Jessica's Wish

Jessica's Wish



I struggled to read through my tears, my daughter's letter to Santa. Above her entry of this year's must-have toy (Barbie - whose 112th edition was accompanied by a magnificent prancing pony) - was her dearest wish:



"Santa...pleeeease can I have my Daddy come home. I need him to see the presents you get me. Please make him stay."

Her childish scrawl, which, on the whole, was steadily improving as she progressed through infant school, still took up most of the page. I stared across at my little sleeping angel and turned off her nightlight.



John had only been in the army six months when I met him, so it was a fairly new experience to both of us. It had been exciting at first, to follow him half-way round the world, though after a while all the barracks looked the same wherever they were. Once we became serious I made it clear I wasn't prepared to drag any family we had round in the same way. We chose a great village in North Yorkshire to settle down in, turning this beautiful cottage into a warm and welcoming family home - something that would keep John wanting to return to us each time he left.



So life fell into a pattern. I got a job in a bank and gradually got used to sharing my husband with around fifteen other men - those of his regiment. Toby was born a couple of years after we settled and Jessica came a few years after that.



I felt another pang of guilt and pain as I held the letter to my chest. The kids didn't usually ask after daddy; they just accepted it, and didn't really know any different. To them he was a larger-than-life stranger who scooped them into huge hugs when he was on leave, only to disappear a week or two after. I was the mainstay, the one they could rely on - daddy was just a bonus.



I could tell that John's last visit had been different. Jessica had been having problems at school with a boy who'd insisted on teasing her. He'd told her horrible things about soldiers (God only knows how he knew what he did) and had frightened the living daylights out of her. She'd become clingy and when John was on leave, she wouldn't let him out of her sight. He'd returned back to his duties a few hours early, slipping away in the night; we thought it had been for the best, so as not to cause a scene. Now I can see that that idea had probably made things ten times worse.



I slipped Jessica's note into my diary and tried to write down my thoughts. I needed to be able to tell her - and Toby - of the phone call I'd had that afternoon. John had been involved in an accident; he hadn't been killed but he was badly wounded; he'd actually lost both his lower legs. He was being transferred to a local hospital as soon as was practical but was at a military hospital in Surrey for the timebeing, making visits extremely difficult. He had also been discharged from active service.



I found my moment the next afternoon. Toby, being the eldest, had guessed something was wrong and wouldn't let up until I told him. Jessica sat on my knee as I explained in the simplest way I could what had happened to their father.



Toby sat quietly on the settee - pensive. Jessica threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight. I hugged her back, just as fervently, hoping that I could ease her pain. As she drew away, I was stunned at her beaming smile.



"Santa has brought me my Christmas present early!" she said.

"Santa? What Christmas present?" I struggled to understand.

"Daddy! Santa has brought me daddy!" she said.

"Oh, sweetheart. Daddy will be home soon, but he's very hurt. I don't think this is your Christmas present" I said, trying to soothe her.

"It is!" she insisted, "If he's got no legs, he can't run away from us again....."



So politically uncorrect. And probably a very warped way to celebrate her father's return - but to a six-year-old girl, this was her greatest wish fulfilled. Daddy was coming home, for good this time.