Story - Neighbours

When did you stop believing Santa Claus?

I was nearing thirteen, but I was always a bit of a gullible child.  And the world was different back in the sixties.  My own kids would have been about ten or eleven, although I think my son was just pretending for a couple of years so his wee sister didn't know.  Not for her sake, but so he could take the piss out of her with his pals.

Nowadays they learn early.  A few days after Xmas I was coming up to my front door just as the woman next door emerged with her kids.  The boy's about five and had a shiny new bike in his hands.

"That's a lovely bike, did Santa bring you that?"  He looked at his sister who nodded fiercely, then turned back to me with solemn visage.

"My Mum and Dad gave me it.  There is no Santa."  It sounded rehearsed.  His mum shrugged at me with a 'what can you say?' look.  And off they went.

But they stayed with me when I went inside, and I could imagine what had happened.  The girl, she's about seven, had made a discovery.  Maybe it was under the bed, or in a cupboard she wouldn't normally go into.  These flats aren't all that big, so there's only so many hiding spaces.  She checks her mother is busy, seeks out her brother, hand over his mouth, swears (threatens) him to silence, and takes him to see the stash.  He turns back to her, wide eyed, curious.

"Has Santa been already?"

"No stupid, Mum and Dad put it here, there is no Santa.  They just pretend.  I heard someone say it at school, and this means they were right.  We'll keep quiet about it, OK, and then see what they say on Xmas day?  Right?"  He knew better than to question when she said like that.

I felt a little bit sorry for him.

I'd been knitting little animals for my grandkids, each one to contain a mini easter egg.  A couple of chickens, a rabbit, a bear.  Cute, personal, a bit different.  I'd even done the bear in the colours of a favourite football team.  They were fun to do so I thought who else might like them, and I remembered the little sceptic next door.  Another chicken, another rabbit quickly emerged from my needles.  Chocolate covered goo inside, wrapping paper applied, and into a small brightly coloured bag I'd found in my hoard.   A gift card saying "Happy Easter from the Leith Easter Bunny".  Last thing before bed I put the bag on their doorstep, left my creations to their fate.

The next day the bag was gone.  That afternoon a post came up on the community Facebook page, mother and kids smiling, wooly figures in hand, caption saying thanks to the Easter Bunny.

And that was that.  Except in my head.  I could see the surprise when mum opened the door.  Looking round to see if anyone was lurking, watching.  The kids puzzled, wondering, watching as the bag is brought in.  Who's it from, who's it for?  Mum reads the gift tag.

"I think this is for you two."  Hands it over and the girl digs in, pulls out a pair of small colourful packages, weighs each up before handing one to her brother.  They tear the paper off, examine the contents, pleasure and puzzlement playing across faces, querying this unexpected start to their day.

"You did this?" says the girl, half questioning, half accusing.  The mother shakes her head.

"Nothing to do with me.  Look, see how different the handwriting is, showing shopping list alongside the card.  I'm as surprised as you are."  The girl reads her parent's face, sees genuine confusion.  "It must have been the Easter Bunny, like it says."

Girl and boy look at each other.  The boy nods, already convinced.  She's... almost there, wants to believe, doesn't know what else there is.  Then mum's getting the photo set up and she's swept along with it all.

They don't believe in Santa Claus.  But the Easter Bunny?  She's still out there, somewhere between doubt and belief and the streets of Leith.