#sara smith

Their daughter – still being securely held under the arms by Paula – was dressed as a brown Christmas pudding, complete with a massive tulle skirt and a matching hat with a fabric holly leaf sticking out of the top like an antenna.

“Oh, baby,” Maxine took the baby out of Paula’s hold and pulled her to her chest, even as tiny legs kicked against her midsection with glee. “You look beautiful.”

“Doesn’t she?” Paula agreed, eyes brimming with equal measures of adoration and amusement, “Runners Four and Five found it on their supply run for some winter clothes and asked Janine if they could hand it straight to us, since not many citizens could fit in it. Or pull it off as well as our little pudding.”

As if she knew they were saying her praises, Sara let out a stream of babbles, her mouth pressed against Maxine’s red cardigan, leaving a wet mark right on the shoulder.

“My favourite Christmas pudding, by far.” Maxine lifted Sara so she was face to face with her, then mimed eating her stomach, causing more violent kicking feet and loud squeals.

“Remember the first time you tried it?” Paula mused, sitting down next to her partner and hearing a mattress spring twang beneath her.

Maxine grimaced at the memory, “It was so dense! And made of pure alcohol!”

Paula hummed, narrowing her eyes, “I seem to remember that you didn’t mind pure alcohol back in those days.”

“I did when I wasn’t expecting it! And I definitely wasn’t expecting it from a weird little fruit cake that your mother had made!” She argued lightheartedly as she bounced Sara on her lap on instinct as she started to fuss.

“Poor Mama. First, I bring home my new Yank girlfriend with only a couple of hours’ notice, and then, after being so hospitable and feeding her a full dinner, she insults the dessert she’d been slaving over for months leading up to the big day.”

Maxine’s mind flitted back to their first Christmas together as a couple, which was as great as it had been… accidental.

The two had met up after their last shifts, spending the night watching movies together in Maxine’s tiny apartment cuddled on the sofa, never bothering to move over to the bedroom and instead just falling asleep curled up entangled in each other until Maxine’s phone alarm blared at 3am, signalling it was time for her to get ready to head to the airport for her flight home to the States.

After saying a grand goodbye – as if they weren’t going to see each other again in just 14 days – Paula received a call from a slightly panicked and very annoyed Maxine a few hours later, who’s flight had gone from “on time” to “delayed” to “cancelled” due to severe weather.

Neither of them expected the words ‘why don’t you just come to my family’s house?’ to come out of Paula’s mouth, but it was somehow the most practical solution, compared to Maxine sitting alone in her cold London apartment or Paula telling her family that she couldn’t come.

It had been a baptism of fire as Maxine met everyone, answering the same questions repeatedly. ‘Yes, I am Paula’s girlfriend.’ ‘Yes, I’m from America.’ ‘No, I don’t know that person that is also from America, as it is rather big.’  

The day was full of traditions that Maxine had never participated in before yet loved all the same. And as the two sat next to each other at the dinner table, hands clasped under the tablecloth, hidden from view, they both had a feeling that it would be the first of many holiday seasons together.

“I got something else,” Paula said, bringing Maxine’s attention back to the present, “Wait here.”

Maxine kissed her daughter’s chubby cheek as Paula hurried out of the room. “What’s your Mama doing, hey?” She whispered, bouncing the girl as they both waited.

When Paula reappeared, there was a wreath of artificial pine branches with four candles around it, all of different sizes due to how much they’d been burned.

Maxine considered the object, “Do you have some news to share?” She asked jovially.

Paula took her place next to Maxine once more, “Sara was Catholic.”

For a split second, she looked at their daughter in her lap, then realised. “I’m… not sure how practicing she was, but yeah. I think so.”

Paula nodded, looking down at the advent wreath, her thumb brushing against the foliage. “She once told me how she used to take her boys to midnight mass, bribing them by saying they could open one present each when they arrived home.”

Maxine chuckled, a pull tugging at her heart as she remembered their fallen friend, “Always the negotiator.”

“I thought,” Paula began quietly, still looking down, “maybe we could pass on a small part of her tradition?”

Maxine moved the baby over to one side to free up an arm, using her hand to cup her partner’s face and tilt her head towards her. “Absolutely. I love that.”

Paula beamed, seemingly relieved, “We’re… still in the first week of advent, aren’t we?”

Maxine thought about her calendar at the hospital where she marked off each day that had passed since she’d been at Abel Township, even though she knew there was a chance it wouldn’t be 100% accurate, “Yeah, I think so.”

Paula shuffled forward to produce a purple lighter from the back pocket of her trousers, the exterior scuffed and scratched. Maxine was tempted to make a joke about her having a secret bad habit but refrained as to not ruin the heartfelt moment.

The advent wreath was placed on top of their bedside table, and – after a few failed attempts to get the lighter to spark - Paula lit one of the candles in silence.

Sara immediately stared at the small flame, her brown eyes wide as saucers as she reached out a hand to try and touch it. Her mothers laughed, Paula instead grabbing her outstretched hand and rubbing her thumb against the soft skin.