Helena Fairfax

It’s the last Round Robin of the year!

And for December, each of the Round Robin authors is offering a free piece of writing.

So here’s my free short story, called The Christmas Rivals, or ‘Merry Christmas, Brontesaurus!‘

(I couldn’t decide on the title :) )

You can carry on and read the story on this page (there are lots of Christmassy images). If you’d like to download the story and save it for later, when you have time to read, here’s a link for your free pdf:

Please don’t forget to check the links at the bottom of the post for more stories.

Here’s my festive story. Enjoy – and have a lovely Christmas!

The Christmas Rivals, or ‘Merry Christmas, Brontesaurus!’

‘Here we are, Dr Patel.’ Bronte pushed open the door, bringing the doctor’s case inside for her. ‘Your old room. I hope it’s as you remember.’

Dr Patel took a look around the bright, pleasant space, with its tiny Christmas tree and welcome gift of gingerbread. The walls had been repainted more than once in the years since her last stay at the Seaview Hotel, and the curtains and bedlinen were a new design.

She took a step to the window. ‘The view of the sea is just the same,’ she exclaimed. ‘And those lovely Christmas lights on the prom. It hasn’t changed a bit.’

Bronte smiled. ‘I’m so glad. Your son said you’d been ill when he made the booking. I hope you enjoy your Christmas here like you used to.’

Dr Patel’s hair was greyer than Bronte remembered, and she seemed frailer, but her eyes were full of the same kindliness. ‘Deepak thought the sea air might do me good,’ she said. ‘He’s looking forward to spending Christmas in this place of so many happy childhood memories.’

‘Your son will be in the same room he used to have, opposite yours,’ Bronte told her. ‘It will be really nice to see Deepak again after all this time.’

She crossed her fingers behind her back. Dr Patel and her son Deepak had spent every Christmas and summer in Bronte’s parents’ hotel for as long as Bronte could remember, until the visits stopped when she and Deepak were fourteen. She remembered Deepak only too well. People thought since they were both only children, alone at Christmas, they’d enjoy playing with one another. She swallowed a snort. Deepak had been the most irritating know-it-all.

‘If you need anything, let me know,’ she said. ‘My parents have gone to York today. It’s become a tradition that they take Christmas Eve off and leave me in charge.’

‘In charge of the hotel.’ Dr Patel cocked her head, as though she could hardly believe it. ‘The last time we were here, you had pigtails.’

‘And I hear Deepak has qualified as a doctor now, like you. We’ve both grown up.’

Dr Patel nodded, a little wistfully. As Bronte made her way back to reception, she wondered if the doctor missed those happy seaside Christmasses with her son. Perhaps Deepak had suggested they return so she could relive simpler times. If so, maybe he’d grown up more thoughtful than she remembered. But she doubted it.

Bronte didn’t have to wait long to make Deepak’s acquaintance again. The doors to the hotel opened with a flurry of cold wind, and in strode a man she barely recognised, until she looked twice. The teenage Deepak had been tall and gangly, in permanent hoodie and scruffy trainers. The newly qualified Dr Patel had filled out across the shoulders and was wearing the most immaculate dark wool coat, the raindrops glistening in his neatly trimmed hair.

As he made his way across the tiled entrance hall, heads literally turned. He looked like some sort of movie star. Bronte schooled her eyes not to roll. Of course he did. Just like Deepak to make an entrance. She smoothed down her creased black work skirt and stepped out from behind her desk to greet him.

The new Dr Patel pulled his smart black case along the tiles and propped it on its wheels beside the Christmas tree. Bronte stretched out her hand. ‘Dr Patel,’ she said. ‘Welcome back to Seaview Hotel.’

Her childhood rival was taller than she remembered, and she had to tilt her chin a little to look up. He took the hand she offered. ‘Please, why the formality?’ There was the tiniest pressure in the cool fingers on hers. His expression was bland. ‘We’re old friends,’ he went on. ‘Call me Poo-pak.’

