Work Text:
Stéphane Fournier had never treated Nick like a son. Not cruelly, not obviously, simply… distantly. There had always been a space between them that Nick could not cross, no matter how well he did at school, how many rugby medals he brought home, or how perfectly he spoke French.
He never understood why until a Wednesday afternoon in his second year at the University of Leeds.
‘Class,’ said the professor, ‘in this next section we will be exploring DNA ancestries. Earlier in the term, your parents were sent DNA kits, and now it is your turn. We will map all three strands using the DNA Painter programme. As we go, we will highlight specific genes and show which parent they came from.’
The screen behind him flickered to life, diagrams of chromosomes glowing like fragile ladders of light.
‘For example, Mr Nelson here, with his auburn hair, freckles, and higher pain tolerance, a trait helpful in rugby, all relate to a recessive MC1 mutation. Auburn hair requires both parents to carry it, even to produce a little of the red.’
The class laughed. Nick felt heat rise up his neck as he ducked into his textbook, wishing it were deep enough to hide in. His pulse thudded in his ears.
‘Please read the instructions carefully. Once you have finished, seal your kits and leave them on your desk. Results will be ready next session.’
The following week, the lab felt colder than usual. Nick was handed a packet. Inside were three brightly coloured DNA strands, each marked with sequences and alignments. Another page broke it down in stark print:
Nick Nelson — 100% of Sample A
Sarah Nelson — 46% of Sample A
Stéphane Fournier — 0% of Sample A
His entire childhood collapsed into a mathematical line. His chest tightened as the fluorescent lights caught the glossy paper. He thought of birthdays in France, of his father’s sharp corrections whenever his accent slipped, of never being quite enough. Years of trying to be loved into belonging.
‘Let us begin with Mr Nelson again,’ said the professor. ‘The Melanocortin 1 receptor is located on chromosome 16, long arm, band 24.3. You should see it highlighted for each parent. Mr Nelson, would you like to tell us what appears in the two spots for your parents?’
Had he not read the results? Heat flooded Nick’s chest. The lab blurred. The turning pages of other students became a distant whisper.
He stood so fast that his chair screeched across the floor. He had to get out. Now. Before he broke apart in front of them all.
In the hall, ‘Mr Nelson?’ the professor called, voice muffled as if underwater. ‘What is happening?’
‘You are a cruel bully!’ Nick choked out. ‘You made me a spectacle in front of everyone! I had a zero match for my father! You are the professor! You are supposed to be smarter than that! Do you even look at the results?’
‘Oh God,’ the professor breathed. ‘Nick, I am so sorry. In all my years teaching this module, we have never had an unknown zero match. And no, I do not see the results. The Data Protection Act prevents us. The envelopes are barcoded and sealed by the company. Go if you need to. Truly.’
Nick did not remember leaving the campus. He only remembered sitting in his car with the engine off, the world blurring through tears as he tried to breathe around the truth.
An hour later, he FaceTimed Charlie.
Charlie: ‘Hey, Nick. What’s going on? You look like you’ve been crying. You know that’s usually my thing.’
Nick gave a broken laugh.
Nick: ‘I don’t know who I am anymore. My whole life I tried to get my dad to love me, and now he is not even my dad. I A-levelled in French for him. I went out for rugby for him. I was always the dutiful son.’
Charlie listened until Nick ran out of words.
Charlie: ‘I’m guessing you’ll be in Herne Bay this weekend to talk to your mum? Want me to book that little B&B we stayed at last Christmas? You can decompress before you see her.’
Nick: ‘Yeah. Thanks, love. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Charlie: ‘We look after each other. Always. Text me when you’re an hour away and I’ll have pizza waiting.’
Nick: ‘See you soon, love.’
Driving the four and a half hours south, Nick’s emotions turned over like waves: sadness, confusion, anger, then something heavier still. He was furious. Not just at Stéphane, not just at his mum, but at himself. The two people a person should be able to trust most had lied. And his mother would have known exactly how impossible the lie was to maintain.
David looked so much like Stéphane that Nick had never questioned anything. In family photos, the resemblance was uncanny, the perfect father and son, or so he had thought.
An hour and a half into the drive, his phone buzzed.
Charlie: ‘Hope this makes you smile.’
The attached photo did. Charlie, shirtless, grinning, teasing the sheet at his waist. Nick laughed through the last of his tears.
Sod it, he thought. I don’t have to be perfect for them. But I can be perfect for him.
Tomorrow, he would speak to his mother. Tonight, he would be held by his beautiful boyfriend.
Sarah had received Charlie’s warning text, and she was grateful for it. She had always known this day would come. She simply did not know how to tell her son the truth he deserved
‘Hey, Mum,’ Nick called. ‘It’s me and Charlie. We need to talk.’
‘Get yourselves settled on the couch while I make the tea.’
