Best Christmas Ever

by Rowan McAuley

  ‘Yes,’ said Ching Ching.

  ‘That’s good,’ said her dad, gulping down the last of the coffee and getting up to wash his mug. ‘Christmas is more than just presents and fairy lights, isn’t it?’

  Ching Ching wasn’t really sure what he meant, and she was too busy looking for her favourite cereal bowl to ask.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked, when she had found her bowl and filled it with cereal and milk.

  ‘The boys got up early and caught the bus to the beach,’ said her dad. ‘And I’m going out in a minute to play golf with your Uncle Geoff, so you and Mum will have some peace and quiet.’

  A whole day with Mum all to herself! That hardly ever happened.

  Now, as long as the phone didn’t ring, and the boys didn’t need to be picked up, and the car didn’t suddenly break down …

  Ching Ching’s mum came into the kitchen. Instead of the boring clothes she wore to work, she was wearing bright, comfortable holiday clothes.

  ‘OK, Ching Ching,’ she said. ‘If you’ve finished your breakfast, let’s get started!’

  Ching Ching put her bowl in the dishwasher and followed her mum into the study. They cleared the big desk together and sat down.

  ‘Right, let’s get down to business.’

  Her mum pushed some coloured pens across the desk to Ching Ching and unrolled a sheet of butcher’s paper between them.

  ‘This is for writing down our ideas,’ said her mum. ‘Anything that helps us think about the problem.’

  Ching Ching nodded. She took the lid off the green pen and wrote ‘Christmas’ on her side of the paper. She drew a wiggly blue line underneath it, and then looked at her mum.

  ‘I can’t think of anything else,’ she said.

  ‘Well,’ said her mum. ‘We’ve done the hardest part. We already know what the problem is. We don’t think anyone should be lonely on Christmas Day, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Ching Ching. She wrote ‘lonely’ in purple pen and drew a sad face next to it.

  ‘But we have to remember that we can’t fix everything and we can’t help everyone. Agreed?’

  Ching Ching nodded. ‘As long as we can do something, that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?’ she asked.

  ‘Definitely! Anything is better than nothing,’ said her mum. ‘Now, what do you think makes people feel happy, and loved, on Christmas Day?’

  ‘Presents!’ said Ching Ching. ‘They make you really happy.’

  ‘Write it down,’ said her mum. ‘What else?’

  ‘Special yummy food,’ said Ching Ching.

  ‘Excellent,’ said her mum. ‘I’ll write that one down.’

  ‘Everyone being together?’

  ‘Yes, yes!’ said her mum, writing as fast as she could, as Ching Ching’s ideas came more quickly.

  ‘Being glad you have a family,’ said Ching Ching.

  ‘That’s a really important one,’ said her mum. ‘I’m going to underline that idea twice.’

  They sat back and looked at their page of thoughts about Christmas.

  ‘Now what?’ said Ching Ching.

  ‘Now we figure out how to put our ideas into action,’ said her mum. ‘How can we help someone who is lonely have some of these good things at Christmas?’

  ‘Well, we can’t give everyone a present,’ said Ching Ching. ‘I’ve already spent all my money.’

  ‘No,’ agreed her mum.

  ‘And we can’t give everyone a new family,’ said Ching Ching.

  ‘No,’ said her mum. ‘But remember, we’re not thinking about everyone. We can start smaller.’

  ‘And we can’t even tell the people who are on their own that they have to go and be friends with the other lonely people.’

  ‘No,’ said her mum. ‘But we could invite someone to be with us, couldn’t we? Someone could join our family for Christmas Day.’

  ‘Really?’ said Ching Ching. ‘We can invite someone to our Christmas lunch?’

  ‘Sure,’ said her mum.

  ‘Cool,’ said Ching Ching. ‘But who?’

  Who can we invite to our Christmas lunch, wondered Ching Ching. It would be different having a stranger at the family meal with them.

  Ching Ching was used to having every Christmas exactly the same, with everyone sitting at the same place at the table.

  What would it be like to have someone new there?

  ‘You know who might like to come?’ said her mum. ‘What about Mrs Brand?’

  Mrs Brand was an old lady who lived all by herself. She had a rickety old cottage over the back fence from their house.

