By Sujatha Subramanian, Winner of Onlooker story contest, 1964

“Are you sure he will, Mummy?” asked Janie, her big, blue eyes gazing earnestly at Brenda “Santa Claus won’t forget to bring my panda, will he? Suppose he gets the presents mixed up? He might bring me a teddy bear instead,” she said doubtfully. “Of course not; dear, “Brenda replied in a soothing voice.”I am sure he will bring you a lovely little panda with a cute, black nose — just like the one we saw at the zoo, remember? Now, eat up your breakfast and run off to play.”

Across the breakfast table, Brenda’s grave eyes met her husband’s Roger gave her an encouraging grin from over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I’m going to hang up my big, red stocking” announced the six-year old determinedly, “it can stretch’n stretch’n and stretch a long way and Santa Claus will fill it up with lots of things.” She spooned up her porridge rapidly into her mouth. A little brown terrier ran in from the garden, barking joyfully.

“Hello, Tim, come to call me?” Janie gulped down her milk and., bounded out of the room, the dog following closely at her heels. Roger finished his second cup of coffee and rose. “We’ll see it through, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” He spoke heartily but Brenda could not match his mood. “Hello, Tim, come to call me?” Janie gulped down her milk and., bounded out of the room, the dog following closely at her heels.

“Oh! Roger, there’s hardly any time left. Today is Christmas Eve and —” “You know what, Brenda, my love,” whispered Roger, ‘I’ve written to old Santa personally to send us a money-making machine — the latest model. All you have to do is press button A and out comes a sheaf of brand new pound notes!” “You and your nonsense,” chided Brenda gently, trying to repress a smile. It was like talking to Janie. Roger had absolutely no sense of responsibility.

Perhaps that was why Roger could not keep a job for more than a couple of months. Goodness knows, how many jobs he had changed these few years. Though people always thumped him on the back and said, “Roger? He’s a jolly good fellow.” The resilience of youth, it had never seemed to matter very much.

But Christmas was different, thought Brenda. And there was Janie .

Roger took his coat and went off whistling gaily. Brenda sighed as she sat at the table and began to open her letters. Bills, bills and nothing but bills! She opened the last letter with impatient, hands. A little pink slip fluttered out and she bent down to pick it up. It was a cheque for six pounds made out to Brenda Dawson! Hastily, she groped inside the envelope and brought out a typed Letter.

Dear Mrs. Dawson,

We liked your story ‘Mabel’s Holiday’ very much. Please accept our cheque for six pounds as payment for it.

Yours faithfully, Evelyn Manning (Editor, Woman’s Magazine).

Brenda sat down heavily. So it had been accepted after all!

That day she had begun it – it was still vivid in her mind lying on the hospital bed, weak as a kitten, she had had an attack of the blues. She had pushed her face into the pillow and sobbed as if her heart would break. Roger had silently proffered a large white handkerchief. It was then, that Roger had suggested that she write something to take her mind off herself.

“You might as well earn some money while you are lying about like a queen,” he had said as he popped a grape into her mouth. “Your Highness is costing me quite a packet, I can assure you.” Brenda had smiled through her tears. Somehow, Roger always managed to make her smile during her worst moments.

Yes, it had been her fault more or less. At any rate, if she had not neglected a bad winter cold, she would not have been there convalescing from pneumonia. And Roger would not have felt impelled to throw up his job and spend all his time at her bedside And they, would not have had to pay for someone to look after Janie. So it was but right that the money from her story should make up for it.

Brenda looked at the cheque in her hand. Six pounds: The toy panda for Janie, something nice for Roger, a Christmas tree, perhaps even some wine? She put away the pink slip in her bag and began clearing away. Later, she climbed the steps up to her door, her arms laden with parcels. She put them on the doorstep as she rummaged in her bag for the key. Back in the hall, she took the parcels over to the table and slowly took off her coat.

It had been hectic shopping. The counters had been overflowing with goods wan last-minute shoppers filled every inch of space. Brenda had had to push through milling crowds for her purchases .There was a huge, soft black-and-white panda for Janie, a pair of silver cuff-links for Roger. She opened the other packets, one by one. The bottle of champagne — that was a bit of extravagance on her part. But it is not every day that one gets a story accepted, Brenda consoled herself. The bell rang and Brenda went to answer the door. It was the man from the shop with a huge Christmas tree.

AFTER putting Janie to bed, Brenda set to work, arranging the tree and putting up the tiny bulbs — like so many glowworms. When she had finished, she surveyed the room with appraising eyes. Everything was in place. The roaring fire, the glittering Christmas tree with the presents stacked neatly below it, the wreaths of holly and ivy, the bottle of champagne nestling in its bucket of ice. The place looked like—well, like it was Christmas. Roger was late. Brenda pictured him walking in on the festive scene. His face would light up — or would it? Brenda looked thoughtful. Sometimes men were funny.

Half an-hour later the place looked different. The Christmas tree and its trimmings were gone. Only the small wreath of holly remained in its place. The giant panda and the champagne bucket had vanished. On the mantel there was a small packet contain presents. “I pressed button A as per instructions, but the machine gave up after the second spurt. It seems that the nuts and screws don’t work on Christmas Eve”. Roger smiled as he began to open the packets.

“But, Roger, seriously—”

“All right, my love, here you are. Item one. Account Mr. R. Dawson for four hours overtime—two pounds, three shillings, ten- pence.” He brought out a stuffed panda, a few inches high. “Just what Miss Janie ordered.” “Oh! it’s  lovely !” breathed Brenda. And to celebrate in style, Mr. and Mrs. Dawson are now going to drink a toast to each other.” blabbered Roger as he opened a bottle of Frascati and poured out two glasses.

The bells of a nearby church began to peal sonorously.

“To us, darling. We managed it after all, didn’t we?” asked Roger triumphantly. “Of course, dear, we’ve managed admirably,” said Brenda happily, thinking of the lovely Christmas tree and huge toy hastily pushed away into the broom cup-board. Thank God, she had cleared away all those things before Roger arrived!

“And now, to fill up our dear daughter’s red stocking that stretches’n stretches —” continued Roger, taking her hand, “coming up?” “No, dear. You go on. Father always play Santa Claus,” replied Brenda, sipping her wine.