Steam curled from the kettle; the smell of Yorkshire Gold filled the kitchen. She took down the N, S, and C mugs, added sugar, cream, biscuits, and carried the tray out.
‘Don’t be too upset with Charlie,’ she said gently. ‘He texted me about what happened in your class.’
‘Mum, I’m not upset with Charlie.’ Nick took Charlie’s hand; Charlie squeezed back. ‘I’m more upset with you. And with myself. I tried so hard to be what Stéphane and David wanted. And not once did you say a word. Do you know who my father is?’
Sarah fetched a red and gold box. The air in the room seemed to shift. Nick remembered it. The box that had appeared on their step when he was twelve. He remembered opening the door, seeing a red fox across the street, its fur impossibly bright. It had looked at him. Winked, even. Then it vanished. He had not seen the box again until today.
Sarah sat down.
‘I knew that Stéphane was having an affair with Martine, and she was not the first. She was the fifth. He had taken David to Paris, and I… I needed space. So, I gave myself a challenge. I would hike the Great Glen Fault, from Inverness down the lochs towards Glasgow, ending in Edinburgh.’
‘Being a paediatrician in the A&E is draining, and I had to use my time off, so I went on holiday by myself.’
‘I started with a train to London and then a seventy pound flight to Inverness. Once I arrived, I bought all the gear I would need. It would take a few days to go the full distance, some camping, and some lodges along the way.’
Sarah’s voice softened as memory settled over her.
‘The next morning, after a slow breakfast and a steaming cup of tea that warmed my hands, I set out toward my first stop, the Loch Ness Shores Camping Grounds. The road wound gently through the Highlands, each turn opening up another sweep of beauty. The loch was still and vast, as if holding centuries of secrets in its depths. Spring flowers had begun to colour the edges of the water. Primrose and celandine flickered in the breeze, and wild daffodils leaned into the wind. The air smelled of damp earth and heather.’
‘When I checked into the campsite, I noticed a gentleman about my age in the space next to mine with an Airstream. He stood in the sunlight, and his hair caught the light in a way that made it almost glow, a burnished copper gold. His beard framed his mouth, soft yet sure, and his red linen shirt clung to his shoulders just enough to hint at the strength beneath.’
Charlie fanned himself. Nick rolled his eyes but could not hide the smile tugging at his mouth.
‘He nodded at me and went back into his Airstream. I wondered how long I had been staring. I felt myself blushing the same colour as his shirt. The next morning, the Airstream was gone.’
Charlie sensed that Sarah needed a moment. He glanced at the time and said, ‘We should order some lunch soon.’
‘They say forty-five minutes,’ Sarah said once she had finished on the phone. ‘Now, where was I?’
‘Leaving Loch Ness Shores,’ Charlie offered.
‘That is right. Next was the Loch Ness Highland Resort at the far end of the loch. When I checked in, the lady at reception asked if I planned to hike up Ben Nevis later in the trip. She said that women who climb it often ask permission from the oldest woman in the area. She told me I was in luck, because the woman owned the Cailleach le Cochall Pub.’
Sarah paused. Nick and Charlie leaned in.
‘Later that night, I stepped inside the pub. To my amazement, an elderly woman in a veil and shawl approached me at once. She told me, in a voice that sounded older than stone, that before I ascended the mountain, I was to use my womanly wisdom to aid one who was older than he looked, but youthful in spirit. She said I must not let the broken bond with the unfaithful hold me back but allow myself to be both maiden and mother.’
‘That is quite a blessing,’ Charlie murmured.
‘It was. That night, I dreamed of the red-haired gentleman with the beard. He kissed me in the dream. I woke alone, as usual, but more refreshed than I had felt in days.’
‘The next morning the weather turned. Rain hammered down. I still had a long stretch to go.
Then a pickup truck pulling an Airstream passed and stopped ahead. The door opened and there he was.’
Fancy a lift? My name is Nicolas.’
Sarah smiled faintly. ‘I told him my name and asked if I could put my things in the Airstream. He told me the kettle was on and that I should dry off, because he was stopping for a proper cup of tea.’
She paused.
‘I had a box of Yorkshire Gold in my pack. He was very pleased.’
In the Airstream she had seen the photograph.
Nicolas with a bright red fox. The back labelled Nick and Kit, 1997 Rescue. The kettle whistled. The caravan parked. Nicolas stepped in, cheeks pink from the cold.
“Ah, teatime. Thank you, Sarah, for saving me from a boring tea by myself.’
‘His phrasing reminded me of the old woman. One who is older than he looks, she had said.’
Sarah continued.
‘After the tea we went down the road to the Jaggy Thistle Food Stop and ate fish and chips outside. He asked why I was hiking alone with a wedding ring on my finger.’
‘You told him about Stéphane,’ Nick said softly.
‘I did. And he told me that I deserved better. Then he kissed me on the forehead.’
