A winter’s tale Author Stephen Gregory tells a story about life, friendship and a little Christmas miracle…
Rachel was in a funk. It was Christmas Eve and she was eight years old, and she was sitting in the back of her parents’ car… in a funk. She didn’t know what her Mum and Dad had bought her for Christmas, but she’d peeped into the spare bedroom upstairs at home and seen a few parcels wrapped in tinsel and red and silver paper … the presents they would carry down to the living-room and arrange underneath the tree when they thought she was fast asleep. Because they thought she still believed in Father Christmas, that he would park his reindeers on the roof and struggle down the chimney. Oh dear. She didn’t know what to believe. She was eight years old, befuddled between believing and not believing. They’d come for a drive, up into the mountains of Snowdonia. It had been snowing and the whole world was picture-perfect, like one enormous and delightful Christmas card. Mum and Dad were cosy in the front of the car, as they sat in a lay-by by the lake at Nantgwynant… along the road which climbed up towards the Pen yr Gwyryd Hotel and even higher to Pen y Pass. Yes, it was a winter wonderland. Rachel sat in the back, in her bright red Christmas coat and with her long golden hair perfectly brushed. She nibbled a mince pie and sipped the tea they’d brought in flask. But she wasn’t in the mood. Everything was too nice. She wanted something to happen – something to enliven her and this pretty, picture-perfect world. There was a crunching of gravel and a car pulled into the lay-by behind them. No, not a car. As Rachel swivelled to look, she saw a filthy and battered white van lurching to a standstill, and a man got out. Dressed in a baggy old jacket and corduroy trousers and heavy brown boots, he was as muddy and unprepossessing as his van. He moved to the back, opened the door, and a dog leapt out. A thin, brown dog, lean and sinewy – with nothing but muscle beneath its mud-caked fur. A few moments later it was loping across the field to the edge of the lake and the man was hurrying after it. And there was a fox. It sprang out of the long grass, startled by the sound and scent of the dog and the man, and it dashed ahead them. It was quick and wonderful, like a living red flame on the deep snow. It brought a sudden gasp to Rachel’s lips. The fox was fleeing for its life. Without a moment’s hesitation, Rachel flung the car door open and jumped out. And she ran after the man and the dog and the fox. Her parents called after her. They tumbled their tea and mince pies onto the floor and jumped out to follow her, shouting at her to stop, to come back. But she was too quick for them. In her bright red coat, with her long golden hair flying, she was as vivid and hot as the fox, against the cold white snow. In a few moments she had pushed past the man, who stumbled and swore horribly. Ahead
NWM 2021 Page 33
