Chapter 11 #2
“Miss Sinclair?”
Oh, no. Just keep walking, pretend you can’t hear her! she ordered herself.
Then Mrs Cradley called her name again and she turned to face her.
“Are you sure your shift has ended?” the Dragon Lady asked, checking her watch.
“Yes,” Merry said. “Like, forty minutes ago. I couldn’t get off the floor.”
“Well, if you would be so kind, I need you to do one last thing for me.”
Merry blew out a breath. All she really wanted to do was go home and draw a bath. But then she thought of her cold apartment, the empty rooms, the stack of unpaid bills.
“Fine. What do you need?”
“There are some items for lost property in the grotto,” said Mrs Cradley, smiling as if she was enjoying her role as chief tormentor. “Please collect them and take them to the information desk in the lobby.”
“Sure,” said Merry, wondering why the Dragon Lady hadn’t asked any one of the other three members of staff she could still see on duty.
Mrs Cradley nodded curtly, then spun on her heels and marched away.
Merry shuffled wearily back across the children’s department, ducking under the chain and opening the door of the little hut where Santa’s gifts were stocked. She had walked inside, muttering under her breath, before she noticed that she wasn’t alone.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said to the man dressed as Santa. He was sitting on a little stool in the corner of the hut, sipping tea from a mug. “I thought you’d already left.”
Santa lifted a hand to wave away her apology.
He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling in the half-light.
She’d caught glimpses of the man over the last few weeks, sitting on his chair and handing gifts to the children, but only now did she notice what a good Santa Claus he was.
The Santas she remembered from her own childhood shopping trips were all skinny and tall, with obvious padding in their fading costumes and wisps of brown hair visible beneath their wiry white wigs.
But this guy was almost the real deal. His beard was thick and full, a snow-coloured cloud of curls.
His cheeks were rosy and his eyes were bright blue and perfectly clear behind the little round spectacles.
He laughed kindly, and the ‘ho ho ho!’ of it was right out of a movie.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said in a deep, friendly voice. “I’m just enjoying a cup of tea before I head back to the North Pole.”
Merry’s laugh was surprisingly genuine. “That sounds like a long journey after a long day.”
“Oh, it’s not too long at all,” he replied, “when you have reindeer to carry you and a little magic to help you on your way.”
He winked, and she laughed again.
“I’m here for the lost property,” she said, and Santa pretended to be sad.
“Is that all? It seems to me that you might be looking for something else — a bit of Christmas spirit, perhaps?”
Merry shook her head. “This is Fifth Avenue, not 34th Street. My days of believing in you have long gone.”
Santa put a hand to his chest. “It always breaks my heart to hear people say that. For although you might have stopped believing in me, I never stop believing in you. Come here.”
He placed his mug on the floor, beckoning her over.
“I really can’t,” she said, feeling the ache in her legs and back. “I’ve got to get this stuff down to Lost Property, then head home. I’ve been here for ever.”
“Grant me this one little wish,” Santa said, insistent.
Merry hung her head, then walked across the small room, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet.
Santa smiled up at her. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to sit on my lap. Just give me your hand, if that’s okay with you?”
“Look . . .” Merry started, but Santa reached out and took her hand in his own. His palms were soft and leathery, and he held her hand gently in both of his.
“Merry,” he said, smiling at her. “Of all the people here, surely you must still have faith in Christmas?”
“How did you know my name?” she asked.
Santa’s eyes twinkled. “You’re still wearing your name tag.”
Merry laughed again. Santa held her hands gently. “I want you to close your eyes and try to remember what it was like to be a child. Remember that feeling of excitement, and of deep, loving comfort you always had on Christmas Eve, then the joy of Christmas morning.”
“Come on,” Merry said. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening, but the man was so kind, his voice so soothing, that she decided to play along. “Okay, sure.”
She closed her eyes and thought back to being a kid, lying in bed in Nebraska, the thick snow outside plunging the world into silence, the glow of the Christmas lights outside turning her room red, then green, then gold.
Every year she’d vowed to stay up and meet Santa when he arrived to deliver her presents, and every year she’d fallen asleep sitting up in bed.
And that feeling of waking up on Christmas Day — did anything ever really beat that?
That moment where the fog of sleep faded away and you suddenly remembered what day it was. Despite herself, Merry giggled.
“That’s it!” said Santa. “I knew you still had a little magic inside you. Now quickly, while it’s there, tell me what you would like for Christmas.”
“What?” Merry asked, smiling at the man.
Santa smiled back. “Your present, what would you like?”
“Uh . . .” Merry shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it. I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” he said quietly.
There were lots of things she needed. Her coffee machine had broken, the shower was leaking and her shoes were practically worn out from all the walking she did in this place.
“Think about what you really want,” the man asked.
As soon as he’d said it, Christian’s face appeared in Merry’s mind.
And even though she barely knew him, even though he was probably going to be leaving the country in a few weeks, even though there couldn’t possibly be a future for them, she made a wish — a wish that she could spend Christmas with him.
“I just want to be happy,” she said, opening her eyes.
“And you will be.” Santa gave her hands one last squeeze before letting go. “You will be, Merry.”
Gradually, the real world faded back in — the sound of Harvey’s mop cleaning the floor, somebody making an announcement over the public address system.
Merry laughed, but this time it felt a little self-conscious.
She was aware of the cardboard walls and roof of the hut, the fake snow that lay on the ground, and she knew that Santa was just as much of an imitation.
But still, something in her had changed. Whatever the man had done, he’d ignited the smallest flame, a tiny flicker of hope that glowed like an open fire on a dark night. Maybe, just maybe, her wish might come true.
“Believe,” Santa said, as if he was reading her mind. “Go on now, and have a very Merry Christmas.”
“You too,” Merry said, collecting the bag of lost property and opening the door.
Santa laughed, his kind voice following her out. “I always do.”