The doorbell rang. Lunch arrived. After they had eaten, Sarah continued.
‘He told me that no magic could stop grief and that he had lost someone he loved very deeply. A fox named Kit. He showed me a picture of a new fox he was going to rescue in Edinburgh. Her name was Alice.’
She drew in a slow breath.
‘That night we sat outside under the stars. I could still hear the old woman’s words. Nicolas was handsome and gentle. He hugged me and everything inside me that had been locked away shattered. We kissed. It felt as if sparks were falling around us. We slept together under the stars at the shore of Ceann Loch.
Nick and Charlie exchanged a soft, knowing smile.
‘The next morning, we passed Loch Lochy and reached Fort William. We ate, slept early and prepared to climb Ben Nevis. We set out at four in the morning. I insisted on sun cream and gave him a straw hat. When we reached the top, he said that the blessing had held. Not a cloud in sight. He took a picture of me in the ruins.’
Sarah handed the photo to Nick.
‘We returned to Fort William late, had dinner, and went to sleep. In the morning, we parted. He said he had to pick up Alice and then drive home. I gave him my address and asked for his surname. He smiled and said, Claus. Nicolas Claus.’
Nick froze.
Sarah continued gently.
‘After he drove away, I finished the last part of the trip that I really wanted to do. I visited the Highland Coos at the Trossachs Visitors Centre. The red blanket you love, Nicky. That came from the pair they had back then, Scotch and Whisky.’
She sat back, her eyes lingering on her son.
‘You were conceived on that journey. No, you are not Stéphane’s. He treated you coldly because he knew. That is why I always called you Nicky, not Nicolas.’
There was a knock at the door.
Sarah stood, composed herself, and opened it. A soft, nervous whisper drifted through.
‘How do I look? I am nervous meeting them.’
‘Charlie, Nick,’ Sarah said, stepping aside. ‘I would like you to meet Nicolas Claus. Nick, this is your father.’
The man who stepped inside had partially greying red hair, a red silk shirt, black jeans and Doc Martens boots. His eyes sparkled with warmth.
Nick’s brain stalled.
Charlie’s eyes went wide.
‘Nick,’ he whispered, ‘your father is Father Christmas.’
Nicolas chuckled, his belly shaking. ‘Charlie is a smart one. You should keep him.’
Charlie followed Sarah into the kitchen to help with supper preparations, leaving father and son alone.
Nicolas settled onto the sofa beside Nick.
‘I imagine you have questions.’
Nick swallowed. ‘Can I have a hug?’
Nicolas smiled kindly. ‘Let me guess. You are tactile, loyal, kind, you bake when you are anxious, and you try very hard to please people.’
Nick’s eyes filled with tears. He nodded.
‘My sweet boy. You are so much like me.’
The hug was enormous, warm, and scented with pine and peppermint. Something else shimmered through it. A soft crackle of energy. Sparkles.
‘You feel that’ Nicolas said.
‘Yes. What is it?’ nick replies
‘A gift you get from me. Pure unconditional Compassion. You can feel it and give it. Few people can. They lose it when they stop believing that I exist. But you never did. Charlie has it too, which surprises me. He has been given so little compassion and still believes. I only wish he would actually ask me for something I can give him.’
Nick laughed. ‘Yes. I noticed.’
‘He has wished for something already this year. But like Susan Walker in Miracle on Thirty Fourth Street, sometimes I cannot give a gift until after Christmas.’
Nick leaned forward. ‘How old are you?’
‘Two answers. I age one hundred years within a year. Every New Year’s Eve at midnight I become a baby again. Right now, I am about fifty in appearance. In total, one thousand seven hundred and fifty-five regenerations.’
Nick blinked. ‘Like Doctor Who.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you really visit every child?’
‘No. Only those who believe. You have always had a visit from me. You were asleep for all of them. And I notice you still have not asked for your Christmas gift this year.’
Nick hesitated. ‘Can it be the same gift every year?’
‘What would that be?’
‘I want to be awake when you visit, so I can have a hug from my father.’
Nicolas’s eyes softened.
‘Birthdays too. And when you marry Charlie in three years, set the date somewhere within the six days around sixteen July, and I will be there. Write a note on the NC paper in the red and gold box and place it on the porch. One of my red foxes will pick it up.’
Nick stared. ‘I saw one when I was twelve. How many have you had?’
‘Let me think. Kit, Alice, Joe, Tobie, Will, Yaz, Corinna, Kizzy, Rhea, Jenny, Ashwin, Evan, Cormac, Araloyin, Leila, Sebastian, Bradley and Darragh. The current ones are Olivia, Hayley, Nima and Fisayo. All rescued from the hunter’s gun.’
Sarah called from the kitchen. ‘Nicky, will you set the table for four?’
Nick stood, heart full. He turned back to his father.
‘Thank you for coming. Dad.’