Daddy's Present by Clive Martyn

Buddy West’s dad died 3 months before Christmas. Within a single day his happy young world turned upside and with his father dying, a large chunk of his childhood died too. Buddy was the man of the house now, a seven year old with responsibilities.

Overnight he changed, becoming more sombre, quieter; for 3 months he helped, listened, did what he was told and held his mum, Becca, whenever he found her crying. Laughter and happiness was something that he slid under his bed along with all his childish toys – things that belonged to a different time.

After 3 months, he could talk about it without crying and could think of his Dad without crying too much too, but it had been so hard.

His mum pinned her hopes on Christmas being a turning point. Christmas had always been an amazing time in the West household, filled with as much love as presents; and Becca was making a special effort to fill the void in the preparations and their lives, by being doubly excited about it and the holidays.

For the first Christmas ever all his grandparents, aunts and uncles were coming to stay and celebrate together at his house. Cookies by the hundred were prepared, presents filled the cupboards and all the secret spaces he knew, decorations covered each inch of wall and ceiling space, even a heavy cold could not stop his mum and with a red raw nose that continually ran, she baked and wrapped until late on Christmas Eve until everyone insisted that she stop, rest and save some energy for the big day.

Christmas day was very strange. Buddy crept into his mum’s bed long before the house woke up and for a little while they cried together and tried to remember happier times.

When the rest of the house stirred they came downstairs. The pile of presents under the tree was massive, a combination of grief/guilt, a renewed sense of everyone’s mortality and the number of extra people in the house, meant there was little space in the front room to move.

One present caught Buddy’s eye, though.

Stood behind the tree, poorly disguised under garish wrapping paper was a bike. A big bike. A proper road bike. Before his father had died, he had been begging for a real grown-up bike; a bike, one without training wheels or kiddy patterns, and his heart fluttered. Could it be? He couldn’t help but grin up at his mum, who smiled back.

It took forever to reach it, having to work through hundreds of others, but when he did he nearly cried with joy.

It was so beautiful with gleaming steel frame and gears - and huge. For a minute he stood staring at it, his mouth open.

“Thank you, mum!” he called out, running over to give her a big hug.

“Your dad bought it for you before… before... He really wanted you to have a big boy’s bike. He was really looking forward to teaching you how to ride it. It has been over at Aunt Lucinda’s house all this time.”

She wiped a tear away and smiled.

Aunt Lucinda leant over and added, “You’ll have to be very careful on it, Buddy. It takes a while to get used to a big bike.”

Grandpa West muttered, “Got to practice and practice somewhere like the park. Somewhere with a soft landing.”

Grandma West nodded, “Took me weeks to get used to riding without stabilisers!”

He nodded. “Can we go out on it later, mum? Please?”

She sniffed into a tissue and stroked his face gently, “We need to sort Christmas lunch out, Buddy, so you might need to be a little patient.”

After lunch, Buddy waited by his bike in the hallway, polishing the already shinning steel with a cloth.

Every time his mum looked in on him or one of his grandparents walked past, he asked again but most were too tired and full to move, the rest had no time, busy rushing around after everyone else.

“You have to be patient, Buddy,” was the answer every time.

The day wore on and Buddy got increasingly frustrated seeing the beautiful bike stood waiting by the front door.

That night he took the manual to bed with him, reading it slowly and not understanding much of the long words. As his mum tucked him into bed, he asked again.

“Please mum? Promise?”

“Soon, Buddy, I promise – okay?”

But the next day the disappointment continued, his mum’s cold turned into flu meaning she couldn’t stand up for long, let alone run alongside a bike and everyone else was too busy getting ready to go home.

When everyone had left and it was just him and his mum again, he tucked her in on the sofa where she was resting and made a decision. Just five minutes, he thought. Five minutes outside on the bike.

***

Becca woke up from a fitful snooze.

“Buddy?” she called out.

The house was eerily silent. Too silent.

“Buddy?” she called again, her voice cracking. She climbed off the sofa and walked out to the hallway.

The bike was gone. Panicking she yanked open the door and ran down the steps to the normally busy road.

It was quiet.

Then she heard the screaming.

Screams of pure happiness.

“Look at me, mum!” Buddy shouted at the top of his voice as he rode his bike down the empty road.

He was sat high on the bike, riding down the hill his blond hair streaming behind him. He laughed and giggled as he circled around perfectly.

He was riding without a single wobble, steady as a rock, even though it was his first time without training wheels.

He rode as if someone was running alongside him holding onto his saddle; an invisible, loving hand keeping him up, guiding him along the road.

He rode as if someone was there, whispering, go on son.

I’m so proud of you.