A Visit From St Nick
By Kit Tinsley
‘Daddy?’ My son, Pete’s voice stirred me into consciousness.
I opened my eyes to see him stood next to the bed. His eyes heavy with interrupted sleep. His blonde hair is tussled from hours of tossing and turning. Four years old and perfect.
‘Come on.’ I said, motioning for him to get into bed with his mother and I.
Most nights he would join us at some point in the early hours. It surprised me he wasn’t wanting to go right downstairs. It was now Christmas morning after all, and a mountain of presents was awaiting him by the tree.
‘I think, our chimney’s blocked.’ He said. Anyone who has ever had a four year old will tell you that they can come out with the strangest things. This was a new one I thought, pulling him up into…
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