Malcolm ( & open )
Malcolm knew what the deal was for Christmas morning, since he remembered the year before, and the stupid Labour party rosette the island had gifted him. He was tempted not to look at all, but curiosity was getting the best of him, and he just had to look.
He walked around the tree, trying to act disinterested, as if he was just there by chance- but he was discreetly (at least he hoped) eyeing the parcels of various sizes under the tree.
And then he saw his name written upon an envelope, balancing on the branches at the bottom of the tree. Oh, forget cool exterior. He grabbed it, turned it over and tore it carefully open, letting the enclosed photograph fall into his hands. His beautiful daughter, a photo from her last birthday by the looks of it. He had been on the island- had he been there as well? Had he missed it?
Well, it didn't matter. She looked healthy and happy, and that was all that mattered to him. It was the perfect present.