Christmas morning dawned dark over a town which appeared resentful of the thin sunbeams fingering its drab corners with colour.  Outside the house at 10 Burton Street, it was particularly bleak.  Here, drifts of snow piled thickly against the walls, driven by winds so cold that ice formed the top layer like cake frosting.  News flashes warned drivers in Kent and the southern counties to take special care on roads that were slick and treacherous.  While no sudden shift in these weather conditions was heralded, inside the house it was a different matter.  Inside the house, change was on its way.  Here, a five year old was about to plan a double murder, which would then lead to the solving of a cold case, which would in turn result in two people committing themselves to the eradication of violence and prejudice against women.  To the uninformed, the link between the prevailing weather conditions and these three elements may appear tenuous, but this is not the case.  One thing leads to another, as they say.  Please, let me explain.

At 7 o’clock that same morning, two small children, one five and one six, were permitted to enter their parents’ upstairs bedroom.  They were wished happy Christmas by loving parents who, in the joy of gift distribution, failed to observe the change in their daughter’s facial expression.  So let us, as observers, voyeurs even, take a closer look.  The edges of the little girl’s mouth, which a moment ago had turned upwards, are now turned down.  Her eyes, which had sparkled in anticipation, now sparkle with tears.  Their six-year-old son, on the other hand, maintains the expression of a happy child, well satisfied.  One youngster is passed the handle of a small grey pushchair, the other the handle of a shiny green bicycle.  I will not tell you, dear reader, which child receives which gift, for that you already know. 

On her return downstairs, Maddie put on a brave front.  For her parents’ sake, she smiled through breakfast and she smiled through lunch.  She pulled bonbons, she shared jokes, she ate a little turkey.  Let me tell you, it was an Oscar performance.  Then she found that was the very best she could do, feeling the way she did, and she excused herself from the table. 

“She’s gone to play with her dolls,” her mother explained, smiling brightly at those around the table.  No-one expected her father to smile.  Since the unsolved disappearance of his beloved only sister, Dora, seven years before, the fact was that her father had found little to smile about.  The police had listed it as a cold case but this was hard for him to accept.  Everyone at the table understood this.  Nevertheless, he did his best.  

Further down the table, Maddie’s Uncle David (for your information, he’s the one second from the left in the smart black leather jacket with the lustrous silver buttons) glanced quizzically at his young nephew, who avoided his eye.  They clearly knew Maddie better than her parents did.  Something was amiss.    

Homemade Christmas pudding with brandy butter was served.  “Delicious” murmured the guests. 

“My mother’s recipe” beamed Maddie’s mother. 

The conversation then turned to reminiscences of Christmases past, the sort of small talk that causes everyone not personally involved to stifle a yawn and to wish they were elsewhere.  As outsiders ourselves, let us leave them to it and return to the five-year-old in question.      

Having reached the sanctity of her bedroom, Maddie closed the door and wept.  Why had Father Christmas ignored her letters?  Why had he listened to James and not to her?  Had she not been nice enough to measure up?  She thought she had, yet dolls were the very worst present Saint Nick could have given her.  She could not think of anything more boring.  A beautiful bicycle like the one he had given James was all she had dreamt of for weeks.  She had even told Jess, her best friend at school, that she would let her ride it.  Now she would look foolish.   

With no more tears to shed, Maddie wiped her eyes, forcing herself to face the two dolls.  Dressed in pink gingham, they smiled glassily at her.  She looked at the label attached to each one.  Pauline.  Patricia.  She stuck out her tongue.  “I hate you!” she hissed.  Still that glazed smile.  Beastly, boring dolls!  She glanced at the thin summer dresses.  How silly when it was so cold.  Then she remembered. ‘Exposure’ – that was the word her teacher had used when she had warned them to wrap up well.  Maddie looked out of the window at the snow, piled up almost to the windows.   Prolonged exposure to the cold would kill anything, her teacher had said, even polar bears.  Feeling more hopeful than she had all day, Maddie stood up and took the handle of the pushchair.  This was the solution. It was that simple.  She would tell her parents she had taken the dolls for a walk and simply forgotten where she had left them.  She would cry.  They would eventually find the bodies, feel sorry for her, dispose of the dead dolls and buy her a bicycle.  She hoped it would be purple, with a flashing reflector on the back, like the one she had pointed out to her mother in the bicycle shop a week before Christmas. 

Energised by her decision, it did not take long to execute.  Soon the dolls, dragged through the snow in their pushchair, were wedged up behind the garden shed.  Icicles had formed on the roof.  They dripped slowly onto the snow, the pushchair, the dolls.  By nightfall they would all have frozen.  By the morning, Pauline and Patricia would have suffered prolonged exposure and that would be the end of them.  Relieved, Maddie ran back inside and closed the door.  

So much for the double murder, dear reader, but what about the cold case and the double commitment to eradicate violence and prejudice against women?  Please, I beg you, be patient.  Read on.   

At first, Maddie didn’t recognise the blonde woman sitting on her bed when she returned from the snow.  Then she did. 

“Aunt Dora!” she exclaimed.  “I’ve seen you in photos.  I didn’t know you were coming for Christmas.” 

“Ah!” Her Aunt laughed and hugged her.  “It’s a surprise.  I’m missing, you know.”

