All I want for Christmas

I don’t want a lot for Christmas. There’s just one thing that I need. I don’t care about the presents. Underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my own. More than you could ever know. Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is....

My Emily’s case notes from Broadmoor.

I know! She’s not my Emily. She lived in 1882, murdered her child and has absolutely nothing to do with me but she’s keeping me awake at night. Her aunt chats to me about it, her mother sobs as she dictates a letter to her daughter. Her grandfather writes another bawdy song and gallops past, letting me know that everyone thought the horse was ‘bow-wow mutton’ until he got his hands on it. 

This is totally normal behaviour, right? There’s nothing to worry about here. 

Although I’m having a great time I am beginning to wonder if this fantasy life/ historical research might be a little on the odd side.

I was out walking when I took a call from a friend who was having to self isolate.

“Are you out?” she asked, jealousy dripping off her tongue.

“Oh, yes, sorry. Shouldn’t rub it in.”

“Where are you?” she said, hoping to live vicariously.

“The cemetery.”

“Oh, er, um” 

There was an awkward moment. 

“Oh no. I love it. It’s my favourite place. I’m wandering round and finding all the people that were alive in 1882 and I try to imagine what they thought about Emily.”

“Oh, right,” she said, “That’s perfectly normal” 

You could tell she was glad she had to be stuck in doors and didn’t have to mix in society with nutters who wandered the grave yard talking to ghosts about murderers. 

I told her that I’d found out that Emily had been sent to Broadmoor and that her records were in the Berkshire records office and that I was hoping to get copies before Christmas.

“You don’t want a lot for Christmas then.” she asked.

“No. You’re right. I don’t want a lot for Christmas, all I want is Boroadmoor case notes.”

I’m sure I heard my friend mutter. “Hmmm, totally normal!” Under her breath before humming the Mariah Carey song

The good news is that I’m going to get my wish. The notes are on their way. The transcribed part is already in an email and so I’m off to research the difference between a bonnet and a hat.