Chapter Twenty
As they strolled down the road towards the heart of the village, Eloise and Bart held Toby’s hands, and he swung between them like a small chimpanzee, giggling his head off.
Gosh, this is a workout, Eloise thought, fearing that if he carried on, her arms were going to ache like the devil tomorrow.
She didn’t want to stop though, because she was having almost as much fun as Toby.
And from the delight on Bart’s face, so was he.
Telling herself she was only indulging the little boy to give his mother a break, she carried on swinging him.
“One, two, three, whee!” she chanted, lifting him off the ground.
When they reached the top end of the high street, Sarah came to a halt outside the chemist.
“Santa!” Toby yelled at the top of his voice. “Maammaaa, I wanna see Santa!”
“You saw Santa last week, remember? We went on the bus to Barnstaple, and you had a hamburger afterwards.”
“I wanna see Santa again!” He stamped his foot imperiously.
Seeking to defuse the impending tantrum, Eloise stepped in. “Shall we take a stroll along the promenade and you catch up with us? Or you can do your shopping in peace and we can take him to see the man in red again—if you don’t mind, that is.” She added, “It’ll be a new experience for me.”
Sarah nibbled on her lip as she considered the suggestion, then reached into her pocket and brought out her bank card. “I wouldn’t normally give in to his demands, but let me quickly nip to the cashpoint.”
Bart patted her arm. “He’s had a tough time,” he agreed. “I’d like to go see Santa, too. And put your card away—we’ll do the honours.”
Sarah’s expression was pained, but she did as he asked and slipped her card back into her pocket.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Mitch asked Bart and Eloise.
Bart met Eloise’s eye. “I’m sure Eloise and I can manage one small boy between us.”
She nodded. “Mitch, why don’t you keep Sarah company?”
Sarah’s eyes widened, and Eloise thought the girl was about to make an excuse, but then she shrugged and said, “If you want. Unless you’ve got something better to do?”
“No, nothing.”
Bart said, “Shall we agree to meet at The Honey Pot Café when we’re done? That way you can take your time.”
Sarah nodded. “Okay, thanks. Be a good boy for Bart and Eloise,” she told her son, “because if you aren’t, Father Christmas will put you on the naughty list, and you know what that means.”
Toby nodded emphatically. “He won’t bring me presents.”
“That’s right.” She gave him a hug and a kiss. “Remember what I said,” was her parting shot.
Eloise watched as Sarah and Mitch disappeared into the crowd, and she tightened her grip on Toby’s hand in case he decided he wanted to follow his mum.
He seemed happy enough though, and Eloise breathed out a puff of air in relief as they threaded their way down the busy street towards the seafront.
The village was already busy with people enjoying the atmosphere and pre-Christmas vibes.
The fairy lights strung across the street were lit, as were the illuminations attached to the old-fashioned wrought-iron lampposts, and vendors, such as the man with the cart selling piping-hot roasted chestnuts (they smelt divine) and the stall with crepes and churros, were doing a roaring trade.
Another stall sold hot chocolate with the addition of spiced rum, Amaretto, or Baileys (that was a thought!), and although it was too early in the day for alcohol, Eloise might have been tempted if she hadn’t had Toby with her.
Maybe she’d suggest to Bart that they add a shot of Baileys to their hot chocolate this evening.
The wooden chalets lined the street, festooned with lights, garlands, and bunting, and selling a whole manner of items: fudge, chutney, honey (no surprise there!), cheeses, jams, stollen, gingerbread…
The list was endless and mouthwatering, and she kept stopping for a closer look at this or that, much to Bart’s amusement and Toby’s disgust, as he tugged at her hand, impatient to keep moving.
Toys, soaps, knitwear, ceramics, candles, gifts, and stocking fillers all caught her eye, and she was desperate to buy one of everything she saw, even though she didn’t need it and would have no use for it.
“I think I’ve caught festive fever,” she chortled, seduced by the lure and excitement of Christmas purchasing. If she wasn’t careful, she could get carried away.
Dragging her gaze from the lovely displays, Eloise concentrated on less spendy things instead, such as the huge Christmas tree and the carol singers gathered beside it, and she found herself humming along to “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” as they meandered through the crowd.
Coming to the end of the street, they walked onto the promenade with its iron balustrade and wide steps leading down onto the beach. More artisan shops, a café or two, a pub, and several B then he lost patience, not wanting to hold either of their hands and certainly not wanting to stand still.
Eloise was terrified of letting go of him, but Bart was more pragmatic. “As long as we keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t go far, he’ll be fine,” he said, his eyes on the child. “In fact, why don’t you stay in the queue, and I’ll take him for a little wander across the beach?”
