A storybook where they become the hero.

Lily had already said goodnight to the Christmas tree three times. She crept back down in her pyjamas to say it once more, because the third one had been a bit rushed. It was the most beautiful tree there had ever been, with the golden star shining at the very top.

Then a gust of wind came WHOOSHING down the chimney. The tree shivered, and the star tipped off the very top, dropped deep into the branches, and was gone. Now, in Lily’s house everybody knew that the star was how Santa found them. No star, and he might fly straight past.

Lily had only learned bows that autumn, but she had practised on every shoe in the house. Loop, loop, pull, and a double knot. The whole village cheered. ‘What can we do for you?’ said Nutmeg. ‘Nothing!’ said Lily. ‘I have to find the star!’

And there, at the very bottom, among the roots, was the star. Lily ran and threw both arms round it. It was a good deal bigger in here than it had looked from the sofa.

‘One, two, three,’ said Lily, ‘PULL!’ BOOM went the drum, and the soldiers heaved in time. The biscuits pushed. And slowly, then faster, the star rose up the shaft with Lily riding on it, past the gingerbread village, past the soldiers’ hall, up and up.

Then out through the golden door went Lily, and there she was, back on the footstool, as big as ever, with the star shining overhead. ‘Goodnight, tree,’ whispered Lily. And from somewhere on a low branch, very softly, came a tiny BOOM, boom.

Brian was trying extremely hard to go to sleep, which, as anybody who has attempted it will tell you, is the most reliable method ever discovered for staying wide awake. He had tried lying still. He had tried counting, and squeezing both eyes shut and being asleep as hard as it is humanly possible to be asleep. Now he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, as wide awake as a person can be.

And then, at the precise moment Bramble the elf did up the last buckle, something went SNAP. The small silver bell at the very front of the harness came off, bounced twice, and went away down a chute into the building, ringing merrily the whole way, which nobody found nearly as charming as it sounded.

So Brian used his eyes instead, spotted a flash of silver under a bench, and went for it flat out. And he would have had it. He genuinely would have had it. But a rocking horse came swinging past at the very worst moment available, caught the bell on its runner and flicked it up onto a belt carrying boxes to the floor above. Rocking horses have no idea what they are doing. That is rather the trouble with them.

And there, rolling along a bench and minding its own business, was the bell. Brian got both hands round it and held on with everything he had. He had it. He actually, definitely, finally had it. And then a long ribbon of green and pink light came curling past, plucked the bell straight out of his hands, and swept Brian away with it, up through the hatch and out into the sky.

So Brian turned round and ran the other way. Down the ladder, along the deck, all the way back to the sleigh, and got there first, and stood at the harness with the empty strap held up in both hands, breathing hard, waiting. And the bell came down off that roof and arrived like it had been meaning to all along. CLICK. ‘How did you ever get it back?’ said Santa. ‘I stopped chasing it,’ said Brian.

‘Well then,’ said Santa. ‘You had better get in.’ So Brian climbed up beside him, and eight reindeer leaned into the harness at exactly the same moment, and the whole enormous sleigh came up off the deck as though it weighed nothing, up over the roofs and over the cloud, with every bell on that harness ringing together at last, and the whole sky behind them hung with green and pink.

Grace woke up before the sun did. She had gone to bed in her clothes and her woolly hat, which was not comfortable, but which saved a great deal of time. Today was the day the animals decorated the tree.

Then it opened, just a little, and Badger looked out. ‘Happy Christmas!’ said Grace. ‘I don’t like Christmas,’ said Badger. ‘Too much singing. And my paws are cold.’ And the door shut again.

Then, when it began to get dark, the lanterns were lit one by one. And the tree shone from the very bottom of the trunk all the way up to Mouse’s little straw star.

That night, at home, Grace kept thinking about it. Not the tree, and not the singing. The cold paws. So Grace sat at the kitchen table with the grey wool until the fire was nearly out, and made two mittens big enough for badger paws.

In the morning Grace went back through the wood alone and knocked, and held them out. Badger looked at the mittens for a long moment. ‘Why would you give me these?’ he said. ‘Because it’s Christmas,’ said Grace. And then Grace went home.

The feast was warm and crowded and much too loud, and Grace sat in the middle of it feeling perfectly happy. Right beside her there was one empty chair that nobody had set a place at, and nobody mentioned it.