Chapter Four #2
“Yes. Please. Thank you. Sorry,” I add as he hands over the cheddar.
I keep an eye on Tiernan as I put it in the pouch with the rest of the stuff.
The teddy bear no longer seems to be doing the job, and I have a feeling there’s going to be some frustrated tears coming my way if I don’t get out of here soon.
“Now we’re going,” I promise him. “We’re going and then we’ll be gone.” I know as soon as I say the words that I’m probably jinxing us both, and, sure enough, I hear a jolly laugh just as I hit the main entrance, delaying us once again.
Santa Claus.
The usually bare foyer has been transformed into a makeshift grotto and is decked out in red velvet and fake snow.
I eye the line of excited kids waiting impatiently and then glance at Tiernan, who is now slightly pink in the face, but obviously distracted by the promise of the man himself.
“Santa,” he says, pointing at the grotto.
“He’s not coming until your birthday,” I remind him, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
“Santa,” he says insistently, and great. Okay. Sure.
“Excuse me,” I ask one of the sparkly-cheeked elves roaming the crowd. “How long is the wait?”
“There’s no more slots left,” she says, adjusting the green felt hat on her head.
“What about tomorrow?”
She smiles. “I mean there’s no more slots left at all. We booked up seven weeks ago.”
“For Santa?”
Tiernan takes a deep, shaky breath, and I step closer, lowering my voice. “Are there any of Santa’s … friends around the city that you know of?”
Her smile doesn’t budge. “None as good as this one.”
“I can tell. But just between us, do you know anywhere where I might find—”
“We’ve won awards,” she interrupts, and I blink.
“What awards?”
“Silver medal in the Santa’s Grotto Championship. Third place in the—”
“There’s a Santa’s Grotto Championship?”
“Of course,” she says, completely serious.
“Then I’ll know to book early next year. But is there anything you can do to help a single mother with one working arm out?”
She appears to think about this for an inordinately long time. “You can have a goody bag,” she says eventually.
“Incredible. Thank you.”
“They’re twenty-five euro.”
“For a goody bag?”
“The nougat’s from Tuscany.”
I blink. “And are you bringing us over to eat it there?”
“For an extra ten euro, you can also upgrade to a—”
“The crap goody bag is fine. Thank you.” I tap my card and glance at the boy whom I once caught trying to eat shampoo. As soon as I turn the pram toward the doors, the protest begins.
“I want to see Santa,” he insists, trying to climb out of his seat.
I should have just made a run for it while I could.
“It’s bad luck to see Santa before Christmas,” I tell him, only to get an immediate glare from the nearby parents. “If your name is Tiernan,” I add, but they don’t buy it, and neither does he as he tries again to stand up. This time I round the pram, offering him the bag.
“Do you want to try some Tuscan nougat?” I ask, unable to keep the desperation from my voice as more and more people look our way.
His eyes fill with tears as his face scrunches up.
I’m at a loss. I shouldn’t be. I should be used to this. My sister cries at everything, all the time, but it was acceptable for me to ignore her.
“We’ll see Santa at Christmas,” I promise him, but it’s not enough as he starts to cry. Of course, that starts another baby off, and there’s tongue clucking and head shaking all around as I decide to do the easiest thing and just get out of there.
“He’s a little big for a pram, don’t you think?” an elderly woman mutters as I hurriedly pack the goody bag away. I can feel the sweat dripping down my back and my arm feels like it’s on fire and for the first time in a long time I feel close to tears myself.
“Excuse me?” Our elf is back, but any hope of her offering some Christmas cheer is quickly dashed as she gestures to the doors. “You’re blocking the entrance.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You need to—”
“I’m going,” I tell her, my voice more clipped than it usually is. “Happy Christmas,” I add loudly to those still side-eyeing us. My eyes burn as Tiernan tugs at his straps and I push him through the doors and it’s raining.
It’s raining again.
I pull the rain cover over Tiernan but, unfortunately, don’t have anyone to do the same thing for me as I head out into the night. I barely take a few steps before I second-guess my plan.
Despite the weather, the streets are packed.
More worrying than that, the traffic is stationary.
I can already see a huddle of people waiting at the stop up ahead, and if Tiernan doesn’t get norovirus at nursery, then he’ll definitely get it while trapped on a humid, moist bus for an hour.
Not to mention the fact that I’m done with everyone glaring at me today.
I can only imagine what would happen if I tried to push pram privileges on a night like tonight.
I slow down, earning an annoyed huff from someone on my heel, but I ignore them as I seek shelter under a shop awning.
By now, Tiernan’s protests are over, and all I hear is a sniffle, and yeah, buddy. Hard same.
I crouch down next to him and push his hair back from his face. “I know,” I tell him. “I’m sorry. You hungry?”
He nods, tearful and tired and no doubt very, very cranky.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Me too.”
And I have a feeling nougat just won’t cut it.