Kate Forster - For the Love of Christmas

‘Nothing is perfect,’ she said, ‘and why shouldn’t this tree have a chance to be lovely, just because it’s got a bit of alopecia?’

The girl laughed. ‘Would you like it delivered?’

Rebecca thought for a moment. ‘Yes, I don’t think it would fit in my car.’

‘You can have it for free,’ said the girl. ‘No one else will want it and my delivery man can drop it off.’

Rebecca paid for her flowers and went back to her car, happy with her unusual decision.

Once she would have chosen the biggest and bushiest tree; now she chose the one no one else wanted.

Perhaps rehab had made her a soft touch?

But being vulnerable was brave, Rose-Marie had said to her in a session.

Now it felt like she saw the strugglers everywhere. The unwanted trees, the misunderstood mothers, the frustrated fathers.

She knew Jamie had a right to leave, that he had a right to protect the children from her behaviour; she just wanted a chance to show them she had worked hard to stop and be better. That she was just like the tree. Yes, one side was lacking but there was another side that was lovely, if you looked closely enough.

At home, Rebecca arranged the flowers, wishing the children were home, the silence so deafening that she put on Christmas music.

Usually Christmas music cheered her, but as she hummed along to ‘O Holy Night’, she felt tears form.

She had fallen to her knees and had to pick herself up again. It was nearly impossible to face her reason for drinking. At first she had said it was because of work stress, then it was her marriage, Jamie, her children, her sister-in-law, anyone but herself.

Until one day, she talked about Finlay.

The drinking had started after she delivered a little boy, who refused to breathe.

He’s an angel now, her mother had said, but Rebecca didn’t want an angel. She wanted a child who was alive and well, who would totter around the hideous glass table like Sofie, and worship his older brother, Oscar.

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