“Yes, my Dad told me.  He can’t smile any more.  Where have you been?”

“I was murdered seven years ago.  Tell your Dad I’m buried under the garage at number 25, just down the street.  The man who did it killed himself but, as you know, Maddie, your Dad and the rest of the family still suffer.”  She stopped and looked sternly at her niece.  “Believe me, Maddie, murder isn’t the way to go.”

Guilt showed in Maddie’s stricken face.  She looked down at the carpet.  “Okay”, she whispered. “So what do you want me to do?”       

Her Aunt smiled.  “That’s more like it!  Now, I want you to bring those dolls back in and tell your parents you want to talk to them; ask them both to stop labelling you.  Tell them who you really are.”

Maddie stared at her Aunt.  “Who I really am?”

“Yes.  They’ve labelled you because you’re a girl.  My parents were the same and it’s a sad mistake.  You have your own personality.  There’s nothing wrong with being a girl, or a boy, who likes dolls.  But you don’t and they should know that.  They should know you!”

Maddie shook her head.  “But they say because I’m a girl it’s natural that I’ll like dolls.  How am I going to make them understand it’s not?”

Aunt Dora smiled.  “Tell your father you know he once traded his train set for a teddy bear and he slept with it for years.  I think it only went to the tip when he married your Mother!” 

Maddie gasped.  “My father had a teddy bear?”

Her Aunt laughed.  “Indeed he did.  Now go and get those dolls!”

Maddie nodded.  “Will you be here when…”

“No, I’ll have gone when you get back.  But tell your Dad I’m happy now, so he can smile again.  And remember, I’ll be keeping an eye on you and I never want you to accept any treatment that is given to you just because you’re a girl.  Do you promise me that?” 

“I promise”, said Maddie, reaching up and kissing her Aunt on the cheek.  “Thank you.”  Then she tiptoed from her bedroom and ran to retrieve the pushchair from behind the garden shed. 

“Maddie”, called her father.  “You’ve been asleep for hours.  It’s late.  Everyone’s gone home.”

“You must be hungry” said her mother.  “Do you want to bring the dolls into the family room for tea?” 

Maddie took a deep breath.  She was only five years old, after all, and this took courage.  She followed them both to the tea table.    

“Mum, Dad, can I talk to you about the dolls?”

They stared at her in surprise. 

“What about them?”

“They’re not what I asked for and I’m not that sort of person.”

She met their blank stares.  “What do you mean, Maddie?  All girls love dolls.”

“No, they don’t.  And all boys don’t love train sets either.  Some of them prefer teddy bears.”  She looked pointedly at her father.

He coloured slightly.  “Okay, Maddie.  Who’ve you been talking to?  What’s this about?”

“Aunt Dora” she said.

“Are you mad!” her father gasped.  “What are you saying?  She’s missing…”

“Yes, I know.  She was murdered and she says you’ll find her body under the garage at number 25,” Maddie said quietly.

Her father gripped her shoulder hard.  “Murdered!  Number 25!  Who’s been putting this nonsense into your head?” he yelled. 

“Just a minute, Don.”  His wife looked at Maddie.  “What’s this all about?” 

“Aunt Dora stopped me murdering those dolls” she whispered, avoiding her mother’s eye.  “She said murder isn’t a good way to go.”  

Her parents stared at her. 

“You were going to murder your dolls!” 

Maddie nodded mutely. 

“I think you need to go to your room and we’ll decide what to do about this, young lady,” her mother said angrily.  “Maybe the school counsellor can help you.  I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”

Maddie’s father shook his head.  “No, Penny.  There’s more to it.  I did have a teddy bear and I did swap my train set for it.”

His wife stared at him.  “So what do you want to do?”

“Silly as it sounds, I’m going to speak to the police.”  He looked apologetic. “I wouldn’t want to let Dora down.”

“The child has a dream and you go to the police.  I don’t believe this!” Maddie’s mother shook her head.

Maddie’s father knelt down beside his daughter.  “Did Aunt Dora say anything else?”  he asked.

Maddie nodded.  “She said she’s happy now, so you can smile again.” 

Tears welled in his eyes and he nodded.  “Anything else?” 

Maddie looked at him.  “Yes.  She said she’ll be keeping an eye on me and she never wants me to accept things that happen to me just because I’m a girl.”   She hesitated.  “What will you do if the police find Aunt Dora’s body, Dad?”    

He took her hand and smiled.  “We’ll have a funeral for her at last and I’ll work on getting to know my children better.  Now what was it you wanted for Christmas?” And so it was, dear reader, that Aunt Dora at last received the funeral she deserved, with Maddie riding alongside the coffin on a large purple bicycle with a flashing reflector while James rode behind the cortege on his bike of shiny green.  You’ll also be glad to hear that the dolls, Patricia and Pauline, found a home with a small girl who loved them dearly and never once thought of murdering them.  It then follows, of course, that Maddie’s father smiled often, and never again labelled anyone; indeed, in later life he stood alongside Maddie as they carried out vital work in the field of eradicating violence and prejudice  against women.  And needless to say, the story of that day has been told at Christmas lunch every year since then and hasn’t bored anyone yet, not even those who were not personally involved.