A flush rose instantly to Bronte’s cheeks. She’d forgotten her childish nickname for him. How typical of him to remind her. And there it was again in his eyes: that same mocking challenge that had used to infuriate her. She returned the pressure of his fingers with a very, very slight pinch. ‘Thank you.’ If he wanted to remind her of childhood nicknames, two could play at that game. ‘And please, call me Brontesaurus.’

Deepak’s lips twitched. ‘Good to see you again, Brontesaurus.’

Deepak insisted on taking his own case up to his room, and Bronte didn’t see much of the Patels for the rest of the afternoon. Christmas Eve was one of her busiest days in the year, and she was kept occupied in a hundred little tasks, making sure the dining room looked festive for the evening meal, and Santa had enough little presents to hand to the children staying over. It wasn’t until much later, when the evening meal was finished and guests were enjoying their coffee and brandies, that she had time to approach the Patels’ table.

They looked a striking pair. Dr Patel had dressed for dinner in a beautiful long red dress and matching shawl, and not even Deepak’s paper crown stopped him looking handsome in his white shirt and bow-tie. He put the crown beside his wine glass and stood politely as Bronte approached, pulling out the spare chair at their table for her.

‘Please,’ he said, gesturing to her to sit.

Bronte accepted warily. She hadn’t forgotten the time he pulled the seat from under her. She glanced over her shoulder, and when the corners of his mouth turned up, she knew he, too, was remembering.

Dr Patel patted her hand. ‘You look lovely, Bronte. I still can’t believe how grown up you are. ’

Bronte had chosen a glittering gold dress for the evening. She’d wondered if it was a little over the top, but the children staying in the hotel loved it, and one little guest had told her she looked like the Christmas angel. She studiously avoided Deepak’s eye, in case he looked mocking. It was worth it if it helped make the children’s Christmas more special.

Deepak leaned across the table to refill his mother’s wine glass. ‘We were going to play a board game this evening. Would you like to join us?’

Bronte swivelled round to look at him. He was looking at her over his wine glass, daring her to accept the challenge. Really, had this boy never grown up? As the saying went, he was so self-satisfied, if he were a tangerine he’d peel himself. It would give her pleasure to beat him at every game the hotel had to offer, if it meant staying up all night.

Dr Patel looked between the two of them, a smile on her lips. ‘Just like old times,’ she said. ‘Deepak, why don’t you get the Scrabble?’

Deepak rose from his seat. He still had that straight-backed, cricketer’s grace, and Bronte wondered if he still played. She was watching him make his way to the cupboard where they stored the games, when Dr Patel spoke.

‘You know, Bronte, I’m so glad we came back here. It always did Deepak so much good to be around you. He’s been overworking now he’s a junior doctor, and then looking after me while I was ill. He seems to have got his youthful zest back here.’

Bronte could hardly believe Dr Patel’s words, but she seemed perfectly in earnest. Perhaps by ‘doing Deepak some good’ his mother meant taking him down a peg or two, because Bronte couldn’t think of anything else she’d ever done. But there was no opportunity to question Dr Patel further, as Deepak was making his way back, the Scrabble box in his hands.

The waiters had already cleared the tables, and those residents who hadn’t gone down to the local pub, or out for a late walk on the prom, were settling in for an evening with games or books. Outside the dining room windows, the sky was clear and starry. As Bronte set out her Scrabble tiles, she caught Deepak looking out to where the Christmas lights on the prom were floating in red and gold reflections on the sea.

Dr Patel’s words were still going through her mind, that being here was doing him good. Now she looked more closely, she could see the slight shadows under his eyes. He turned and caught her eye and she looked away. Soon, they were all three of them intent on their game.

Bronte had forgotten how much fun it was to be part of the Patels’ Christmas Eve. Deepak and his mum had a teasing sense of humour…and both loved to cheat.

‘Sitsuma?’ Bronte said, outraged. ‘What the…?’

Dr Patel gave a bland smile that was very like her son’s as she slotted the tiles into place. ‘Of course. A satsuma that’s still sitting on the tree. A sitsuma.’

Bronte couldn’t help laughing. ‘Isn’t it good we have smart phones.’ She waved her screen. ‘No such word.’

Dr Patel good-naturedly scooped the tiles back up. Several more attempts were made at cheating, but in the end, Bronte couldn’t compete with the obscure medical terms, and Deepak’s mum was declared the worthy winner.

