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The kerfuffle began on what had started as an ordinary day.
With crunchy frostbitten grass underfoot, Siegfried had approached the Fredrickson farm for a routine visit when he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of the youngest Fredrickson child crying.
“Now then,” he had said as he crouched to the boy's eye level. “What is my veterinary apprentice doing down here, hm?”
“Hello, Mr Farnon.”
Through teary eyes and snotty sniffles, the boy spoke of his slightly older brother. Who Siegfried found out to have decided to tell his little brother that Santa wasn’t real.
Somehow, this led to Siegfried promising to show the lad his own letter to Santa. Though not only that, but that if he came to the Darrowby Community Christmas Dinner tomorrow then the other Skeldale residents and himself would allow the boy a sneak peek at their own christmas lists before sending them off to the North Pole via the Darrowby Elf Postbox.
So here was Siegfried Farnon: Ignoring other less important paperwork (such as bills) to help restore the magic of Christmas for a seven year old boy. The radio crackling a tune in the background as he wrote. Occasionally feeding pieces of shortbread to one of his favourite furry friends; his pet rat Volonel.
Dear Santa,
This year I would like:
A grooming kit
A book of poetry
A decanter of fine whiskey (to celebrate or unwind after a long day)
Many thanks,
Siegfried Farnon
Staring down at the paper, he decides that three should be enough to amuse the Fredrickson boy.
It didn’t really matter if the youngun believed in Santa Claus.
Not really.
In truth, when Siegfried had found the boy with tears in his eyes it had reminded him of a young Tristan and the vet's mind could think of nothing else but to cheer the boy up by reinstating his belief in the man in green; (not red!)
Though there was also a part of this process that had led Siegfried into a deeper state of thought.
What did he really want for the New Year?
The aforementioned items on his list would be nice to have but they didn’t exactly hold the same amount of value as a child’s Christmas wish.
Was there anything he truly wanted? Something he ached for..
As though answering his own thoughts his brain was suddenly engulfed in echoes of his own memory. A hand on his shoulder, followed by a chuckle calling him a daft. A smile so sweet and a scowl of the most beautiful blue. The stab of her returning another's affection, and the relief of nothing else changing. Word games and churches, cufflinks and swapped dresses.
Without hesitation and in an almost schoolboy-like manner, he writes her name in the same elegant scripture as the rest. Yet, these words have an entirely different meaning.
Mrs Hall.
Sitting innocently between his request of whisky and his giving thanks, two words of truth. Siegfried blinks as he stares at the words he had written from the soul rather than the mind.
He had dare not write Audrey, though he cannot help the way the whispered syllables of her first name slip through his lips like velvet into the quiet room.
His eyes narrow affectionately at her name as he allows his thoughts to momentarily linger on her. In his mind he could imagine, hope, even if there was no happy ending in sight. Once he had said that simply knowing her was enough, but then the pang of hurt concerning everything Gerald proved that untrue.
He loved her.
His finger moves over the ink as though he were handling a photograph. If Santa were real he couldn’t very well send this off to the North Pole because it was certain to put him on a naughty list and-
“Mrs Hall?”
Siegfried jumps, turning in his seat as the paper flutters out of his grip.
“Bally heck Tristan!” he bellows, “you shouldn’t sneak up on people!”
“I didn’t mean to-”
“What are you even doing still awake!?” He continues interrupting his little brother, “sneaking about and reading people’s private documents!”
“It’s a fake letter, Siegfried…”
“That’s besides the point!”
Tristan raises his eyebrow, partly amused by his brother's mood. There are a couple of seconds where nobody says anything, and all that can be heard is Volonel climbing the bars of his cage. The low sound of clanging metal ringing between them.
Then the youngest Farnon speaks.
“So, Mrs Hall?”
“Hm?” Siegfried says, moving to his chair as he feigns ignorance. “I’m afraid you might’ve hit your head up at Dobson’s today Tris. The person you’re looking for is upstairs.”
“Ha, ha, very funny.”
“Yes well- goodnight little brother.”
Tristan can’t help smirking. He had known his brother had fancied the housekeeper of course, but he wasn’t aware the man himself knew that.
“Siegfried..?”
“Hm?” The older brother feeds the rat more shortbread through the bars of their home on the desk.
“It’s okay you know…-” Tristan says.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“
I just mean that if you were to… well, I would be happy for you… both.
Siegfried's brow furrows. The snap of shortbread in Mr Farnon’s grip is harsh, his fingertips pale from where he gripped the food in irritation. Surprisingly, the biscuits don't simply crumble and then to dust.
“You’re being ridiculous, Tristan. Go to bed!”
“Ridic-? Siegfried!?” Tristan exclaims, “it’s on that piece of paper in black and white!”
With his eyes on the shortbread he was holding, his brain settles on what’s right in front of him and comes up with the worst excuse it ever has.
“It’s shortbread!”
“Sorry? Tristan asks in confusion.
“Shortbread,” Siegfried clears his throat as he places broken bird of shortbread finger in Volonel’s food dish.
“Have you thought of teaching baking classes, Siegfried? You’re very good. Very informative.”
“Oh do shut up!” Siegfried bellows as he closes the cage. “Look!” He grabs his list. “you merely caught me mid sentence.”
Suddenly ‘Mrs Hall’ becomes ‘Mrs Hall’s famous shortbread’.
“So stop blathering on about nonsense.” Siegfried says, the paper smooth as he slides his finger to fold it and then throw it to one side on his already haphazard desk.
“Alright,” Tristan says, holding his hands up in mocked surrender. He eyes his older brother who simply turns in his chair and pulls out a random book, flipping through it as though suddenly very busy. “Goodnight then…”
“Goodnight.” Siegfried doesn’t turn back, his eyes focused on trying to make sense of the words in front of him.
Upon hearing Tristan's footsteps ascend he leans back in his chair, the hand over his eyes doing nothing to stop his thoughts from running wild.
With a heavy exhale he turns his attention to watching his beloved rat nibble at the baked treat.
Mrs Hall's shortbread was delightful, but nowhere near as remarkable as the woman herself. Siegfried will always be thankful for her, no matter what the future holds in store for them.
Sometimes people come into your life and change everything; for better or for worse.
The next day Siegfried cannot help the small smile that graces his lips as he watches her help serve food on the other side of the community hall. She had changed his world in so many ways, in the best possible way. Seeing her so happy amongst the crowd of Darrowby caused the baker in his tummy to stir within him, his stomach fizzing excitedly as warm embers threatened to overwhelm him.
“I think I understand now, sir..” Says the youngest Fredrickson child stood beside him a moment later, “I know Santa’s not real.”
It was very rare Siegfried was reduced to a stutter and yet currently the words he needed were simply unknown to him.
“But thank you for being kind to me.” the youngster continues. “I think I understand.. that.. What makes Christmas special is everyone I know ‘ere in Darrowby.”
Siegfried smiles softly, nodding. “Something like that, yes.”
As the boy runs off to play with his friend, Siegfried’s eyes find the people he is thankful to know. A feeling of appreciation blooming within his chest in elation.
Then his eyes fall on her once more.
To be loved by Audrey Hall