Chapter 34
Day Eleven
“Perfect.” Haley straightens my beard, a ridiculous white curly thing that resembles a small dog, looped behind my ears. She yanks down the hat so it covers the elastic twined around them, preserving the illusion that I’m no longer Christian Steele, musician, but the big fella himself, round and red and jolly. I’m still working on the last bit, given I’m only lately getting over my aversion to Christmas. How can a reforming Scrooge like me be cheerful at playing the number one role in the whole drama?
“Don’t tell Ollie,” she says, her mouth turning up in those two cute curves I love, “but I think you look more the part than he did last year.” She runs her hands across my shoulders and I almost purr at the firm squeeze. “Broader, more like Santa should be. ”
“Aren’t you a little worried? That you haven’t heard from him?” I ask at the mention of her brother.
He’s certainly been on my mind since yesterday’s text. Part of me says I should have told her, but guilt made me put off bringing him into the middle of what we’ve got going on here. However, if Haley’s concerned about him, I’ll be forced to share the proof of life text. I’m hoping to avoid that.
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “You know Ollie. He loves all that travel stuff so much he probably signed on for some extra side trip, or maybe booked a few days by a hotel pool somewhere to recover after the tour.”
She’s right, Ollie is spontaneous, bouncing from one thing to the next like an unruly golden retriever with that sunshine grin lighting up his face. I’m still not sure it will be there when he finds out about Haley and me.
“Besides, you know Megan and friends will probably have a tracker on him. The record company would be all over it if one of their assets disappeared off the radar.”
She’s right about that too, and I huff out a sigh of agreement, my breath making the white beard flutter, despondent at the reminder this is my life too. Never free to go anywhere without someone knowing.
It’s another reason this illicit jaunt to the dog rescue’s kennel facility brings a strange satisfaction. The few people who are in on the secret of my whereabouts will think I’m stuck inside a house in Kensington tonight, when here I am about to climb into a cab with the girl I love, heading to spread some joy to deserving people and animals. And even though it means I’m dressed in this ridiculous suit, I’m happier than I’ve been for most days of my life .
She steps away and I stare at myself in the mirror, the real me buried deep underneath this costume. At least it fits, even though it wasn’t made for me. There’s heaps of room in the jacket to accommodate the fake paunch tied around my waist that pushes against the buttoned front, the velcro beneath straining at the sudden fifty pounds I’ve gained.
The trousers tailored to Ollie’s lanky frame pool a little over my feet, but not so much they’ll trip me. Just as well—we don’t want Santa going down. The leather toes of my boots peeking out beneath the scarlet fabric actually look quite good, almost what the real Santa might choose for leaping in and out of a sleigh and clomping across rooftops.
I’m not sure the cabbie is so impressed when, after opening the door and ushering Haley into one side, I heave my bulky body into the other. He surveys me in the rear-view mirror with a shake of his head, a dramatic eye roll, his mouth twisted in a wry grin. Must be new to the job—surely any seasoned London cabbie has ferried a few Santas in his time.
“I feel like I’m missing something important here.” I spread my empty hands wide. Haley arches a brow from beneath her pointy green elf hat that exaggerates the colour of her eyes. “Presents?” I say.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. All organised. They’ll be there.”
“So we’re going to the place where you work?” To my shame, I haven’t asked nearly enough questions about the job she loves, or the rescue I hoped to help.
She shakes her head. “No. The rescue has four sites in London. The Trust works out of what we call HQ, over in Marylebone. Offices for the Trustees, the manager and her admin assistant, and the main vet clinic too. ”
“Mine is one of two satellite clinics, a little further out in residential areas. All the clinics treat our own rescue dogs, and offer small animal services for the public at affordable prices. They found locations where they thought it might be appreciated. Even though our charges are reasonable, the clinics are their biggest income apart from donations and fundraisers. It’s part of what I love about the job, that I’m making a difference in more ways than one.”
I feel a stab of guilt knowing the prize I was supposed to win for them, an amount that would also make a difference, is heading someone else’s way.
“Then there’s the kennel facility where we’re going tonight. The adult dogs usually live there till they’re adopted. A few with high needs and all the puppies go to our foster families out in the community. The little ones need more socialisation than they can get in kennels. We’ve got the foster party on Saturday.” She hesitates a moment. “Would you be Santa again for that one, too?”
Saturday seems a lifetime away with the show’s recorded final tomorrow night—I suppose we’ll watch—and the live ‘reunion’ show the day after. Both stand between me and the end of the nightmare.
I have no choice about the live show. Like an ex-prisoner reporting to my parole officer, I must endure a seat on that studio stage with the world watching. If I survive what will probably be an emotional bloodbath, by Saturday I can be back with Haley, doing good in the world, even if it means dressing up in a silly Santa suit.
“Sure,” I agree, resolving to keep my mind fixed firmly on what happens beyond the next two days.
The cab glides into a park outside a large warehouse style building. An older woman stands on the steps, dressed in a conservative suit, two large red sacks balanced beside her feet. Her face lights up as Haley hops out, while I pay the driver.
The sight of my girl, in her Santa’s helper outfit, the short green skirt edged in white fur swirling around her thighs, the jaunty hat on top of shiny dark hair falling loose down her shoulders, her face glowing, grabs at my chest, my heart clenching at how beautiful she is, like a Christmas dream come true. I take my place by her side, as the woman stretches out elegant manicured fingers towards me.
