**A Touch of Magic in Later Years: How One Father Christmas Brought Hope Back to Granny**
Granny Alice sat at her kitchen table, knitting woollen socks. Her passport read Annabelle Margaret, but everyone in the village simply called her Alice. The little hamlet near York carried on with its quiet routines, and on this last day of December, Alice certainly expected nothing magical.
Then, the door creaked open, and in the hallway appeared a figure in a red coat with white trim—tall, with a bushy beard, wellies on his feet, and a sack slung over his shoulder. Alice squinted, adjusted her spectacles, and froze.
“Blimey… Father Christmas?!”
“Good day, Alice love! Mind if I come in?” he boomed cheerfully.
“Well, I never…” she murmured. “And what brings you to my doorstep?”
“Have a look at the calendar—it’s the 31st of December! The big day’s almost here!” He grinned.
“New Year’s Eve, right,” Alice sighed. “But why visit an old woman like me? I’m no child—I shan’t recite poems or climb on stools, not with this bad back of mine.”
“Oh, I’m not here for that,” he said earnestly. “Just wanted to see how you’re getting on. Done any good deeds this year?”
Alice shrugged. “Not that I can recall… Knitted mittens for the grandkids, a scarf or two for the neighbours when they asked. Just to pass the time, really. Does that count?”
“’Course it does,” he nodded. “By the by, where’s your old man?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to you? Fancy a pint with him?”
“Nah, don’t be daft,” he chuckled nervously. “I’m magic, me—can’t go mixing with mortals like that.”
“Oh aye? Well, my old fella puts on quite the show after a few whiskies—call that magic, do you? Folks round here are so gloomy these days, he goes door to door just to cheer ‘em up. Should’ve been on the stage, if you ask me.”
Father Christmas blinked. “Him? An entertainer? Bloke can’t even carry a tune!”
“Can’t sing?!” Alice threw her hands up. “His shanties could get a statue jigging!”
With a laugh, Father Christmas reached into his sack and handed her a small parcel. “Here, love. A proper wool shawl—wear it, and you’ll feel ten years younger. You’ve earned it.”
Alice untied the wrapping and gasped. “Good heavens, it’s beautiful! Only ever dreamed of such a thing… Thank you, Father Christmas! But why such kindness?”
“Thank that husband of yours. Wrote me a letter about you, he did.”
With that, “Father Christmas” stepped into the hall, quickly shrugging off the coat, peeling away the beard, and stuffing them into a chest, muttering,
“Blind as a bat, our Alice is. Didn’t recognise her own husband’s voice or face… Or is she just pretending? Either way, best take her to the city come spring, get her eyes checked.”
Back in the kitchen, Alice twirled in front of the mirror, adjusting the shawl with a smile, whispering,
“That’s how it is with you and me, Johnny… Pretending to be deaf, pretending to be blind when all we’re really doing is loving each other. Hard to bicker when you’ve got your very own magician, isn’t it?”