Would You Rather
2004
Sophie was woken by the bed shaking as two small, very excited, boys jumped on to it with their large Christmas stockings.
‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy,’ said Beau, putting his face right up against hers and moving his head from side to side. ‘Look, I’m a reindeer, an actual one.’
Sophie had just taken in that her older son – he had recently turned six – was wearing the flashing reindeer antlers his father had put in both the boys’ stockings, before he jumped off the bed again and started trotting around the room as though pulling a sleigh, singing the ‘Batman smells’ version of ‘Jingle Bells’.
At the same time, Jack, four, came up the bed and put his arms around her, pressing his warm little cheek against hers.
‘Happy Christmas, my mummy,’ he said.
‘Merry Christmas, Crackerjack,’ said Sophie, hugging him back and kissing the top of his dear little head.
It was only then she realised that her husband, Matt, wasn’t in the bed beside her. She glanced at the clock and saw it was 5.50am, which was a bit early for a bike ride, even for him. Perhaps he’d heard the boys stirring and had gone down to make her some coffee.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ said Beau, leaping back onto the bed. ‘I want to show him my presents. He’s going to be really jealous because I’ve got a Tintin t-shirt and I’ve got a Snowy too.’ He delved into his stocking and brought out a little plastic model of a white terrier, which he bounced around the bed, barking loudly. Sophie was starting to hope the coffee wouldn’t be much longer.
‘Have either of you got any books in your stockings?’ she asked, knowing exactly what was in them.
‘Meeeee!’ cried both boys and she tucked them in under the covers with her, one on each side, to eat chocolate Santas – she’d worry later about the catastrophic effect of that much sugar before breakfast – while she read them their new stories.
After she’d done both books and Matt still hadn’t appeared with life-giving caffeine, she decided to go down and make her own.
When she got to the bottom of the stairs, the boys rushing down with her, dragging their stockings, she saw Matt’s beloved bicycle was in its place up on the hallway wall, so he definitely hadn’t gone out for a ride on the empty Christmas morning London roads.
Where could he be?
The boys made it into the kitchen before she did and their shrieks made her rush to follow them. Then she stopped dead in the doorway, trying to take in what she was looking at.
Every bit of bare wall had been painted with scenes of a snowy landscape: a frosted pine forest with reindeer, elves and a snowman, with the back of Santa’s sledge on the far wall, as though he was just flying out. The white paint had some kind of glitter in it and sparkled as you moved through the room. There were also drifts of fake snow on the floor, which the boys were now throwing into the air with great excitement.
‘Whoa!’ said Sophie, seeing it raining down on bowls of dates and fruit. ‘Don’t mess the snow, or you’ll spoil it and Santa will be upset.’
So this was why Matt wasn’t in bed. He’d been doing this, probably all night. She walked through to the study, off the side of the kitchen, and sure enough, there he was, passed out on the sofa with a blanket over him.
She smiled down at her husband’s sleeping form. So handsome, even out sparko, his thick black hair falling over his face, a shadow of stubble on his cheeks. There was a smudge of white glittery paint there too, which was somehow very sexy. He still had that effect on her.
She should have known it would be something like this; one of his spontaneous projects. It wasn’t the first time she’d found the kitchen completely repainted without any consultation with her and, as she was a professional food stylist, it could be irritating when she had a big work project on. But, she told herself, that was a small inconvenience for the magic of living with a highly regarded artist who could create something so special for the boys.
She did hope the sleep deprivation wouldn’t make him useless for the rest of the day, though. Three of his four brothers were coming for Christmas lunch with their families. There would be eleven very excited and sugared-up boys in the house – and their equally excitable fathers. She would need his help.
But any hope of Matt being able to catch up on his lost sleep was shattered as Beau and Jack found him.
‘Daddy!’ said Beau, shaking him awake, his reindeer antlers threatening to take out one of Matt’s eyes. ‘Wake up! You’ll never guess what’s happened. Santa’s been in the kitchen.’
Matt blinked a few times then his face broke into a broad smile as he grabbed both boys and hugged them tight.
‘Are you telling me we’ve had an intruder?’ he said, sitting up and rubbing his head, making the hair stand on end. ‘In the kitchen? I hope they haven’t stolen the Christmas pudding. This could be a disaster.’
Sophie put her hand over her mouth to hide her smile as the boys’ eyes widened at the thought.
‘They might have got the crackers,’ said Beau. ‘We’d better go and check. Come on, Daddy, quick.’
Matt allowed the boys to pull him up and drag him through to the kitchen, where he did a good job of expressing astonishment at the scene. Sophie joined him and he put an arm around her, pulling her close, kissing her firmly on the lips.
‘Do you like it?’ he whispered, a slightly vulnerable expression on his face.
She threw both arms around him, squeezing tight and rubbing her nose against his, hoping she might be able to arrange for them to have a shower together while the boys ate breakfast in front of the telly.
‘It’s a Christmas miracle, you genius of a man,’ she said. ‘But you’d better wash that sparkly paint off your face before Beau and Jack notice. It’s a bit of a giveaway.’