“Mark darling, did you believe in Santa when you were a little boy?” April Dancer was trying to keep her wounded partner distracted and awake. It was Christmas Eve and she had only one wish, and it was that Slate would live. She looked up at the sky, seeing a star shining brighter than the others and thought, no... but she hoped it was the Christmas star, the star of Bethlehem that guided the wise men a the baby in a manger.
He didn’t answer her question at first, making April more apprehensive. She was afraid she was going to lose him.
“Mark?”
“Sorry, not in Santa but...” he moaned just a little, not finishing his sentence.
“Really no Santa Claus?”
“I believed in Father Christmas luv. That’s what we called him back home.”
“What were your Christmases like?” She tenderly ran her fingers through his hair, giving him just a little human contact. If it were his time, he should at least have that.
“Mmm,” he closed his eyes, thinking back to his childhood, and a much more innocent time.
“The smells of minced pies, boiling puddings and the meat cooking late on Christmas Eve. We’d have roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and there’d be crackers...not the kind you eat but brightly wrapped and decorated cardboard cylinders containing a paper crown , a joke or riddle, a snap and a small novelty. They’re used to decorate place settings and were opened before serving the meal. And oh yes, Christmas cake...actually Scottish Christmas cake to be precise, the "Whisky Dundee.” We’d have it because my granny was from Glasgow. It was soft and crumbly, light on fruit and candied peel—only currants, raisins, sultanas and cherries.”
“You’re making me hungry.”
“My favorite was the Christmas pudding.”
“Pudding? Tapioca or rice?”
Slate tried not to laugh, “Not that sort of pudding luv. It was plum pudding, though there’s no actual plums in it.. It was made up of lots dried fruits held together by egg and suet, sometimes moistened by treacle or molasses and flavoured with cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and other spices. The pudding was aged for a month or even a year; the high alcohol content prevented it from spoiling.”
“Sounds wonderful, all that delicious food.”
“It was. My dad would dress up in a velvet robe and hooded cape and deliver some gifts to the family. The next morning when me and my sis would wake up, there’d be more under tree. The house would be filled with the smell of wood burning in the fireplace…” He closed his eyes, starting to drift again.
“When was the last time you were home for Christmas?”
His eyes popped open again, fighting off the drowsiness that was overtaking him from the loss of blood.
“Been years now. No one left but my sister and she’s off doing what she does. You’ve met her. I’m proud of my sis, I am but she’s…”
“A bit of a character,” April laughed.
“You’ve got that right ducks. Say you didn’t tell me what your Christmases were like when you were young.”
April quirked her head to one side, hearing a sound that made her feel a lot better.
“Darling, that’ll be for another time as our rescue helicopter has arrived.”
Mark was carried on a stretcher and loaded into the chopper but April paused, looking up at the starry night sky. It was after Midnight and Christmas had arrived.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “And Happy Birthday.”
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Date: 2015-12-04 06:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-04 06:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-04 10:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-12-04 10:33 pm (UTC)My cousin's fiancee who's from London made a Christmas dinner one year (actually he does the cooking for Christmas every year) anyway, he made roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and there was all the other treats as well. Oh it was soooo good. Dang, now with my diet having to change, I can't have any of that. Hmm, Christmas salad, doesn't sound very exciting does it? :F