little boys hurried with the other children into the building. As the second bell rang, they slid onto their seats at their desks, and the other children did the same. Johnny brushed his wind-blown hair out of his eyes and exchanged a grin with David.

Miss Livingston took the roll, and then she looked at the children at their desks, her blue eyes twinkling. “Since this is the last day before Christmas break, and since there will be no lessons today, I release you now to attend the Christmas fair. But for those of you who are going to be in the Nativity play, remember to be in the school hall at 1:30 for your final rehearsal before the play begins! And don’t forget, the Christmas concert is at 6:00 tonight.” She paused. “You may go.”

The children all leapt to their feet and hurried out of the classroom towards the school gymnasium, where the fair was set up. Along the wall that the doorway stood in, next to the corner, a row of wooden stalls had been set up containing arts and crafts that people had made such as drawings, paintings, sculptures, beadwork, wood crafts, crochet, quilts, terrariums, dioramas, handmade toys, and other crafts. Against the wall to the left, the food stalls had on display canned fruits and vegetables, homemade jams, home-baked goodies such as pies, cakes, brownies, chocolate fudge, biscuits, scones, rolls, etc. Along the wall that stood opposite from the entrance, where the rows of stands sat, several games had been set up that the children could participate in. Christmas music was being played over the intercom.

A broad smile spread across Johnny’s face at the sight of all those goodies; he was going to take some of them home with him! He would have to decide which. For the rest of the morning, Johnny and his friends all had fun taking part in the fair’s festivities.

When it was almost lunchtime, Johnny left the gym to go to the boys’ loo. After he had finished using it, he removed his sling so he could wash his hands. Since his wrist was still bandaged, he had to be very careful not to get the bandage wet. As he turned on the water, he heard the door creak open, and through the mirror, he saw one of his classmates enter the room.

Oh, no! It’s Rodney!

Looking down at the sink, Johnny scowled. Rodney was one of the boys in the class who was always doing mean things to other kids and getting in trouble. As Rodney entered the stall, Johnny slowly and carefully washed his hands, going to great lengths to keep the bandage dry while he did so. He paid no attention as his classmate took care of his business and left the stall.

Just as Johnny was turning the water off, an arm shot past him and snatched the sling. “Hey!” Johnny whirled around and darted after Rodney, who had just raced out of the loo, Johnny’s sling dangling from his right hand. He couldn’t protect his wrist without that sling! Johnny rushed down the hall, trying to catch up with him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” A hand grabbed hold of Johnny’s shoulder, and the little boy turned around to see Headteacher Mitchell standing behind him.

“Please help me!” Johnny pleaded. “Rodney took my sling! I need it!”

XXXXXXX

When the bus pulled up at the bus stop, Jean stepped off and, scratching her neck briefly, walked up Langston Avenue towards Taylor, where she turned left. The car was parked in the driveway; Hamish must have come home while she’d been out. Hamish’s wages had been deposited that morning, and so she had gone to the bank and withdrawn some money out of her and Hamish’s current account. Now that she was back home, she needed to add some of the cash that she had withdrawn to her Christmas money and see if she had enough to pay for Johnny’s Action Man and the other Christmas presents that she still intended to purchase.

Entering one of the bedrooms, Jean glanced out the bedroom window toward the ramshackle lean-to and just barely managed to see her husband working inside. Good. He couldn’t bother her if he was working in the lean-to; therefore, she would count the Christmas money in the front room.

To her pleasure, it turned out that she did have enough. She set aside the money that she was going to use to pay for the Action Man figure and slid it into an envelope just as the door to the lean-to slammed. Before she had a chance to place the envelope in her handbag, Hamish entered the front room.

“What are you doing?” he asked, scowling.

“Going shopping.” She looked her husband in the eye. “Some last-minute Christmas shopping, so I’ll need the car this time. Don’t worry, Hamish, I’ll be back in plenty of time to make our lunch.”

“Are you, now?!” Glaring at her, Hamish lumbered towards her and looked down at the money she was holding in her hand. “I’ll take that.” He held out his hand.

“No, Hamish.” Jean shook her head, glaring back at him. “This is part of our Christmas money, not liquor money.”

