‘I think,’ Hayley started, ‘that we should make a snowcharacter.’
Angel eased her eyes open. ‘Like what?’
Straight away, her brain told her Superman. She shook her head, dislodging the notion. He was not a character to bring to mind. And Superman’s eyes were blue, not pistachio speckled with chocolate flakes. She swallowed before replying. ‘Like Bart Simpson.’
Angel’s eyes opened wider. ‘How about a snowpresident.’
‘Good luck with Abe Lincoln’s hat.’
Angel smiled. ‘Oh, Mum, you’re so funny.’
‘Now I really know you’re tired.’
Angel let out a sigh and Hayley put the brush down on the bed.
‘What’s the matter?’ Hayley asked.
‘You know how I’m not sure I believe in Father Christmas any more.’
‘Yes, and you know I told you if you don’t believe, you won’t get any presents.’
‘Yes, well, what if something I asked for can’t be bought… or made?’
Hayley stilled, wishing she still had the brush in her hands. This was the conversation she’d been waiting for since October. The very first time she had heard Angel’s night-time request for someone to magically bring her father to her had been on the lastnight of half term. And it had made her cry because Angel had never asked her outright about him.
‘Well,’ Hayley began, ‘if it’s something that can’t be bought or something that can’t be made by the toymaker then you have to believe in something else.’
‘What?’ Angel asked.
‘Wishes.’ Hayley swallowed. ‘You have to believe that wishes can come true.’
Angel screwed up her nose. ‘But that’s like believing in magic.’ She tutted. ‘Although Dynamo is a very good magician, I do know it’s not real.’
‘Wishes aren’t like magic. Wishes, well, they’re a bit like dreams. And dreams aren’t magic. They’re something you long for, something you can work towards.’
Angel was staring at her like she was a lunatic.
‘So, say my dream was to win the National Lottery. I wouldn’t have a chance of achieving that dream unless I bought a ticket. And if I bought a ticket every week for the rest of my life I’d…’
‘Still die poor?’ Angel offered.
Sometimes, Angel was too clever for her own good. ‘Perhaps the lottery wasn’t a very good example. Let’s say my dream is to marry Prince Harry.’
Angel slapped a hand over her eyes. ‘Mum, you’re far too old for him. You’d have a much better chance with Prince Andrew.’
‘I think I might be a bit old for him too, if you believe the rumours.’ Hayley sighed. ‘All right, not Prince Harry or Prince Andrew then, how about… Jude Law.’ She waited for any immediate objections. ‘Not too old, not too young, handsome, has children…’
‘Mum!’
‘Well, if my dream was to marry Jude Law, I’d have to…’
‘Do something with your hair,’ Angel answered.
Hayley put a hand to her hair and opened her mouth in shock. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’
‘Let’s get back to Jude Law. He’s growing on me.’
‘I think I want to know what’s so wrong with my hair that Jude Law wouldn’t want to marry me.’
