Christmas came, and Christmas left.

She was tiny when I held her in that hospital room on Boxing Day. Thick dark hair. It gave me the most terrible heartburn when she was growing inside me. Irresistible long lashes. I was a tad jealous. Her eyes were dark and aware as if she had been listening to my thoughts from the moment she clapped eyes on me. She was always a good listener. 

At three, she would sit at the table, uninterested in her dinner but captivated when her mummy and daddy discussed plans for Christmas. We almost thought of asking her if she had any plans; she seemed grown up from such a young age. And she did grow up. She had to.

At eighteen, she moved out and went to university. She married a man much like her father, except he was Greek. She had a baby of her own. Then another one. And another. And she was done. At least, she thought she was. A fourth popped along and scuppered her and her husband’s plans to open their own Greek restaurant. 

That didn’t stop them for long. Four beautiful independent children, a Michelin-starred restaurant, and countless friends who loved sharing in their success. But success came with its strain, and their marriage became a tug-of-war with their dreams. Or rather, it turned out, her husband’s dreams. He always wanted to take it further, but she didn’t. He couldn’t say no, so he left her. And her dear heart, the one that beat alongside mine once upon a time, broke. 

She listened to her friends and her children well, took hold of their encouragement, and opened her own little bakery. Something she had always wanted to do. Nothing fancy, nothing grand. Something quaint, something personal. And Cake Around the Corner became a haven to so many for years to come. They talked, she listened.

She met someone loyal. Someone who danced to the same beat as her. And they spent decades together, laughing, baking, crying, listening, planning, embracing. Until her mind grew foggy, and she closed her eyes and drifted off.

And that’s when…

‘Mama?’ my little girl’s voice called through the swaying wildflowers.

I stood on the path weaving between the glorious gardens, saw the sunshine descend on her face like gold, and held out my arms to welcome my little girl. ‘I’m here.’

Her eyes, now bright and full of life, locked on mine. ‘Mama! Mama!’ She ran and ran and ran until our bodies clasped tight, and our tears of joy mingled with one another’s. 

That Christmas, when she was three, I was run off the road by a drunk driver. Separated for more than eighty years. Except I never stopped watching; I never stopped listening. She got her listening skills from me. And I knew that one day we would meet again. And I couldn’t wait.

‘My little girl, how you’ve grown.’