The doctor gave a yawn. ‘This has been fun,’ she said. ‘But the sea air has tired me out. I’ll leave you young ones to it.’ She rose from her chair and leaned across the table, planting a kiss on Deepak’s head and then, to Bronte’s surprise, leaning over to kiss her cheek. ‘Don’t be up too late,’ she said. ‘Or Santa won’t come.’

Deepak groaned. After his mum had gone, there was an awkward pause. Deepak fiddled with the Scrabble box, while Bronte swirled the last of the wine in her glass. She was about to make her excuses, claiming tiredness, too, when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-worn deck of cards.

‘I found these when I collected the Scrabble,’ he said. ‘Thought you might like a game of Sneak?’

‘I haven’t played Sneak since you were last here,’ she said. ‘But I remember how you robbed me of my pocket money.’

‘That must have been a lucky fluke,’ he said innocently.

‘You know, you haven’t changed a bit,’ she said. ‘Luckily no one carries cash these days, so you can’t fleece me again.’

He lowered his head, perhaps to conceal a smile, and began to shuffle the deck. ‘Let’s play for something different,’ he suggested. ‘Whoever loses, has to tell the other a secret. And I mean a proper one. No cheating.’

‘Suits me.’ She shrugged, holding her hands wide. ‘I’ve got no skeletons. But by the time we’ve finished, I aim to know everything about you. I’ll be blackmailing you for all your doctor’s salary.’

‘That’s the Christmas spirit,’ he said with a grin, pushing the deck towards her. ‘And the Brontesaurus I remember. Cut for first deal.’

The rules of Sneak meant getting rid of all of your cards before the other player – but with some sneaky rules. Bronte couldn’t prevent a smug smile when Deepak’s first move was to drop the Jack of Spades.

‘Pick up five,’ he said.

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, laying down the Queen of Hearts. ‘Pick up seven.’

He huffed as he collected from the deck.

‘Never mind,’ she said consolingly. ‘All of your secret’s will be safe with me. And the British Medical Journal.’

The game went on, in tense silence. To Bronte’s dismay, Deepak soon began to work through the extra cards in his hand. She kept a close eye on him, but couldn’t detect any cheating or sleight of hand. Finally, he rapped the table twice. ‘Last card.’ He held her gaze, that same look of satisfaction on his face she remembered, and threw down his final diamond.

Bronte dropped her head in her hands with a groan. ‘I knew this evening wouldn’t end well. Why am I not tucked up in bed with a book, like I’d planned?’

He reached for the cards and began to shuffle them together. ‘Forfeit time,’ he said. Even with her palms pressed to her eyes, Bronte could hear the smugness. ‘Tell me your secret. And no making it up.’

For a moment, she kept her head down. When she finally raised it, she looked him straight in the eye. ‘OK. I’ve never told anyone else this. And don’t tell my parents. I don’t want to work here in the hotel.’

There was a pause while Deepak stilled. ‘Oh, Bronte. I didn’t expect – I mean, why should your parents mind? Surely they wouldn’t want you to stay, if you don’t want to?’

‘Oh, but they do.’ There was such unexpected sympathy in Deepak’s expression, Bronte felt her eyes swim. She looked past him, at the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree. ‘This hotel has been part of the town for a hundred years, and my family have owned and run it for three generations. What will they do if I leave?’

‘I see.’ Deepak was quiet for a moment. ‘And if you did leave, what would you like to do?’

‘I want to be a teacher.’ There, the words were out. This was the first time Bronte had spoken them aloud to anyone. ‘I like making people’s holidays memorable, but it’s the children who come here I love most, and I think I could do a good job.’ When Deepak didn’t answer, she shrugged. ‘Anyway, that’s my secret.’

‘You should do it,’ he said suddenly. ‘The hotel will go on, with or without you, but you only have one life.’

She twisted her lips. ‘You think?’

He gave an emphatic nod. ‘There’s a teacher training college in Manchester. You should apply. Make it your New Year’s resolution. Your parents would want you to be happy.’

‘Apply to Manchester?’ Bronte looked at him curiously. ‘Isn’t that were you live?’

