Surprise Company.

 Friday 24th October 2025

When we got up from breakfast this morning, Mum reminded Dad that we wouldn’t be in for lunch as we were heading to the garden centre for dinner and to take a look at the Christmas displays. It turned out to be a good thing she mentioned it — Dad had clearly forgotten.

He hesitated for a moment, as though something had just come to him.

“You haven’t got room for a little ’un, have you?” he asked.

Mum and I both looked at him, a bit puzzled.

“I suppose so,” she said cautiously. “Why, what’s happening then?”

“Well,” Dad began, with that half-grin of his, “I haven’t got anything desperate on. I was thinking, seeing as it’s my little girl’s first Christmas with us, I might come along and maybe get a few snaps of her on Santa’s lap!”

That was just Dad being Dad — sentimental and daft all at once. It made me smile, though I knew perfectly well there’d be no such photo today or any other day. Mum made sure of that.

“We’re not having any of that sitting on strange fellas’ laps around here,” she said firmly.

I’m not sure why she’s so against it. After all it was the last spell of lap-sitting that got me here — not that I plan on repeating that experience.

So, the three of us set off for the garden centre. We had a lovely lunch and spent some time wandering through the aisles, admiring all the lights and ornaments. Mum was hoping to find a new Christmas tree but none quite took her fancy.

At one point she turned to me and asked, “Is there anything that takes your fancy?”

Having never done anything like this before, I was already feeling a little overwhelmed — and quietly thrilled — by the whole experience. The idea that I might actually get to choose something myself caught me off guard.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Mum asked, her tone sharp but not unkind, just her usual impatience with my indecisive moments.

“No,” I said after a pause. “Everything has taken my fancy. I want it all.”

Dad burst out laughing, slung his arm round me, and gave me a quick squeeze.

“That’s my girl — no messing about! Gets the job done properly, no matter what!”

Not one to be outdone by Dad’s foolishness, Mum shot back, “You’d better fetch that bloomin’ tractor of yours and a trailer, then.”

In the end, she just bought a few bits, saying we’d try somewhere else another day.

As we drove home, the sun was dipping low behind the trees, the sky washed in that quiet gold that only October seems to manage. Mum was talking softly about where the new decorations might go, Dad humming along with the radio. I sat in the back, watching the fields roll by, thinking how strange and lovely it feels to belong somewhere at last. It’s funny — after all the years of waiting, Christmas seems to have already begun.