The Christmas Present

Christmas morning had reached the part Alex liked best.

Breakfast was finished, but nobody had quite finished clearing it away. There were crumbs on the table, wrapping paper beside the sofa and a Christmas cracker hat balanced on Dad's head.

Dad carried two mugs towards the kitchen.

"Careful," Mum said. "You've still got your hat on."

Dad touched the hat. "I know."

"You look ridiculous."

"It's Christmas."

"That doesn't make it less ridiculous."

Alex laughed.

The tree lights were still glowing even though the room was bright with morning sunshine. The smell of toast and hot chocolate still hung in the air.

Then Alex saw the present.

It was sitting underneath the tree.

Dad's present.

Alex's stomach gave a tiny flip.

He knew what was inside. He had chosen it himself. That suddenly seemed like a problem.

For Mum, choosing a present had been easier. Alex had gone shopping with Dad, and they had found Mum's present together. Alex hadn't needed to wonder quite so much.

Dad's present was different.

This one had been entirely his idea. What if he'd got it wrong?

Alex looked at the parcel. He knew why he'd chosen it.

Dad liked cooking with him. That was true.

They had cooked together yesterday. Dad had let Alex help, and they had talked while they worked. There had been flour on the floor, something sizzling in a pan and a lot of laughing.

The present made sense. Mostly.

But his Bodyguard didn't seem interested in mostly. “What if Dad doesn't like it?” Alex looked at the parcel again. “What if I've got it wrong?”

Then came the thought underneath the thought. What if Dad thinks I don't love him?

The Smoke Alarm had gone off.

Alex knew that feeling now. It was the warning that something might be risky.

His Bodyguard was already trying to protect him. “What if Dad already has an apron? What if he doesn't like the joke? What if the spatula is silly? What if he wanted something completely different?”

Alex knew his Bodyguard wasn't trying to make things worse.

It was trying to help him be ready.

It just didn't always know when it had enough information.

Alex put a hand into his pocket and felt the edge of his Evidence Book. He pulled it out and opened it near the back.

Smoke Alarm — warns me when something feels risky.

Bodyguard — tries to protect me from things going wrong.

Captain — helps me decide what to do.

Evidence Book — helps me check what I actually know.

Alex read the last line again. What did he actually know?

Dad liked cooking with him.

Alex had chosen the present himself. He had thought about what Dad enjoyed. The present was connected to something they already shared.

Those were things he knew.

But there was one thing the Evidence Book couldn't tell him.

Would Dad like the present?

Alex frowned.

He couldn't know that yet. He could know why he'd chosen it. He just couldn't know what Dad would think.

The worried feeling was still there.

But maybe he didn't have to know yet.

Dad came back into the room. "Right," he said. "Who's ready for presents?"

Alex closed his Evidence Book. His heart was beating faster.

He picked up the parcel. "This one's for you."

Dad smiled. "Thanks, mate."

Alex handed it over.

Dad sat down near the tree.

Alex sat opposite him. And waited.

Dad pulled at the ribbon. The paper came away.

First he found the apron.

He held it up.

Across the front were the words:

CHEF DAD — MAKING MEMORIES, OCCASIONALLY BURNING TOAST.

Dad stared at it. Then he looked at Alex. "Occasionally?"

Mum laughed.

Alex smiled.

Dad put the apron against his chest. "I think that's a little unfair."

"You burned the toast yesterday," Alex said.

"Once."

"Twice."

Dad thought about this. "The second one was more of a very dark brown."

Alex laughed. "That's still burnt."

Dad nodded solemnly. "Fair point."

He folded the apron over his knee.

For a moment, Alex felt the tightness in his stomach loosen. Dad was smiling.

He liked the joke.

Maybe the present was going to be all right.

Then Dad reached into the wrapping again. He pulled out the wooden spatula.

Alex's smile faded.

Dad turned it over.

On one side was: CHEF

He turned it around. ASSISTANT CHEF

Dad ran his thumb over the carved letters.

He didn't laugh. He didn't say anything. He looked at the spatula.

Then at the apron.

Then at Alex.

Alex's stomach dropped.

There. That was it. Dad didn't like it.

Alex had got it wrong.

His thoughts rushed in.

I knew it. The apron was silly. The spatula was silly. He thinks I chose badly. He thinks I don't know him.

He thinks I don't love him.

Alex's fingers tightened around his trousers. His mind had already decided. But did he actually know the answer?

Alex looked at Dad again.

Dad was quiet. That was true.

Dad was holding the spatula. That was true.

Dad had looked carefully at both presents. That was true.

But Dad hadn't said he didn't like them.

Alex watched him turn the spatula over again. His thumb moved slowly across the carved letters.

The room seemed very quiet.

