Bad Brad Saves Christmas, Page 2
Joe Corcoran
to follow me.”
First, though, Santa had to remind himself how to ride a bike. It was a good job that they were in a narrow alley because, once or twice, he had to put out a hand to steady himself against a wall. After a very short space of time, however, he was doing well enough to start off towards the first house. Brad knew the way to Sally’s house very well, although he hadn’t often been inside - and never at Christmas. He was about to ring the bell, out of force of habit, but Santa stopped him. With a smile that was almost mischievous, the old man drew out a key from the inner folds of his coat. As Brad watched the key seemed to shift and squirm in Santa’s fingers, changing constantly as it was lifted towards the lock. Just as it touched the keyhole, the key seemed to make up its mind. It fixed itself in the form of a perfectly ordinary door key. Santa pushed it into the lock, turned and - click - the door opened to let them inside.
Brad had been quite surprised to be let into someone else’s house with a magic key, but that was nothing to his amazement as they walked through the hall and into the living room. He had never seen a house looking so beautiful. Everything was decorated and ready for Christmas, and Brad felt a little tickle down in his tummy as he gazed around at all the tinsel and baubles and paper chains.
“Now, where was that puppet theatre?”
Brad looked round to see Santa rummaging in his sack. He found the package he was looking for and popped it into the stocking that was hanging over the fireplace. Then he turned his attention to a plate that sat on the mantelpiece. There was a carrot, which Santa tucked away for Rudolf, a glass of sherry, which Santa drank himself, and a mince pie, which Santa handed to Brad.
“Perks of the job,” said Father Christmas, with a wink.
As he ate the pie, Brad studied the sign that Sally had left next to the plate. It said ‘For Santa’, with a picture of a sleigh on one side, and a picture of Sally and her parents on the other. Brad thought about his own parents, asleep at home, and suddenly he wanted to do something nice for them at Christmas.
“No time for dawdling,” said Father Christmas, “we need to be off to the next house.”
“Who is it?” asked Brad.
“Steve Prado," replied Santa, "Do you know him?”
Of course Brad did, although he hadn’t been allowed to his house since the incident with the hamster. Santa seemed to be much more confident on his bike, now he'd had a bit of practice, and Brad was enjoying riding in the snow – which he wasn’t normally allowed to do. Although it did seem to Brad that his bike was not so much driving through the snow as riding slightly above it. He wondered if there was some kind of Father Christmas magic being used, like when he’d first walked out into his back garden.
The question was pushed to the back of his mind the moment they entered the home of Steve Prado. Brad had thought that Sally’s family had been Christmas weirdoes and that the other children’s houses would be just like his own. He now saw that this was far from the truth. Steve’s house was also beautiful – different from Sally’s, but just as magical. Again they left a present, gobbled up the goodies and headed off to the next stop on Santa’s list.
“That's odd,” said Father Christmas, as they arrived at Mario Smith’s house, “This boy didn’t ask for a present for himself, he just asked for a Royal Pardon ... for me! I don’t think I’ve done anything bad enough to need a Royal Pardon. What do you think we should leave him instead?”
Brad thought hard. He tried to think of what Mario liked, but he’d never paid any attention to what people liked before – only what upset them or scared them.
“What about a picture of you and the Queen,” he said finally, “to show that you’re friends and that she wouldn’t put you in prison.”
Santa put his head on one side and squinted at Brad.
“Do I look like I carry a photo album around with me?” he said, “No, you’ll just have to think of something else.”
Brad thought furiously. Then he suddenly remembered teasing Mario about something. Teasing him about his favourite sport.
“Football,” he blurted out, “No, wait. Rugby. Mario likes rugby.”
“Rugby!” said Father Christmas, slapping his forehead, “What a dunderhead I am. I completely forgot about this.”
He reached inside his robe and pulled out a photograph, which he held out for Brad to see. It showed a rugby team posing for a victory photo, but it was the strangest team that Brad had ever seen. Mostly it was made up of elves, and at the back, towering over everyone, were three huge polar bears. At the front and centre stood Santa and the Queen, side by side. Everyone wore red and green striped rugby shirts and had their thumbs up, except for the Queen and Santa. Santa held a large trophy, and the Queen held a rugby ball. As Brad leaned closer, he could see several disgruntled looking penguins, kicking up snow in the background. He shot a questioning look at Santa.