  When Ching Ching was little she used to think Mrs Brand was a bit spooky because she lived with so many cats and always wore black. Her husband had died years ago, before Ching Ching was even born.

  Ching Ching had never stopped to think about whether Mrs Brand liked living with only cats for company.

  ‘Yes, let’s invite Mrs Brand!’ said Ching Ching. ‘Do you think she’d want to come?’

  ‘We can only ask,’ said her mum. ‘Let’s walk around after lunch.’

  After lunch, Ching Ching and her mum walked around the block to Mrs Brand’s house.

  It looked even more rickety and spooky up close. There were piles of newspapers tied up in bundles on the front verandah.

  Ching Ching’s mum knocked on the front door.

  Ching Ching looked around to see how many of Mrs Brand’s cats she could count. There were three tabbies on the front wall, and there was a black-andwhite cat in the driveway. A grey cat peered out through the window.

  There was no sign of anyone inside the house. Ching Ching was beginning to think Mrs Brand was out.

  ‘I’ll just knock again,’ said her mum. ‘She might have been out in the backyard when we knocked the first time – ’

  At the very instant she raised her hand to knock again, the door opened a crack and one eye appeared.

  ‘Yes? Hello?’ said a croaky voice.

  It was Mrs Brand.

  ‘Oh, good afternoon, Mrs Brand,’ said Ching Ching’s mum. ‘It’s Helen Adams from over the back fence. And I’ve brought my daughter Ching Ching with me.’

  The front door opened a bit more, and Ching Ching saw Mrs Brand standing there in her nightdress. A tortoiseshell cat rubbed itself against her legs.

  ‘Hello, Helen,’ said Mrs Brand, smiling. ‘Is that really Ching Ching you have with you? Gracious, you’ve grown, child. You’ll have to excuse me, dears, but I’ve only just got out of bed.’

  Ching Ching was a bit embarrassed. She was used to seeing Mrs Brand looking very stern and formal in her stiff black dresses. It didn’t seem right to be seeing her in her nightie, with her hair all messy.

  ‘Have you been unwell?’ asked her mum, sounding worried.

  ‘No, no,’ laughed Mrs Brand. ‘I’ve been reading. I borrowed a book from the library and it’s so good I can’t put it down. I kept meaning to get out of bed but I wanted to find out what happened next! Oh, but look at me – leaving you standing on the front step. Come in, come in, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ said Ching Ching’s mum, stepping inside.

  Ching Ching had never been inside Mrs Brand’s house before. She wondered what it would be like.

  Inside, Ching Ching got quite a surprise when she looked around. Although the house was a bit spooky from the outside, the inside was totally different.

  There were vases of flowers on the tables, lacy cushions on the chairs, and bookcases everywhere. The bookcases were full of books, as well as other things, like tiny glass animals, candlesticks, thimbles, teacups and matching saucers, interesting shells and pebbles.

  At the end of one shelf there was a wedding photo. The lady in the photo was wearing a lovely white dress, and was smiling up at the man beside her. He looked really happy, too, and was smiling back down at the lady.

  Ching Ching was dying to go over and take a closer look, but her mum and Mrs Brand had already wal
ked on into the kitchen so she followed them through.

  In the kitchen, a yellow cat sat on the edge of the sink and a shaggy long-haired one lurked under the table. Mrs Brand put on the kettle to boil.

  Little pots of violets stood in a row behind the sink, and above the window Mrs Brand had three dinner plates painted with horses.

  ‘So nice to have visitors,’ said Mrs Brand. ‘I think I’ve got some shortbread in a tin somewhere … ’

  Ching Ching glanced up at her mum. She didn’t like tea or shortbread.

  Would she have to have some too?

  Her mum winked.

  ‘We can’t stay too long, Mrs Brand,’ she said. ‘Ching Ching and I have some chores we have to do this afternoon, but we wanted to see if you had plans for Christmas tomorrow.’

  ‘Plans?’ said Mrs Brand. ‘Oh, no plans. I usually heat up a tin of plum pudding to have with the cats, but other than that, no plans.’