“I earned that money; I’ll spend it any way I please!” he shouted, and then he swore at her.

Hamish grabbed her roughly by the arm with one hand and started trying to yank the money of her hand with his other. “Take your hands off me!” Jean said loudly, jerking her arm out of his grip. Before he could grab her again, she grabbed the rest of the Christmas money and rushed towards the door, his footsteps rushing close behind her. Good thing she hadn’t taken off her coat or woollen hat yet! She could put her gloves back on when she arrived at Poundstretcher. Swinging the door open, she raced down the porch steps and toward the car standing in the driveway, where she immediately hopped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, locking it.

“Jean Watson! You get yourself out of that car and give me that money! Now!” she heard Hamish shouting. She ignored him.

Pushing the key into the ignition, she turned it on and backed out of the driveway. She could still barely hear her husband shouting after her as she drove down the street.

Perhaps I should have taken the bus instead, she thought, only that would have given Hamish time to catch up with me and take the Christmas money from me. I can’t let him do that, and I won’t!

XXXXXXX

“Rodney!” Raising her voice, Headteacher Mitchell called out to the other boy. “You come back here right this instant!”

Coming to a halt and slumping his shoulders, Rodney slowly returned to the other two, pouting. “Now you give Johnny back his sling,” the headteacher ordered sternly.

Scowling, Rodney hurled the sling back at Johnny, who managed to catch it with his right hand. “Who cares about a dumb old sling, anyway?” He glared at Johnny and trudged off.

Glaring after him, Johnny slipped the sling back over his shoulder and carefully put his left arm back in it. He smiled up at the headteacher. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Smiling at him, Mrs. Mitchell squeezed his shoulder. “Well, Johnny, it’s lunchtime, so we’d better be heading towards the lunchroom.”

“Yes, Mrs. Mitchell.” Johnny grinned, and the two of them went to the lunchroom. Soon, other children were joining them there.

XXXXXXX

As soon as Jean had parked in the Poundstretcher parking lot and turned off the ignition, she placed her keys and the rest of the Christmas money inside her handbag and put on her gloves. She would put the money back in its hiding place when Hamish was out of the prefab again. Right now, she had an Action Man to pick up, and a few remaining Christmas gifts to purchase. She got out of the car and strode toward the glass door.

“I’m Jean Watson,” she told the nearest employee as soon as she had entered the shop. “I need to speak to the manager.”

“Certainly.” The employee left her and returned a moment later with the manager.

“Hello, Mrs. Watson.” The manager smiled at her. “Are you ready to pick up your son’s Action Man?”

“I certainly am.” Jean smiled back.

“Wait here.” The manager left her and returned a few minutes later with the Action Man in his hand. He handed it to Jean.

“Thank you.” She gave him a grateful smile. “And Merry Christmas.”

The manager nodded. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Mrs. Watson.”

He left her, and she started going up and down the aisles, selecting a few inexpensive items to give to members of her family on Christmas morning, and to Alice later that day; her shoes clicked on the tile floor as she did so. She had already purchased and mailed an inexpensive gift to her widowed mother, who lived in Penrith, Cumbria, in north England near the Scottish border, and a few others to her sister’s family, who lived near the Welsh border, so all that remained was to finish her Christmas shopping for her immediate family. When Jean had finished selecting her remaining gifts, she approached one of the checkouts and waited her turn to pay for her purchases, scratching her neck at one point while she did so. When it was her turn, she handed the cash to the cashier, who rang up her payment and gave her back her change, and then bagged the Action Man and the other items. Jean put the change in her wallet and, taking the snow-white shopping bag, left the shop.

Minutes later, she pulled up into the driveway, but instead of entering her prefab, she crossed the street to the semi-detached aluminium prefab that Alice and another neighbour lived in. Seconds after she had knocked on the door to Alice’s half of the prefab, Mrs. Templeton opened it and let her in.

“I see you got it,” she said, beaming at the sight of the bag dangling from Jean’s wrist.

“Yep. And a few other Christmas gifts. This finishes my Christmas shopping.” Jean smiled broadly.