“I’m Eloise,” she says and I take her hand. “Thank you so much for coming…”
“Alistair,” I say, giving my brother’s name. This whole thing is risky enough without chancing my real name. Even hiding behind the convenient disguise, that might be enough for someone to connect the dots between Haley, Ollie, and me.
“These are for you, Alistair, or I should say, Santa.” She points at the sacks. I hoist the larger one over my shoulder, and Haley snatches up the other. “Come on in,” Eloise says, swinging open one of the tall double doors.
She ushers us into a wide reception area. At the counter, people are gathered around plates of food, drinks in hand. A buzz of conversation drifts between them but lowers to silence as they notice our arrival. All eyes are upon us.
“It’s that time,” Eloise sing-songs, and everyone breaks into enthusiastic applause. “That sack first, please, Haley. For the volunteers.”
The group seems to know what’s expected and falls into a line, facing me expectantly like kids at a department store waiting to see Santa. At least I’m not expected to offer them a seat on my knee. There’s only one person here who I’d like to do that—the woman handing me the sack in her hand, eyes twinkling with anticipation. But I wouldn’t dare do that in company. The sight of Santa with a tent in his red trousers wouldn’t be a good look.
Inside the sack I find identical-sized boxes, all beautifully wrapped in Christmas paper and shiny bows. We move along the line, and I press a gift into each pair of waiting hands, offering a gruff ‘Merry Christmas’.
Eloise follows behind me, murmuring personal messages of thanks. To her credit, she knows them all by name. Haley follows, a basket in hand, distributing giant candy canes, each with a small envelope attached.
Once we’re done, we stand aside as they unwrap their gifts—boxes of Christmas chocolates—and peek inside the envelopes, grateful smiles creasing their faces.
“Gift cards,” Eloise explains. “Somehow even that doesn’t seem enough to thank these people properly for the hours they put in here, picking up poo, and hosing out kennels, walking unruly dogs who’ve never had the experience before. It’s hard work and they do it without complaint.”
“They’re amazing,” Haley agrees.
“Couldn’t do it without them.” Eloise smiles. “Right. Shall we head down to see the dogs? You’ll need the other sack.”
As I pick up the second red fabric bag, bursting with soft lumpy shapes, one of the volunteers peels off from the group with a smile.
“This way, Santa,” she says.
We enter a long corridor and I can’t help but get the feeling of a prison, except these inmates sound very pleased to see us. With so many dog voices in unison, there’s no hope of conversation.
We stop at the first pen. The lower half of the gate is solid with wire mesh above. A tiny dog appears in mid-air, leaping higher than the barrier, giving a joyful bark at the top of the arc while suspended in mid-flight, then disappearing from sight below. Seconds later, it appears again, like a bouncing ball. Laughter spills out from the four of us, but it can’t compete with the raucous barking echoing all around.
The volunteer opens the door, and the dog springs out into her arms. She waves me over, and I reach into the sack for one from the heap of dog toys all tumbled together inside.
“No,” Haley mouths at me. She takes the sack, spreading the opening wide and crouching down in front of the dog. The little guy buries his pointed nose, burrowing in the toys, flicking some aside, until finally he emerges with a triumphant grin, a large turkey stuffie almost as big as him gripped between his teeth. He struts back into the pen, settles himself into the comfy-looking bed and shakes the turkey furiously, as if going in for the kill.
We carry on in this way down the length of the corridor and then back along another. Some dogs greet us with explosions of joy. Others are shy in the presence of humans. One or two are fearful and need gentle coaxing. However, each gets to choose their own Christmas gift and all will go to sleep tonight with an extra bit of comfort, the remainder in the sack set aside for any new arrivals over the coming days. Haley sadly assures me there will be many.
With the Santa run done, we’re invited to join the party. However, the temptation of a cup of spicy eggnog and a chunk of Christmas cake is not enough to risk taking this beard off even though it itches like hell. I’m not taking any chances. Haley, however, needs no encouragement to dispatch my piece of the cake as well as her own, while in animated conversation with the group of volunteers. In this setting, she glitters like the tinsel Christmas garland strung behind the reception desk. She’s so good with people, especially this big-hearted dog-loving group. I trail along behind her, nodding and smiling behind my beard, a silent Santa.
Eventually the crowd begins to thin, the women wrapping us in hugs; the men extending handshakes as they leave, and Eloise calls us a cab. This driver doesn’t bat an eyelid as his costumed passengers climb into the back seat.
“That was so much fun.” Haley’s still buzzing as she stretches an arm around my shoulder. “Thank you for doing it. Ollie missed out on a good time.”
Ollie’s name stirs up a familiar niggle of worry, and after churning it over while we’re paused at a traffic light, the question that’s been lurking in the back of my mind for days finally slips from my mouth.
“What do you think he’ll say?”
“About you taking over Santa?” Her brows wrinkle in a frown. “Don’t be silly. He’ll be fine.”
“No, what do you think he’ll say about us?”
She hesitates a moment, just a small missed beat, and then goes on. “He’s going to be fine, Christian. His sister and his friend. Of course he’ll be happy that we’re happy.”
I try to ignore the slight waver in her voice, as if she’s not as confident as she wants to appear. I try to hold on to the thought that she’s known him her whole life, so she should know him better than me. I hope Haley’s right, but I’m terrified she isn’t.