  ‘Well, Ching Ching and I would love to invite you to have Christmas lunch with us.’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t!’ said Mrs Brand. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t leave the cats. And I wouldn’t want to put you out.’

  Ching Ching couldn’t think of anything sadder than Mrs Brand alone with her cats on Christmas Day. She wasn’t sure what tinned plum pudding tasted like, but it didn’t sound very nice.

  ‘Please, Mrs Brand,’ said Ching Ching. ‘Mum and I could pick you up in the car and drop you home again. You’d have such a nice time with us. And we’re going to have trifle.’

  ‘Trifle, eh?’ Mrs Brand said, with a smile. ‘I do like trifle. Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind? Oh, that would be lovely. Yes, I’d love to come for Christmas lunch.’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ said Ching Ching. ‘It’s going to be great, I can tell.’

  That afternoon was very busy. Ching Ching picked flowers and interesting twigs out of the garden and made a huge posy. Her mum made a batch of shortbread. The flowers and the shortbread would be their Christmas present for Mrs Brand.

  Then, while her mum washed up, Ching Ching made Mrs Brand a Christmas card.

  She drew a picture of a horse and a cat, together by a Christmas tree.

  The sun was going down and it was beginning to get cooler when Ching Ching’s brothers got home from the beach.

  It was time to wrap the presents and put them under the tree. Everyone went to their own rooms so they could wrap in secret.

  Ching Ching had just finished putting a bow on her last present when her dad knocked on her door.

  ‘How are you getting on in there?’ asked her dad, peeping around the doorway. ‘Nearly done?’

  ‘Nearly,’ said Ching Ching.

  ‘Hurry up, then,’ he said. ‘Your mum needs the wrapping paper, and then we’re all going to toast the Christmas tree with eggnog before bed.’

  ‘Eggnog!’ said Ching Ching, scrambling to her feet.

  William, Henry and Daniel were already in the living room putting their presents under the tree when Ching Ching got there with hers.

  She tried to guess which ones might be for her, but it was impossible to tell with the boys in the way.

  ‘Can I get past?’ she asked. ‘I have to put my presents down.’

  Henry moved aside and let her kneel down by the tree to find space for her presents. While she was there, she quickly peeked at the cards on the boys’ presents, to see which were for her.

  ‘Hey, you! Stop it!’ yelled Henry, swooping down on Ching Ching and picking her up. He held her in the air above his head.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked William.

  ‘Ching Ching is,’ laughed Henry.

  ‘Yeah, we can see that,’ said Daniel, looking up at Ching Ching.

  ‘She was trying to look at the presents!’ said Henry.

  ‘Off-side!’ shouted Daniel. ‘Not fair!’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Ching Ching, as she dangled in midair. ‘I promise if you let me down, I won’t look any more.’

  ‘Promise?’ said William. ‘You have to cross your heart … ’

  ‘Hey, you kids,’ said Mum, struggling towards the tree with her arms full of presents. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said William.

  ‘Just giving Ching Ching a special Christmas hug,’ said Henry, letting Ching Ching down, but only so he could wrap her tightly in his arms instead.

  ‘Mm-mmf!’ said Ching Ching, muffled by Henry’s hug.

  ‘Henry, I don’t think your sister can quite breathe in there,’ said Mum.‘Anyway, Daniel, go to the kitchen and get the glasses. It’s time for eggnog, and then bed.’

  After they all had eggnog, and toasted the Christmas tree, Ching Ching brushed her teeth and got into her pyjamas. She climbed into bed and switched off the light, but there’s nothing harder than trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve.

  Ching Ching tossed and turned. She got up and had a drink of water, and went to the toilet about four times. Eventually she gave up on sleeping and read in bed.

  ‘Are you still up?’ whispered her mum, stopping by on her way to bed.

  ‘I can’t sleep,’ Ching Ching whispered back, giggling.

  ‘I know,’ said her mum. ‘It’s hard, isn’t it? But see if you can drop off now.’

  Ching Ching woke the next morning to the sound of Henry and William wrestling in the hall. Daniel was cheering them on.

  ‘Grab his foot! No, the other foot!’

  Ching Ching leapt out of bed and ran out. Daniel was now on the floor, too, wrestling in a mad three-way tangle of bodies and laughter.