Eloise buried her chin deeper into her scarf and shoved her hands into her pockets as she observed the families in front of her slowly shuffle forward.
A memory pricked at the back of her mind, and as she tried to pin it down, she remembered a department store and a queue to see Father Christmas.
She must have been about five and had been wearing her best coat and shoes that pinched because she’d started to grow out of them.
When the rotund man with a red jacket had asked her what she’d wanted, she’d told him she wanted a wee.
She’d been holding her mother’s hand, and Eloise could still hear her mother’s tinkling laugh…
By the time Bart brought Toby back, there were only two families in front of them, and Toby had become cranky.
He was probably tired and cold, Eloise assumed, and when he lifted his arms, she picked him up and he snuggled into her.
Resting her cheek against his woolly-hatted head, his sturdy little legs wrapped around her waist as he clung to her coat, she breathed in the scent of small child and sea spray.
Finally it was their turn, and Bart got out his wallet to pay, giving Eloise a warning look when she reached for her purse. As he took the ticket from a rather chilly-looking elf, the girl said, “Oh, isn’t your grandson sweet,” to Eloise.
Eloise didn’t correct her. She told herself she couldn’t be bothered to explain, but in reality she quite liked that someone thought she was Toby’s grandma.
Bart caught her eye and winked, and Eloise’s face was suddenly flushed with warmth, and she hoped he didn’t realise what she’d been thinking.
Then she blushed even harder when it occurred to her that if the elf thought she was Toby’s grandmother, then the girl probably thought Bart was Toby’s grandfather.
Which meant she assumed that Eloise and Bart were a couple.
Eloise didn’t put the elf right on that score either, and neither did Bart. He just shrugged and placed a hand on the small of her back, urging her to go inside.
Caves had never particularly appealed to Eloise.
She’d always assumed they were dank, dark, dripping places, but this one was bright with multicoloured lights and music, and wasn’t as cold as she’d anticipated.
Heaters had been placed around the rock walls, and the cave had been divided into several temporary areas, which kept the warmth inside.
Still, she didn’t envy either the elves or poor old Santa, although he looked warm enough in his thick red coat and with a large plaid blanket around his knees.
He wore the traditional hat with the white fur trim, black gloves, and black boots.
The curly white beard also probably helped with heat insulation.
He was sitting in a sleigh made out of plywood, piled with gaily wrapped presents, and there was a tree in the corner.
A small table was laden with a glass of amber-coloured liquid, several cookies, and a carrot.
She had a feeling they were as fake as Santa’s beard, though she couldn’t be certain.
Toby was quiet as she popped him on the ground, his eyes huge in his little face, and she wondered what he was making of it.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa cried. “And who’s this?”
“This little chap’s name is Toby,” Bart said.
“How old are you, Toby?”
Toby tightened his grip on Eloise’s coat and didn’t say a word.
Bart replied for him. “He’s three.”
“What do you want for Christmas, Toby?”
Toby still didn’t say anything.
“I know!” Santa exclaimed. “Why don’t you tell Grandma and Grandad what you want, and they can tell me?”
Once again Eloise and Bart exchanged glances. Bart bent down and said to Toby, “If you could have any toy in the world, what would you like?”
“A fire engine,” Toby whispered.
Eloise wondered whether this was a result of the events of the other night. But fire engines were red, and according to his mum, red was Toby’s favourite colour.
To give Santa his due, he didn’t promise anything as he said, after a quick look at Bart and Eloise and after Eloise had given a slight shake of her head, “I’m not sure I have any fire engines left.
I’ll have to ask the elves back at the North Pole.
” He carried on, “But if I can’t manage a fire engine, I’m sure I can leave something with wheels underneath the tree. ”
Eloise nodded. She’d bought him a car set with a garage. Alas, no fire engines. She couldn’t even remember seeing one in the toy shop.
When she met Sarah in The Honey Pot Café later, Eloise could ask her if she’d spotted one. Or perhaps they could give the toy shop a ring and see if they had any in stock? Otherwise she’d order online and hope it would arrive in time.
Bart must have sensed the direction of her thoughts because he placed a hand on her arm, leant towards her, and muttered, “If this is the first Sarah has heard about it, I’m sure we can get hold of one. And if we can’t, he’ll still be happy on Christmas morning; I guarantee it.”
Thankful for Bart’s calm presence and reassurance, Eloise left Santa’s grotto with Toby clutching a small gift, and they made their way to The Honey Pot Café.
But as they waited for Sarah’s arrival, the thing that was mostly on Eloise’s mind wasn’t fire engines—it was the warmth that had stolen through her when people had assumed she and Bart were a couple.