Duncan Macleod sat up straight and stretched aching shoulders. He was tired but elated. It meant so much for these poor kids to experience the ‘Magic of Christmas’. He smoothed down the long white beard, set his hat at a jaunty angle and awaited the next child.

This was the fourth year he’d played Santa at the ‘West Night Shelter for Homeless Families’. Every year since Tessa had died he’d avoided being on his own on Christmas, it brought back too many painful memories. It had been a special time for them; hanging the decorations, putting presents under the tree, baking Christmas biscuits. He knew from long experience he’d eventually come to term with the loss but that didn’t help especially on Christmas Eve. Far better, he thought, that he should be here making a difference, bringing happiness to the needy than at home brooding on the past and what could have been.

This year he and the staff had made a beautiful grotto; multi-coloured baubles shone, stars twinkled. He’d spent the last year hand carving and painting a beautiful Nativity scene which took pride of place in a holly laden alcove. This was a kingdom of enchantment for children whose only experience of the world was darkness and misery.

It felt good to do this, to make a difference to these abused kids lives. To help them realise that there was more to life than empty bellies, cold doorways and the prospect of pain. He smiled to himself. For tonight and tomorrow, at least, these families would have hot food, a safe place to sleep and a share in the joyfulness of Christmas. It was only a pity he couldn’t do more.

A furtive motion caught his eye. A tiny girl, no more than five or six, crept through the door. Her clothes were much too large, obvious hand me downs, her face thin, scarred by a knife wound on her left cheek. She gazed round in wonder her eyes wide, her mouth open. She stopped, swaying slightly, unsure of whether to come in further or run away.

Duncan patted his knee.

‘Ho, ho, ho’ he chuckled. The girl looked terrified, who knew what she had experienced on the streets. A softer approach was needed to gain her confidence. Duncan sat on the floor his head now at her eye height. He waited hoping to reassure her that it was safe.

‘What would you like for Christmas?’ he asked gently.

The girl approached nervously - a carer in the doorway encouraging her.

‘Go on dear, it’s all right, Santa won’t hurt you. He’s a good man.’

The girl sat on the floor at arms length from Macleod and looked at him with big, blue, sorrowful, eyes. This close her poverty was obvious, skeletal legs poked from under her patched dress

‘A dolly’ she whispered finally ‘Please, I wanna a dolly’

Duncan sighed with relief, so many children here had asked for t hings he couldn’t give; an end to their poverty, the return of brothers and sisters, a happy stable family.

He’d been advised by the staff on what to buy, what the children were likely to ask for. He’d wanted to buy bigger, better things but knew that simple was best, the children were less likely to have them stolen or sold by older siblings for drug money

He pulled a beautifully wrapped parcel from his sack and held it out to her. In one rush, fearful the gift would be withdrawn, she snatched the box and scampered through the door. The Highlander smiled sadly. That a child of her age should be so untrusting of adults, what was the world coming to?

At that moment he felt an Immortal buzz. He looked at his watch, Richie was early, he still had one present to give out. He was sure the young Immortal would be happy to wait. Richie knew what this was like he’d been there himself, knew how important this haven of warmth was.

From a back room a choir started ‘Away in a Manger’ the beautiful voices, coming from such degradation, moved him to the edge of tears.

Then a small boy crept through the door, his face hidden by a baseball cap, Duncan lowered tear misted eyes. One more of societies rejects, a boy for whom any hope of a normal life was a distant prospect. He struggled to control his emotions.

‘Hello, little boy, what would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?’

‘Your head!’ The boy suddenly produced a sword and swung it towards the Highlander.

Too late his sight cleared and he recognised the child.

‘Kenny’ the last words on his lips.