What came Next (A Short Story Collection)

Family

Outside the window, snowflakes drifted down to the already covered ground. The falling snow had painted the streets white and Isabel couldn't help but think of icing sugar being sprinkled on top of a cake. It made her stomach growl with hunger.

"Come Izzy," her mother, Rosie Ealing, said from the door, "let me sort your hair out."

Isabel clambered off the window seat where she had been sitting for over half an hour. Her legs were stiff with their lack of use, but the Christmas excitement made it easy to ignore. She wanted nothing more than to be at her grandfather's house to open her presents and enjoy the luscious feast that had no doubt been prepared. She could almost smell it as her mother ran a brush through her hair.

"What were you doing last night? Crawling through a hedge rather than sleeping?"

"No, I was asleep! Promise!"

"Hm. I'm not sure I believe you. There might be a few sticks and leaves hidden somewhere here." Her mother tickled her sides, sending Isabel into fits of giggles. "What colour ribbon would you like for your hair?"

"Blue!"

"Good choice. Now, sit still and let me finish. Your father is probably wondering where we are."

Isabel tried to sit as still as she could, imagining herself as a statue or a sculpture made of ice, but her excitement had become too much. She fiddled with a loose thread on her dress sleeve, drummed her fingers on her thighs, and tapped her leg against the chair. Christmas had always been her favourite time of year, as it meant that the entire family would be under one roof. That and her grandfather's cook, Mrs Jenkins, always prepared the best Christmas feast.

Once her hair had been tied up with a blue ribbon, her mother helped her to lace up her winter boots. Isabel grabbed a grey shawl from her bed and followed her mother from the room and down the stairs. Her father, Robert Ealing, stood at the bottom of the stairs, pocket watch in hand. He snapped it shut and looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, a smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well, well, don't you look pretty," he said, holding his hand out to Isabel.

She took his hand. "Do I?"

"You do." He lightly kissed her hand. "You are the spitting image of your mother."

"The face she pulls when she's doing something wrong is all you, Robert."

"I suppose I must take credit for something." her father smiled, kissed his wife on the cheek, and checked his pocket watch again. "Shall we be off? I expect a certain someone would like to open her Christmas presents."

"Yes, we don't want to be late."

Isabel's father nodded, tucked his pocket watch into the pocket of his suit jacket and held the front door open. Isabel skipped out onto the front steps, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her arms to protect herself from the bitter chill. Snow crunched underfoot as she jogged down the steps, her mother calling out a word of warning about the ice.

The family motorcar sat on the road with Marsh, the chauffeur, standing beside an open door. Marsh offered a small smile to Isabel as she scrambled into the back seat, bouncing up and down a little as she waited for her parents. Having been up for hours — the excitement of Christmas day had overtaken the need for sleep — Isabel couldn't wait to open her presents, which were at her grandfather's house.

Every year, her entire family would gather at her grandfather's estate to open presents, eat the festive meal, and play games. Isabel had never cared much for the games growing up, favouring to play with her new dolls or spinning top instead. She enjoyed being around her family, though. Family meant everything to her parents and Isabel had come to enjoy their company too.