He could keep guessing. Or he could ask. "Do you like it?"

Mum looked at Alex.

She noticed the worry on his face. She didn't answer for Dad. She simply reached over and rested her hand gently on Alex's knee.

Alex looked back at Dad.

Dad looked down at the spatula. He took a breath. For a moment, he still didn't speak.

Alex waited.

Dad looked at the carved letters again.

Then he looked at Alex.

"I..." He stopped.

Alex waited.

Dad blinked quickly and gave a small, slightly embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Dad shook his head. "Because I wasn't expecting this."

He looked down at the spatula.

His eyes were a little shiny.

"I love it."

Alex stared. "You do?"

"I do." Dad picked up the apron. "This is brilliant."

He pointed to the words. "And, for the record, I have never burned toast more than twice in one day."

Mum raised an eyebrow. "That you can remember."

Dad ignored her. He looked at Alex. "You remembered our kitchen."

Alex looked at the apron.

Then at the spatula.

Then back at Dad.

He had.

The flour. The chopping. The burnt toast.

The talking. Dad standing beside him. Those things had been true before Dad opened the parcel.

They were still true now.

Something warm spread through Alex's chest.

Dad smiled. "You thought about me."

Alex nodded. "I did."

Dad's eyes filled again.

He leaned forward and pulled Alex into a hug. "You are amazing," he said.

Alex hugged him back. "Really?"

"Really." Dad squeezed him. "And very thoughtful."

When he let go, Dad wiped quickly beneath one eye and looked down at the spatula again. Then his expression changed.

"There's one problem."

Alex's stomach gave a tiny jump. "What?"

Dad held the spatula carefully between both hands. "I can't use this."

Alex stared at him. "Why not?"

"Look at it." Dad pointed to the word CHEF. "It's too nice. If I use it, I'll ruin it."

Alex waited.

"I can't ruin a Chef spatula."

"You can use it."

"I couldn't."

"You could."

Dad shook his head. "No. This one is staying safe."

"Forever?"

"Probably."

Alex grinned. "I knew you'd say that."

Dad frowned. "You did?"

Alex nodded. "I thought you might want to keep the special one safe."

Dad looked at him for a moment.

Then at the spatula.

A smile slowly appeared. "You really did think about me."

Alex shrugged. "I tried."

"I know."

Alex reached for the second parcel he'd hidden earlier and brought it over.

Dad stared at it. "You bought me a spare?"

"Yes."

Dad laughed softly. "Of course you did."

He opened the parcel and lifted out the second spatula.

It was plain.

No carved letters. No special handle. Just a spatula.

Dad held it in one hand and the special one in the other.

He looked from one to the other. Then he looked at Alex.

"Right." He held up the first spatula. "This one stays safe." Then he held up the second. "And this one?"

Alex asked.

Dad smiled. "This one is for cooking."

"With who?"

Dad looked at him. "You, Assistant Chef."

Alex grinned.

Dad turned the plain spatula over in his hand. "And this one gets used when we're cooking together."

"Every time?"

"Every time."

Dad placed the special spatula carefully on the shelf.

Alex watched him do it.

The carved letters caught the morning light.

Then Dad put on the apron. He looked down at the words.

"Making memories, occasionally burning toast."

Mum called from across the room. "Occasionally?"

Dad pointed at her. "Christmas morning. Be kind."

Alex laughed.

Dad headed towards the kitchen. "Come on, Assistant Chef."

Alex followed.

The kitchen looked exactly as it had before.

The same cupboards. The same worktop. The same saucepan waiting to be washed.

Dad opened a drawer.

Alex took out a bowl.

Dad picked up the new spatula.

The special one was still sitting safely on the shelf.

Alex glanced at it.

Dad held out the bowl. "Ready?"

Alex nodded. "Ready."

They started cooking.

Dad stirred.

Alex stirred.

The apron moved as Dad leaned over the worktop.

For a while there was only the sound of spoons, cupboards opening and the quiet hum of Christmas morning.

Then Dad reached for the bread.

A thought popped into Alex's head.

What if he burns the toast?

Alex looked at Dad.

Dad looked back. "What?"

"Nothing."

Dad narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't a nothing face."

Alex laughed. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

Alex glanced at the toaster. "Toast."

Dad looked offended. "Alex."

Mum called from the other room. "He's thinking about your record."

Dad shook his head. "My own family."

Alex laughed.

Dad picked up the bread. "Assistant Chef?"

"Yes?"

"Keep an eye on the toast."

Alex grinned. "That sounds like my job."

Dad smiled. "Good."

Alex watched the toaster.

Dad stirred the pan.

The special spatula stayed on the shelf.

The spare one moved easily through the food.

And beside Dad, Alex kept cooking.

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