Deepak began shuffling the cards again. What was the matter with him? It almost seemed like he was embarrassed. But then he tapped the cards on the table.

‘Your deal,’ he said gruffly.

When she took the pack, his fingers brushed hers. He pulled his hand back awkwardly.

‘Game on,’ Bronte said.

Perhaps Deepak was getting tired. Perhaps that explained his odd behaviour. But he missed a chance to drop an ace to change the suit, and at one point, down to his last card, he forgot to knock and had to pick up another two from the deck. It didn’t take long for Bronte to throw her last card down in triumph.

‘There!’ she cried. ‘Now your turn. And it had better be as good a secret as mine.’

Deepak leaned back in his chair. ‘OK,’ he said, blowing out a breath. His attention seemed to be fixed on something over her shoulder. He tugged on his bowtie.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘It can’t be that bad. Have you murdered someone? Out with it.’

‘OK,’ he said again, this time taking an inbreath. ‘You know Mum and I stopped coming here. I think you and I were both fourteen?’

Bronte nodded. She’d always assumed Deepak had grown out of their small seaside town; it was all too provincial, and he wanted to be somewhere more exciting. Like Manchester. Or a posh hotel in London.

Again the tugging on the bowtie. ‘Well, I told my mum I wasn’t interested in coming back. I’d prefer to go see a show in London.’

Bronte nodded. ‘Just as I’d suspected.’

‘OK,’ Deepak said.

‘Will you stop saying OK?’

‘OK.’ His eyes found hers at last. Something seemed to break free inside him and he let out a small chuckle. ‘OK. The real reason I didn’t want to come back was I had a total crush on you. You were so haughty, I didn’t think I could take another Christmas.’

Bronte stared at him for several long seconds. His brown eyes stayed on hers, half-embarrassed, waiting for her to speak.

‘But…’ she began. ‘Me? Haughty? You were the one who was impossible! What about that time you said you’d show me how to play cricket? You kept bowling me out, time after time. I never even had a chance to touch the ball.’

‘I was trying to impress you!’ he said. ‘I was fourteen!’

‘You nearly knocked my head off!’

They eye-balled each other crossly, until all of a sudden, Bronte began to laugh, and then laugh some more, until after a while, she was doubled up and wheezing. Deepak’s deep laugh joined hers, and people began to turn towards them, at first smiling, and then, with their laughter so infectious, everyone in the room seemed to be sharing the joke.

After a while, Bronte sobered. She pulled a tissue from her clutch and began wiping her eyes. She was about to say something – to apologise for her behaviour. She felt bad for not knowing that the teenage Deepak had been suffering from unrequited love, and wanted to make amends.

Then a thought struck her. ‘What would you have done if I kept on losing at Sneak?’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Would you have told me your secret, if you kept on winning?’

Deepak threw his hands up. ‘You won, though, so I didn’t have to.’ His expression was innocent. ‘You won fair and square.’

Her eyes narrowed. Things were adding up. The missed opportunities to play a card, the failure to knock, the ‘mistakes’. ‘You threw that game on purpose, didn’t you?’

Deepak said nothing, but there was that glint again, the one she remembered.

She reached for the cards, lying on the table between them. ‘Cut the deck, Poo-pak. Best of three.’

Deepak reached over and laid his hand on hers. ‘Thanks for playing Scrabble with my mum. And thanks for letting her win.’ When Bronte didn’t reply, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. ‘I know you did. Seriously, I haven’t seen her have such fun for ages. Thank you.’

She smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you both again. Merry Christmas, Poo-pak.’

‘Merry Christmas, Brontesaurus.’

The End

I hope you enjoyed the Christmas story! And for more Christmas reads, please check out the links below. Merry Christmas!

Connie Vines http://mizging.blogspot.com/

Diane Bator https://escapewithawriter.wordpress.com/2024/12/21/round-robin-december-2024-christmas-story/

Marci Baun https://www.marcibaun.com/

Bob Rich  https://wp.me/p3Xihq-3nE

Skye Taylor http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea

Anne Stenhouse:

Diary of a Writer – Christmas Story 2024