  ‘Merry Christmas!’ yelled Ching Ching, Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fourteen throwing herself on top of the pile and trying to kiss and tickle her brothers at the same time.

  ‘What’s all this?’ asked Dad, coming out into the hall.

  ‘Oh, ouch!’ yelped William. ‘It’s Ching Ching, Dad! She’s beating us all up.’

  ‘Yes, make her stop!’ said Henry. ‘She’s too rough.’

  ‘And on Christmas Day, too!’ said Daniel.

  ‘All right, Ching Ching,’ laughed her dad. ‘The boys have had enough for now. Let them up, will you? There’s a pet.’

  Ching Ching got up off the floor, and her brothers picked themselves up, too.

  ‘Phew! Thanks,’ said William.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ asked Henry.

  ‘In the kitchen, I bet,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘She’s been up for hours, getting things ready for lunch.’

  ‘Lunch?’ said Daniel. ‘Who cares about lunch? We want presents!’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Dad dryly. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get your mum away from the kitchen and go and sit by the tree.’

  William and Henry raced to the kitchen and between them picked up Mum and carried her to the Christmas tree.

  ‘But I’ve still got my apron on!’ Mum protested. ‘And my hands are wet from peeling potatoes!’

  The Christmas tree looked wonderful. The fairy lights were flashing, the tinsel was sparkling, and underneath were all the presents, beautifully wrapped and waiting to be opened.

  ‘All right, then,’ said Mum. ‘Merry Christmas! Let’s open those presents!’

  For a while it was chaos. Six people swapping presents and kisses, a flurry of unwrapping, and everyone shouting, ‘Thanks!’

  Wrapping paper and ribbon flew everywhere. Ching Ching’s dad said he loved his tie, and William and Henry started playing with William’s new football straight away, nearly knocking the gingerbread house off its table.

  ‘Ching Ching, this perfume’s lovely,’ said her mum, but Ching Ching hardly noticed. She was too excited about her present from her mum and dad. A pink helmet and – she could hardly believe it – a skateboard!

  It had been a fantastic Christmas already, thought Ching Ching. And the day had only just begun.

  ‘You’d better go and change out of your pyjamas, Ching Ching,’ said her mum. ‘It’s about time to go and fetch
Mrs Brand.’

  Ching Ching got dressed in about thirty seconds flat. She put her helmet on too.

  ‘That was fast,’ said her mum. ‘And I see you’ve brought your skateboard.’

  ‘I thought I’d skate around to Mrs Brand’s house,’ said Ching Ching. ‘It’s only one block, so I don’t even have to cross the road.’

  ‘All right,’ said her mum. ‘And then you can ride in the car on the way home.’

  It was a short drive to Mrs Brand’s house, but a long journey by skateboard. Ching Ching fell off six times, but she didn’t care. She loved the feeling as she rolled along the footpath.

  When she got to Mrs Brand’s house, her mum was already there, waiting by the front gate with Mrs Brand. She was dressed all in black as usual, but as she came closer, Ching Ching saw she was wearing some dangly earrings shaped like Christmas trees.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Brand,’ said Ching Ching. ‘Did you see what I got from Mum and Dad?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Brand. ‘You looked very fast and daring coming around the corner.’

  ‘Did you fall?’ asked her mum.

  ‘Hardly at all,’ said Ching Ching.

  They got into the car. Mrs Brand sat in the front with Mum, and Ching Ching sat behind.

  ‘Now, Ching Ching,’ said Mrs Brand, turning to see Ching Ching sitting in the back seat. ‘I don’t know anything about boys these days, so I’m afraid I haven’t brought your brothers anything, but I do have a little something for you.’

  She passed Ching Ching a flat, square present. It was wrapped in old, creased paper with kittens on it.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Brand, you needn’t have done that,’ said Ching Ching’s mum, but Ching Ching had already thanked her and taken the present, unwrapping it eagerly.

  It was an old book, a bit battered on the corners, but with the most beautiful picture of a black horse on the cover.

  ‘Black Beauty!’ breathed Ching Ching in delight. ‘My friend Iris says this is the best book ever. Even better than The Black Stallion!’