Slipping the bag’s handles from her wrist, she handed it to Alice. “Would you please hold these for me until I come back to get them, Alice? Right now, I’m afraid to keep them in the house. Hamish is none too pleased with me just now, for using the money for Christmas instead of letting him drink it up.”

Mrs. Templeton shook her head, displeasure evident on her face. “Certainly. You just ring me when you’re ready to take them home.”

Jean smiled. “Thanks.”

A grin spread across Alice’s face, and she rose to her feet and crossed the front room. She picked up a white paper bag sitting on the telly and brought it to Jean. “This’ll help fill up Johnny’s stocking.” She handed the bag to Jean, who looked inside.

A delighted smile etched Jean’s face. “It certainly will! Johnny will love these balloons you included, and this candy. Thanks, Alice.”

“I’ll get some fruit before Christmas Day, to add to his stocking. I’ll include it when you come to pick up the gifts. I’ll include my own gifts to your family then, too.”

“I’ll be here.” Jean smiled her thanks. Since she could never afford to give each family member more than one or two gifts at a time, whether it was for Christmas or for birthdays, the presents that she and her family received from her widowed mother and from Alice at those times really helped. Even though none of them could afford anything more than modest gifts, the extra presents made the Watsons feel less poor than they otherwise would. She sighed. “Well, I’m soon going to have lunch to fix, so I’d better get home.”

“OK. See you later!” Mrs. Templeton smiled at her.

“Bye.”

Smiling back, Jean stepped out the door and returned to her prefab. To her relief, Hamish had left the prefab; since she’d had the car, one of his friends from work must have picked him up. Good. Maybe she could have her lunch in peace and quiet, work a crossword puzzle, perhaps do some reading, and maybe watch some telly, before she and Alice went to the school to attend the Nativity play that afternoon. With a sigh, she removed her jacket, gloves, and winter coat and hung them up in her bedroom closet, and then she smoothed back her blonde hair.

A Nativity play this afternoon, and a Christmas concert this evening! And a church Christmas pageant at the cathedral this Sunday! That will be lovely! She smiled at the prospect.

With a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to face Hamish again just yet, Jean went to the kitchen to get her crossword puzzle book; after she had turned on the radio, she sat down at the kitchen table and drew her crossword puzzle book and pencil towards her. Perhaps she had time to finish another puzzle before it was time to get started on lunch. And if Hamish stayed away, she would read another novel that she had checked out of the library the day before, and perhaps turn on the telly after she had washed the dishes.

XXXXXXX

Christmas! Johnny’s eyes popped open, and he looked at the window next to his bed. Early-morning sunlight poured through the window. It’s Christmas! And I can use both hands again! Thankfully, his wrist had since healed, so he could use his left hand once more. Removing his arms from underneath the bed covers, he held up his left wrist. It felt so much better; he could use it once again. It didn’t need a bandage or a sling anymore. Johnny smiled broadly. He looked across the room at Harry’s single bed. Her bed was empty; she had already got up. He leaped out of his bed and took some clothes out of his and Harry’s shared closet, pausing to look at the small number of threadbare clothes belonging to him and Harry that hung inside it before closing its door, and then turning towards their dresser to take out a pair of pants.

As he started getting dressed, this time with both hands, memories of the previous Friday shot through his head. The entire Christmas fair had been such fun from start to finish, and the Nativity play had gone very nicely; much to his joy, his mummy and Mrs. Templeton had been there to see it, and so had David’s mother and Mrs. Templeton’s daughter, Mrs. Russell, who owned a corner shop on Kings Road with her husband. Johnny had held onto the bag of fake gold with his right hand throughout his walk towards the manger while David had held the fake myrrh; the two boys had handed the gold and the myrrh over to the boy who’d played Joseph, and Jeremy had handed over the fake frankincense. And then Johnny had knelt down with David and Jeremy, in front of the baby doll, pretending to worship it.

At the fair in the school gym, Johnny had played with David and some other friends, and he’d managed to play several games with his right hand; he had used the money Mrs. Templeton had given him to buy some biscuits, brownies, and fudge at the fair and had munched on them. He had also bought himself a small cheap toy that someone had made and displayed at the fair; it was now sitting on his dresser. And then, that evening, Johnny, Harry, their mummy, Mrs. Templeton, and Mr. and Mrs. Russell, as well as the Pitmans, had all returned to the school to attend the Christmas concert. Only Daddy had stayed behind.

