Santa's Secret

My son has a great affection for trains. It does not matter whether it is London’s overcrowded passenger network or his little wooden Thomas the Tank Engine set that sprawls across our living room, he loves them all. So I enthusiastically agreed when my friend Emma suggested that we take our children to Santa’s Grotto at a historic railway station in the weeks leading up to Christmas.

So there we were on a brisk morning in December. As the train pulled up to the station, my children eagerly climbed on anxious to meet Santa Claus. Emma’s family headed for the front coaches while my children decided that the end of the train was much more appealing. After a quick ride through the woods, we had reached our destination. One by one, Santa asked the boys and girls if they had been good this year and chuckled at their replies. He handed each of them a gift and worked his way to the back of the train. My children beamed with delight and I smiled at Santa. Cheerily, he smiled back and asked me if I had been a good girl too. I laughed and said yes but then wondered if he could detect the frustration hidden beneath the good girl exterior. 

“Well, at least I’ve tried to be”, I stammered.

“That’s a shame”, he replied. “It’s the bad girls who get the presents!” 

We both laughed and then I realised that my husband could have easily heard the conversation. I crossed my fingers and hoped that he hadn’t. Something told me he would not have been amused.

As the train pulled away, Santa leaned into me and said with a smile, “You need to be naughtier this year!”

I giggled at the thought.

As we arrived back at the station, I caught up with Emma and asked if Santa had said anything funny to her. She looked confused. I decided it was not worth discussing and dropped the subject.

Later that morning, as I sipped my hot chocolate, I couldn’t help wondering if that same scene would repeat itself many times that day or if Santa had singled me out. Was it obvious to him that I was at odds with myself? As much as I loved my children and husband, I was losing my mind. My days had become regimented – school runs, a job, volunteer work and a house to manage. It was busy and exhausting. And it was boring. I wanted to feel alive again - to be unpredictable and to stop being perfect. But could I really break free of the monotony without hurting everyone close to me? Was it really worth the risk? 

As I licked the whipped cream from my lips, a smile formed.

I wondered if Santa knew just how naughty I can be!

Cate xxx