“Every four years we hold the Pole vs Pole rugby championships. Each team can invite one special player from outside their country. I was the captain for the North Pole, and I invited the Queen to join our team.”
"Why the Queen?" asked Brad, "I wouldn't have thought she'd be very good at rugby."
"Well, you'd be surprised," said Santa, "and people always think twice before tackling the Queen. She was the main reason we won – although the polar bears are very good in the scrum."
Santa looked lost in the memory for a second, then he continued.
"The Queen had the royal photographer take a picture of the team, then she sent me this print through the post. See what she wrote on the back."
Santa turned over the photo, so that Brad could see the tidy, handwritten dedication. It said:
To Santa. Thank you for including me in this magical event. I promise never to put you in prison. Never ever. Your friend. The Queen.
"I think this would make a perfect gift for Mario, don't you?" said Santa.
Seeing Brad nodding enthusiastically, he wrapped up the photo and left it in Mario's stocking. What Brad didn't see was that he also left a letter with the present, just as he had at the other houses they had visited.
Together, Brad and Santa left presents for all the other members of Brad's class. They were now enjoying themselves so much that it seemed like no time at all before they were putting the bikes back in the garden shed. Brad was wondering how Santa would continue his deliveries when the sound of jingling bells made him look up. There, on the roof of his house, was Santa's sleigh.
"Oh, those reindeer can be naughty sometimes," chuckled Santa, seeing Brad's puzzled face, "but it's never long before they remember where their duty lies."
The old man looked down at Brad, and his kindly eyes twinkled.
"May I ask one last favour," he said, looking up at the roof, "do you mind if I use your chimney?"
They went inside to the living room, where the fireplace was, and when Santa turned to say his goodbyes, Brad noticed that he looked sad.
"I'm sad because I can't leave you a present," said Santa, when Brad asked him what was wrong, "You've done a very good thing, helping me with my deliveries, but you're on the naughty list and - well - rules are rules."
Brad wasn't sure how to react to this. It seemed so unfair, after he'd been really good for once, that he wouldn't even get a present for it. Then he thought about all the bad things he'd done that year, and he thought about all the beautifully decorated houses he'd seen, and he thought about how happy he felt right now.
"That's okay," was all he said.
"Please," said Santa, kneeling down so that his face was close to Brad's, "Please, just try to be good this year. You've shown me tonight what kind things you can do, when you put your mind to it, and I'd so like to bring you a present next year."
No more words were spoken. Brad nodded, and Father Christmas laid a kind hand on his head before turning and disappearing up the chimney.
The next morning – Christmas morning – Brad woke late. At first he just wanted to turn
over and go back to sleep. Then he suddenly remembered what had happened, and he jumped out of bed to peek through the curtains. The snow in the back garden lay crisp and white and completely undisturbed. There were no footprints and no tyre tracks. It was just as if nothing had happened. Maybe his adventure with Santa had just been a dream. Dream or not, though, it was still Christmas Day, and so Brad pulled on his clothes and rushed downstairs to see if his parents were already up.
They were indeed up, and they stared at Brad as he rushed into the living room.
"What's all this about?" asked Brad's father, looking more confused than cross. He swept his arm around, pointing at once to the whole room, which was hung with tinsel, baubles and fairy lights. Most striking of all, there was a huge Christmas tree, beautifully decorated and twinkling in the early morning light.
"It's wonderful," said Brad, "What a wonderful Christmas surprise."
Then, after a short pause, he added, "Thank you!"
"Thank us?" said Brad's mother, "We didn't do this. We thought it was you."
"It must have been Santa Claus," whispered Brad.
His father frowned, and his mother strode across the room to rest her hand on Brad's forehead, fearful that he might have a temperature. Nevertheless, neither of them had a better explanation, and they were still thinking about it when the doorbell rang.
