Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
‘I bet he stole those flowers out of the museum,’ Helen says as she organises books off a wheeled trolley. ‘Where on earth are you getting thirty red roses in the middle of the night?’
‘It is London,’ Olga says. ‘I reckon there is someone you could call if you paid them enough money. That is nice, so many flowers. That is the sign of a gentleman.’
There was something very sweet about it all, the flowers, the gesture of turning up unannounced, the contrition in his tone.
However, once he came into my maisonette, he was less gentlemanly with the way we had sex on the stairs.
Turns out it is easy to get out of a jumpsuit when it’s already ripped to shreds from a Christmas tree netting funnel.
‘So what does this mean?’ Helen asks. ‘Are you dating?’
I don’t know the answer to that one. He stayed the night, he ordered in breakfast for us, he stayed long enough for it not to feel like a dirty one-night stand.
There was a moment in bed where it felt like we’d rewinded to 2017, our bodies entangled in my double bed as the winter sun streamed through the windows.
‘I have no idea, but we’re meeting tomorrow night again for what he describes as a proper date,’ I say.
Olga claps her hands. ‘And soon we will have money to fix the roof. You put out a few more times, yes?’
Helen looks me in the eye, as if searching for my thoughts on the whole matter.
I would let on if I knew myself. It’s Nick from university.
There is a real comfort to be with him; he knows me already so I can totally be myself with him.
In fact, the years have done us both well, we’re our own people, we’ve grown up and know what we want from a relationship – it’s none of this young love where we’re trying so damn hard to please all the time.
And both of us are floored by the magic of it all, carried by a feeling that the universe has asked us to give this another go.
That feels like something beyond our control, a power greater than us.
So with the chemistry still there, there’s excitement at being thrown back together and seeing where this goes.
The road forked for a reason – so we could grow – and now we have come back together with a wealth of maturity and experience under our belts.
This could be a great love. The key word there is could.
‘Maybe you should see how it all goes? Don’t jump into anything if you don’t feel ready?’ Helen says, offering a more considered opinion. ‘Christmas will do that to you. Some fairy lights and a whiff of cinnamon and most girls will just drop their knickers.’
A person appears at the counter looking a little perturbed. ‘Excuse me, do you have a specific biography section?’
‘We do,’ Helen says. ‘Over by the sofas, near travel, bottom shelf.’
‘Is that what gets you going then, Helen? A bit of Christmas?’
‘Well, John and I probably have more sex at Christmas but solely because it’s a means of staying warm so we don’t have to put the heating on.’
I laugh, a little too loudly given it’s a library, but she returns me a look, one which reads care and worry that as much as we joke, she wants me to find something authentic.
She offers me another chocolate from the tin behind the counter.
Such is the way with libraries at the moment that everyone comes in with sweets and gifts to say thank you for looking after them all year, for giving them our recommendations and pointing at the right shelves, and I guess for also being guardians of somewhere safe and reassuring.
‘Oh dear, rugrats approaching,’ Olga says, and we turn to see a crowd of toddlers race through the door.
We often see the same faces at the moment as Lucy appears to be a big selling point – the kids are starting to come dressed up in onesies and Disney costumes.
I’ll admit, it brings a bit of life to this old building and turns this library into the community centre it deserves to be.
A woman comes up to the counter with a huge pile of baby books. ‘For your drive?’ she says.
‘That is so kind, thank you.’ I slip the bag underneath the counter and then look to the clock, realising an important element of our story-time session is missing.
Lucy is many things but she’s usually punctual, so she has time to get changed and get into character.
She only has ten minutes to get through the door. I go to my bag and get out my phone.
Lovely, I am sorry. I’ve got a fever and feel crappy so won’t be able to make today. Sending someone else to take my place
Why is she winking at me? Will I know this person?
She works in the theatre so I assume any replacement can do the whole character thing and come in costume.
I only hope they’ll let me pay them in kebabs.
I mean, this isn’t a complete disaster. If no one turns up then I can read.
I am wearing Christmas themed clothing, I can attempt reasonable accents.
Or we can wheel out a television and show them Frozen. Helen can sing.
‘Holy mother-of-pearl,’ I suddenly hear a voice mutter.
I look over at Helen whose face is a deep blush.
Has someone been graffitiing in Lee Child again?
But I follow her gaze to the front door, to the person standing in the foyer, reading signs.
Hold up. I know you. He opens the door and looks around the place.
It’s Nick. Christmas-tree Nick. Dressed as Santa.
He sees me and waves, walking over as Olga and Helen look at me, wide-eyed.
I don’t know why but I straighten out my Christmas-themed pinafore dress and check the corners of my mouth for remnants of chocolate pralines.
‘Kay, isn’t it? Hi,’ he says, standing at the counter. A woman looking to borrow a book goes in her bag and retrieves her glasses to get a better look.
‘Nick.’
‘YOU’RE NICK!’ Olga shrieks, and I look over to her mortified expression.
The problem is they only know about the other Nick.
It’s early, I’ve not had time to fill them in about the events of that night and this Nick presently stood in front of us.
This Nick looks at me curiously, assuming that he’s become the subject of Christmas office gossip.
‘This is another Nick,’ I whisper, before turning to him.
‘He works with Lucy. I assume you’re the person she sent to help us out,’ I say, turning to him and trying not to smile.
I know Lucy and I am calling bullshit on her fever story.
She still thinks old Nick dumped me in a museum.
She doesn’t know he came back and had his reasons for leaving me at that party.
So this is Lucy in her infinite wisdom trying to set me up with a new Nick.
She’s probably somewhere outside, hiding in a bush, rubbing her hands together that her plan is coming together.
I look at Nick’s outfit; he has a hat, his robe is tied up with a black belt and he’s wearing black leather gloves that in my mind look a tad kinky. That is so wrong. This is Santa.
