smile and lifted him onto my lap.
‘Go on, Harry.’ She was a little bit breathless from trying to keep up with her son and flicked some dark blonde hair out of her face. ‘Tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas.’
The little boy looked up at me with huge blue eyes filled with hopes and dreams. It was as though all his festive wishes hinged on me and me alone.
Yikes, don’t mess this up, Alice!
‘What can I get you for Christmas this year, Harry?’ I said in my deepest, jolliest voice.
He thought for a moment, his face twisting into different expressions of deep thought. Once he’d finally reached a decision, he clapped his hands.
‘I want a new bike, a pair of roller-skates and…’ He trailed off, hiding his face behind his chubby little hands.
His mum crouched down and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, darling, you can tell Santa Claus.’
‘Is it an extra-special present?’ I asked. ‘I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll add it to my list. In fact, I’ll put it right to the top!’
His mum gently prised the little boy’s hands away from his face and kissed his head. This seemed to convince him to open up again; he turned his attentions back to me with a flicker of a smile.
‘I…I want my daddy to come home.’
All at once, the mood in the grotto turned very sombre. Harry’s mum took in a sharp breath and pursed her lips, letting out a small hollow chuckle.
‘That’s a big ask for Santa, Harry. A-are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose something else?’
He shook his head, sending his blond hair flying in all directions. ‘No, Mummy, that’s what I want for Christmas. A bike, a pair of roller-skates and Daddy to come home.’
She nodded and her mouth twitched into something like a smile. ‘Well I’m sure Santa will do his best, but remember Daddy lives in Florida with Maureen now. You remember Maureen – she used to help out in your class.’
‘I like Maureen,’ he said, ‘she made up funny songs and smelled nice. Daddy said he’d take me to meet Nemo and Dory. Can he come home after that?’
His mum decided Harry had had enough face time with Santa and lifted him down from my lap. It was all I could do to stifle a chuckle; I hadn’t expected such an intriguing story to unravel.
‘Sorry,’ she said with an embarrassed smile, ‘Daddy ran off to America with Harry’s teaching assistant last year and he’s been missing him ever since!’
‘Oh don’t worry about it.’ I kept up my deep voice as much as I could. ‘Harry’s still top of Santa’s nice list!’
She grabbed his hand and started towards the grotto’s entrance, flashing a grateful smile over her shoulder. ‘Come on, you, we’d better get going.’
Harry stopped in his tracks for a moment and turned to face me. ‘What do you want for Christmas, Santa?’
His mum’s mouth dropped open. ‘Harry! You can’t ask Santa that; it’s top secret!’
I opened my mouth to answer, but found the words stuck in my throat. What I really wanted, you see, couldn’t be found in any department store. The one thing I wanted to find under the tree was the one thing in the world I couldn’t have.
‘Some milk and biscuits will do just fine for me,’ I replied. ‘Plus some carrots for my reindeer.’
*
The rest of the day went relatively smoothly, although being stuck in a thick red suit for hours on end was no picnic. By the time I was finished, I was glad to peel it off; it was like a blast furnace in there. The constant swarm of people had been quite overwhelming too; as someone who purposefully stays under the radar, it wasn’t easy having the spotlight on me all day. I never went anywhere or spoke to anyone; I lived a simple, solitary existence, just the way I liked it.
As I made my way through the vast expanses of Fox’s department store, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to have a nose around. Although I was dead set against celebrating Christmas for a variety of reasons, it was difficult not to notice the festive magic buzzing around the place. There was a special section of the shop just for Christmas gifts; it had everything from delicate crystal ornaments shaped like any animal you could think of, to sumptuous boxes of Belgian chocolates for the chocoholic in the family. Pairs of huge glass bottles containing olive oil and sea salt lined the back wall, along with hobby craft kits, luxury food hampers and fancy bath sets. There was something for everyone in the store’s little festive nook.
I averted my gaze and hurried towards the door. What I wanted wouldn’t be nestled on any of the deep cavernous shelves. I bundled my coat around me in preparation for the wintry early November chill outside, put my head down and quickened my pace. I was no more than a few feet from the exit when a little object to my right caught my eye, stopping me in my tracks. I bent down to pick it up and a sad smile formed on my lips.
Maybe there was something I wanted in Fox’s department store after all.
*
My little cottage in Luna Bay was perhaps the village’s only designated Christmas-free zone. It had been mine for about two years; I’d been able to buy it outright from the sale of my New York apartment. I hadn’t bought it right away though; I’d lived with my mum for a year after what had happened in New York. I loved my cottage; up until recently, I’d been able to run it on my savings from my Broadway days and it provided the perfect escape from the festive season.
There was no Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the living room window, no decorations to festoon the rest of the house with and certainly no gaudy ornaments on the front lawn. My cottage stuck out like a sore thumb; even though it was seven weeks until Christmas, a lot of my neighbours had already got into the festive spirit. I breathed a sigh of relief as I caught sight of it when I stepped off the bus; it was my own little corner of the world where I could shut everyone out and keep myself to myself.
‘Home sweet home,’ I murmured to myself. I couldn’t wait to get inside, pour myself a mug of hot chocolate and settle down with a good book.
Just then, a clamour of music and raised voices caught my attention. It was coming from the Silver Bells Theatre, Luna Bay’s one-stop shop for stage entertainment. The opening bars of a jaunty show tune blasted out onto the quiet street, only to be cut abruptly short and followed by: ‘NO, NO, NO! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, IT’S STEP TWO THREE FOUR, NOT TURN TWO THREE FOUR!’
I walked up the gravel path to the open door, lingering outside for a moment as I suppressed a smile. Given the time of year, the local theatre club was probably rehearsing for its annual pantomime. It was something of a laughing stock in the village because nothing ever went according to plan. The sets wobbled, actors fluffed their lines and the time they’d used live animals for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves had gone down in Luna Bay history. A spark of curiosity ignited within me as I wondered which classic pantomime would be messed up this time. Mother Goose perhaps, or maybe Aladdin? I shuddered to think how they’d pull off the genie and the flying carpet.
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