"I know it's early," said Sally Perkins, who was standing on the
First, though, Santa had to remind himself how to ride a bike. It was a good job that they were in a narrow alley because, once or twice, he had to put out a hand to steady himself against a wall. After a very short space of time, however, he was doing well enough to start off towards the first house. Brad knew the way to Sally’s house very well, although he hadn’t often been inside - and never at Christmas. He was about to ring the bell, out of force of habit, but Santa stopped him. With a smile that was almost mischievous, the old man drew out a key from the inner folds of his coat. As Brad watched the key seemed to shift and squirm in Santa’s fingers, changing constantly as it was lifted towards the lock. Just as it touched the keyhole, the key seemed to make up its mind. It fixed itself in the form of a perfectly ordinary door key. Santa pushed it into the lock, turned and - click - the door opened to let them inside.
Brad had been quite surprised to be let into someone else’s house with a magic key, but that was nothing to his amazement as they walked through the hall and into the living room. He had never seen a house looking so beautiful. Everything was decorated and ready for Christmas, and Brad felt a little tickle down in his tummy as he gazed around at all the tinsel and baubles and paper chains.
“Now, where was that puppet theatre?”
Brad looked round to see Santa rummaging in his sack. He found the package he was looking for and popped it into the stocking that was hanging over the fireplace. Then he turned his attention to a plate that sat on the mantelpiece. There was a carrot, which Santa tucked away for Rudolf, a glass of sherry, which Santa drank himself, and a mince pie, which Santa handed to Brad.
“Perks of the job,” said Father Christmas, with a wink.
As he ate the pie, Brad studied the sign that Sally had left next to the plate. It said ‘For Santa’, with a picture of a sleigh on one side, and a picture of Sally and her parents on the other. Brad thought about his own parents, asleep at home, and suddenly he wanted to do something nice for them at Christmas.
“No time for dawdling,” said Father Christmas, “we need to be off to the next house.”
“Who is it?” asked Brad.
“Steve Prado," replied Santa, "Do you know him?”
Of course Brad did, although he hadn’t been allowed to his house since the incident with the hamster. Santa seemed to be much more confident on his bike, now he'd had a bit of practice, and Brad was enjoying riding in the snow – which he wasn’t normally allowed to do. Although it did seem to Brad that his bike was not so much driving through the snow as riding slightly above it. He wondered if there was some kind of Father Christmas magic being used, like when he’d first walked out into his back garden.
The question was pushed to the back of his mind the moment they entered the home of Steve Prado. Brad had thought that Sally’s family had been Christmas weirdoes and that the other children’s houses would be just like his own. He now saw that this was far from the truth. Steve’s house was also beautiful – different from Sally’s, but just as magical. Again they left a present, gobbled up the goodies and headed off to the next stop on Santa’s list.
“That's odd,” said Father Christmas, as they arrived at Mario Smith’s house, “This boy didn’t ask for a present for himself, he just asked for a Royal Pardon ... for me! I don’t think I’ve done anything bad enough to need a Royal Pardon. What do you think we should leave him instead?”
Brad thought hard. He tried to think of what Mario liked, but he’d never paid any attention to what people liked before – only what upset them or scared them.
“What about a picture of you and the Queen,” he said finally, “to show that you’re friends and that she wouldn’t put you in prison.”
Santa put his head on one side and squinted at Brad.
“Do I look like I carry a photo album around with me?” he said, “No, you’ll just have to think of something else.”
Brad thought furiously. Then he suddenly remembered teasing Mario about something. Teasing him about his favourite sport.
“Football,” he blurted out, “No, wait. Rugby. Mario likes rugby.”
“Rugby!” said Father Christmas, slapping his forehead, “What a dunderhead I am. I completely forgot about this.”
He reached inside his robe and pulled out a photograph, which he held out for Brad to see. It showed a rugby team posing for a victory photo, but it was the strangest team that Brad had ever seen. Mostly it was made up of elves, and at the back, towering over everyone, were three huge polar bears. At the front and centre stood Santa and the Queen, side by side. Everyone wore red and green striped rugby shirts and had their thumbs up, except for the Queen and Santa. Santa held a large trophy, and the Queen held a rugby ball. As Brad leaned closer, he could see several disgruntled looking penguins, kicking up snow in the background. He shot a questioning look at Santa.