‘If I am a suitable replacement. She rang in ill at work and explained the situation. I thought it would also be an opportunity to return this.’ I look down at his hands to see a black cashmere scarf, my name written in the label, one that I obviously left at the farm that evening.
‘Does your mum still label your things then?’
Helen and Olga can barely talk because they’re trying to work out why studmuffin Santa has my scarf and why he isn’t the other Nick.
‘I lose things,’ I say. ‘Lucy didn’t say you did this sort of thing. I thought you were a farmer.’
‘I’m not a farmer,’ he says a little grumpily.
Yes, you’re good looking but we still need to work on that snappiness.
‘But I have nieces, nephews. I’ve read many a bedtime story.
’ Olga lets out a little noise at this point, like air squeaking out of a balloon.
‘Lucy said this was important. She was crying on the phone. She didn’t want to let the children down. ’
Give that girl her awards already. The children would have coped. ‘This is really out of your way.’
‘Not really. I had to deliver some trees in town. It fit in with my schedule.’
I swear Olga and Helen are holding hands, watching this entire interaction.
‘I also can’t pay you. I normally pay Lucy in kebabs.’
‘Then I’ll do it for free,’ he shrugs. ‘Glad to see you got all the greenery out of your hair,’ he says, his eyes tracing my curls again. I realise I’m also wearing very fetching antlers on the top of my head.
Helen swings her head around, as if she’s wondering if this man found me in a tree, or whether I did something with him in a bush?
She seems comically angry that I failed to mention any of this, and instead wasted time telling her boring stories of roses and people I once went out with at university.
‘How do you deal with being around all those trees? I swear I had pine needles everywhere when I got home.’
‘Everywhere?’ he says, with his head tilted curiously. Well, in enough places for the other Nick to ask me how exactly I fell into that Christmas tree. ‘Hazard of the job.’ I suddenly get what Lucy means when she says there’s a serious streak there. That should have been a joke.
‘I smelt lovely though,’ I continue.
‘That’ll be the pine.’
I nod, smiling. I know. A little girl in a reindeer onesie runs through the doors and immediately sees Nick standing there at the counter, her eyes following his tall six-foot figure up to the ceiling. She stares at him open mouthed for a moment. ‘Who are you?’
He bends down. ‘I’m Santa.’ I notice Helen angling her head to take a better look at his arse as he does so.
‘You don’t look like Santa. Why’s your beard brown?’ she asks, reaching out to him without hesitation.
‘I had it dyed.’
‘The Santa at the shopping centre is old and fat. You’re not fat.’
‘I went on a diet,’ he says.
‘Was it SlimFast?’ she says sweetly. ‘My mummy went on that to get ready for Lanzarote.’
‘Lila, I told you not to run ahead…’ her mum says following her in, a rucksack on her back and a small Tupperware of carrots in her hand, her hair scraped back into a messy bun. She trots in and sees Santa and then looks to me. ‘Who on earth…?’
‘Mummy, it’s Santa,’ Lila says.
‘Hello, Lila’s mummy. I know you…’ Nick says, and Lila’s mummy gives him a look which says if that were true, she would have remembered.
I’m also interested to see where this is going.
He turns back to Lila. ‘Did you know your mummy keeps me informed to see if you should be on my good list? She tells me you like Lilo & Stitch and carrots which is good if you’re a reindeer…
they help you see in the dark.’ Lila giggles sweetly.
‘You ready for story time, little missy?’
‘Yeah,’ she says. Nick puts his hand out for her to fist bump but before she can, he opens his palm to reveal a little chocolate coin.
‘Thank you, Santa!’ she says, before running off. Lila’s mum looks at him curiously before following her daughter to the children’s section.
Helen, Olga and I stand there staring at him.
‘How did you know she liked Lilo & Stitch?’ I ask.
‘She had a Stitch rucksack,’ he says, as if it wasn’t plainly obvious to the rest of us. ‘I assume I’m headed through there then. What am I reading today?’
‘We’re starting with Mog’s Christmas,’ I say.
‘Classic. OK then. You coming?’ he asks.
‘I think I already did,’ Helen mumbles under her breath, and I giggle.
‘Yeah,’ I say, flipping the countertop up and turning to Helen and Olga before I accompany Santa to the waiting kids.
Those two need to stop grinning like absolute buffoons.
I scoop up a pile of carefully selected children’s Christmas tales.
Christmas Tree Farm Nick is here. This is a very strange example of worlds colliding.
I don’t think many would agree to do this, so why is he here?
What has Lucy told him? Why does he smell so nice? That’s not pine.
‘Thank you for doing this, it’s very kind of you,’ I say.
‘I thought it might be an interesting diversion from carting trees around all day,’ he says, looking around the library. ‘All your trees in here are fake.’ There’s a hint of disapproval in his voice.
‘It’s a money thing. Fake means we can cart them out every Christmas and not have to spend precious council budgets.’
‘I can hook you up. Free of charge, in the interests of community spirit,’ he says.
I smile. ‘That would be amazing. We could mention it on our social media, give out flyers for the farm on the desk if you want?’
He nods. He turns a corner into the kids’ section, and compared to the usual bedlam that accompanies Lucy’s arrival, the crowd go quiet. A mum at the back dribbles a bit of cappuccino out of her mouth.
‘What the…’ another mum mumbles.
‘HI, SANTA!’ Lila screams.
‘Hello, Lila! So… my very good friend, Lucy, sent me today to read you stories? Who wants to hear a story?’
Yet another mum puts her hand in the air. I look at how he has complete command of that room and all of the people in it.
‘Ho-ho-ho,’ he bellows, and all the kids laugh. I stare at him strangely. You were right, Nick. The ho-ho-ho-ing needs some serious work.