The following Sunday, Johnny, David, and their Sunday school classmates had all taken part in the church Christmas pageant at Chelmsford Cathedral; Johnny’s mummy, Harry, the Pitmans, Mrs. Templeton, and the Russells had all attended. Several days after that, on Christmas Eve, Mrs. Templeton had taken Johnny, Harry, and their mummy to a nearby shop to buy a real Christmas tree, which they had loaded in the boot of her car and taken to the prefab. Once it had been set up in the front room, the children and their mummy had decorated their new tree and the front room and kitchen. That had been done the day before.

And now it’s Christmas! Johnny pulled the jumper down over his head with both hands. His left wrist didn’t hurt one bit while he did so. As soon as he had finished putting on the jumper, he brushed his hair out of his eyes.

Maybe Father Christmas has brought me an Action Man? I hope so! IhopesoIhopesoIhopeso! He left his room and went to the bathroom to comb his hair.

Picking up the comb with his left hand, Johnny ran it through his light sandy-blond hair in front of the mirror, and then darted back into the hall and towards the front room. As soon as he had entered the front room, where the rest of the family had already gathered, he halted, staring at the Christmas tree, a joyful smile spreading across his face. An Action Man—one that wore a soldier’s uniform—stood underneath the tree!

“An Action Man!” the little boy squealed in joy, running towards the Christmas tree. “Goody! Father Christmas remembered!” Plopping down on the bare, dirty, cold wooden floor and picking up the Action Man, Johnny held it up in front of his face, smiling broadly. It looked just a soldier; he was going to have lots of fun playing with it. “I do thank Father Christmas!”

Then, while holding his brand-new Action Man, he picked up his bulging stocking and sat cross-legged on the wooden floor. Laying his Action Man down on the floor next to him, he reached inside and drew out a chocolate bar, an apple, an orange, a small rubber ball, and a bag of balloons. At that point, looking back under the Christmas tree, he noticed two small, gaily wrapped boxes standing underneath it next to the wall. They both had his name on the tags, he noticed.

He picked one of them up and saw that it had ‘Aunt Alice’ written on the tag as the giver; Mrs. Templeton had given that present to him. Ripping off the bow and ribbon and then tearing the crisp wrapping paper off, he found a cardboard box inside. Opening the lid, Johnny found two action-and-adventure storybooks with colourful, glossy-looking hard covers inside. Then he picked the other box off the floor and looked at the tag; it had come from Granny Leekey. He immediately started ripping off the bow, the ribbon, and the wrapping paper, and tearing the lid open. Inside, he found a small, stuffed, light brown bear wearing a jumper, which he immediately cuddled to his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Johnny!” said his mother, laughing; Johnny grinned at her. Close to her, on the floor, Harry was holding a tube of lipstick, a hand mirror, and a small paperback novel for teens, a happy smile spread across her face. Hamish had just opened a box containing a bottle of aftershave, and he had beside him on the sofa a pocketknife and an almanac. In the armchair, Jean had opened a bottle of perfume, a watch, a small paperback novel, and a box of chocolates, all of which lay in her lap. To Johnny’s relief, his daddy was sober, this time. If only he would remain so, Christmas would surely be good. Surely.

This is a great Christmas, Johnny thought, smiling broadly as he gazed down at his Action Man and his storybooks, stuffed bear, rubber ball, balloons, candy, and fruit. He could hardly wait to start reading his new storybooks and playing with his new toys, especially his Action Man. Johnny immediately unwrapped the chewy dark-brown chocolate bar and started munching on it; as soon as he’d finished it, he bit into the crunchy apple and started chewing on it. After he had finished munching on it, he was going to take his new toys and books to his and Harry’s bedroom and start playing with them. Later, he would take his new Action Man next door to David’s, and they could play with their Action Men together. Maybe he’d take his balloons there, too. He and David could blow them up and play with them.

Now I have an Action Man, too! he thought gleefully, as he entered his bedroom and dumped his Christmas gifts on his bed minutes later. David and I can play with our Action Men when I see him later! We can play soldiers!