“Every four years we hold the Pole vs Pole rugby championships. Each team can invite one special player from outside their country. I was the captain for the North Pole, and I invited the Queen to join our team.”
"Why the Queen?" asked Brad, "I wouldn't have thought she'd be very good at rugby."
"Well, you'd be surprised," said Santa, "and people always think twice before tackling the Queen. She was the main reason we won – although the polar bears are very good in the scrum."
Santa looked lost in the memory for a second, then he continued.
"The Queen had the royal photographer take a picture of the team, then she sent me this print through the post. See what she wrote on the back."
Santa turned over the photo, so that Brad could see the tidy, handwritten dedication. It said:
To Santa. Thank you for including me in this magical event. I promise never to put you in prison. Never ever. Your friend. The Queen.
"I think this would make a perfect gift for Mario, don't you?" said Santa.
Seeing Brad nodding enthusiastically, he wrapped up the photo and left it in Mario's stocking. What Brad didn't see was that he also left a letter with the present, just as he had at the other houses they had visited.
Together, Brad and Santa left presents for all the other members of Brad's class. They were now enjoying themselves so much that it seemed like no time at all before they were putting the bikes back in the garden shed. Brad was wondering how Santa would continue his deliveries when the sound of jingling bells made him look up. There, on the roof of his house, was Santa's sleigh.
"Oh, those reindeer can be naughty sometimes," chuckled Santa, seeing Brad's puzzled face, "but it's never long before they remember where their duty lies."
The old man looked down at Brad, and his kindly eyes twinkled.
"May I ask one last favour," he said, looking up at the roof, "do you mind if I use your chimney?"
They went inside to the living room, where the fireplace was, and when Santa turned to say his goodbyes, Brad noticed that he looked sad.
"I'm sad because I can't leave you a present," said Santa, when Brad asked him what was wrong, "You've done a very good thing, helping me with my deliveries, but you're on the naughty list and - well - rules are rules."
Brad wasn't sure how to react to this. It seemed so unfair, after he'd been really good for once, that he wouldn't even get a present for it. Then he thought about all the bad things he'd done that year, and he thought about all the beautifully decorated houses he'd seen, and he thought about how happy he felt right now.
"That's okay," was all he said.
"Please," said Santa, kneeling down so that his face was close to Brad's, "Please, just try to be good this year. You've shown me tonight what kind things you can do, when you put your mind to it, and I'd so like to bring you a present next year."
No more words were spoken. Brad nodded, and Father Christmas laid a kind hand on his head before turning and disappearing up the chimney.
The next morning – Christmas morning – Brad woke late. At first he just wanted to turn
over and go back to sleep. Then he suddenly remembered what had happened, and he jumped out of bed to peek through the curtains. The snow in the back garden lay crisp and white and completely undisturbed. There were no footprints and no tyre tracks. It was just as if nothing had happened. Maybe his adventure with Santa had just been a dream. Dream or not, though, it was still Christmas Day, and so Brad pulled on his clothes and rushed downstairs to see if his parents were already up.
They were indeed up, and they stared at Brad as he rushed into the living room.
"What's all this about?" asked Brad's father, looking more confused than cross. He swept his arm around, pointing at once to the whole room, which was hung with tinsel, baubles and fairy lights. Most striking of all, there was a huge Christmas tree, beautifully decorated and twinkling in the early morning light.
"It's wonderful," said Brad, "What a wonderful Christmas surprise."
Then, after a short pause, he added, "Thank you!"
"Thank us?" said Brad's mother, "We didn't do this. We thought it was you."
"It must have been Santa Claus," whispered Brad.
His father frowned, and his mother strode across the room to rest her hand on Brad's forehead, fearful that he might have a temperature. Nevertheless, neither of them had a better explanation, and they were still thinking about it when the doorbell rang.
"I know it's early," said Sally Perkins, who was standing on the
