The Christmas Star Of Willowbrook

The next day, Ella woke with a fluttering feeling in her chest.

It wasn’t quite excitement, and it wasn’t quite worry. It felt like something in between, like standing at the top of a hill, knowing you were about to roll a snowball and not knowing how big it might grow.

She hurried downstairs, her socks slipping on the wooden floor.

“Mum,” she said, barely stopping to breathe. “What if we had a Christmas song in the square?”

Her mother looked up from the sink, surprised. “A song?”

“A big one,” Ella said, hands waving. “Everyone singing together. Like Grandpa said they used to.”

Mum smiled gently but shook her head. “Oh, sweetheart… people are very busy this time of year.”

Ella’s shoulders sank just a little.

But Grandpa, who was buttering toast nearby, cleared his throat. “Busy people are exactly the ones who need a song.”

Ella’s eyes lit up.

That afternoon, wrapped in scarves and mittens, Ella went from house to house. She asked Mrs Bell at the bakery, who smelled of cinnamon and sugar. She asked Mr Hargreaves, who always claimed he couldn’t sing a note. She even asked the twins who lived above the post office.

Most smiled kindly.
Some laughed.
A few promised to think about it.

But no one said yes right away.

By the time Ella reached the square, her feet were cold and her confidence felt thin as ice.

She sat on the edge of the frozen fountain and stared at the darkening sky.

“What if I’m wrong?” she whispered.

Grandpa appeared beside her, as if he’d heard the thought itself.

“Change doesn’t always arrive with a cheer,” he said. “Sometimes it tiptoes.”

Ella nodded.

She took a breath and began to sing, quietly, not caring who might hear.