They used to laugh at him. They had never spoken to him nor
did they know his name. ‘They’ were Steve Joseph and his mates. ‘Him’ was the
guy in the pub, their local, The Grapes. He had always been there, always
alone, and usually at the same table, the one in the alcove next to the fire.
Steve had moved to the area in 2012, just before the London
Olympics, and, not entirely by coincidence, the nearest pub ticked many of the
right boxes. It was walking distance, in fact a very short walk, barely three
minutes at a good pace. It sold a good scrumpy cider on tap (Steve only drinks
cider), had a pool table, outside garden, good jukebox, and a reputation for
keeping trouble out. Gone were the days when a dozen pints and a flare up were
the hallmarks of a good night out. He and Amy had been together for eighteen
months at that stage and were thinking long term about starting a family.
That said, it didn’t stop Steve being in the pub five or six
nights a week. Not necessarily all night, but often for a quick one or two
after work, plus a big session on Tuesday, when he would play pool with Wayne,
Darren, Sandeep and Big Cliff. On Fridays Amy would come with him, Saturday was
usually another big night plus Sunday lunchtime, again with Amy. All the girls
would be there on Sunday, the gang all partnered up, except for Big Cliff, and
they’d usually all have a roast around about 3pm.
What did curtail his frequency at the Grapes, however, was the
arrival of Saul in 2014 and then Kirsty a couple of years later. But Steve was
still what you’d call a regular, a known face, on first name terms with Pat and
Carole, the hosts.
They had enjoyed so many great nights in there down the
years and present at all of them, but partaking in none, was the guy in the
alcove.
I expect you’re guessing that we’re leading up to something.
That Steve and the guy are going to collide one way or another. Correct. It was
just over four weeks ago. Amy was at her parents with the kids and Steve had
finished work early and fancied a pint. Big Cliff had gone down with glandular
fever, Wayne and Darren had said it was no-go, Aaron, a work colleague of
Darren and a newcomer to their little crew couldn’t make it either, but Sandeep
had said he’d be down later.
Pat had just put a Somerset cider on called Cloudy Kate,
7.2%, and it was going down very well. Steve had fed a quid in the jukebox and picked
out a couple of oldies by the Mystery Jets and Vampire Weekend. Just as he was
finishing his second Sandeep texted “Sorry bruv no visa 2night c u tomorrow.” Steve’s
braincells hadn’t debated for long whether to have another or call it a night.
Another it is, but perhaps just the one.
The Grapes had just started filling up. The lot from HSBC
had just come in. It looked like someone’s leaving do, Carole had laid up a
table with some grub and a girl called Rosie from a hen night was getting
served at the other end of the bar. Rosie had gone out with someone Steve had
been at school with. He hadn’t seen her (or the school pal) for years and
assumed she either hadn’t noticed him or hadn’t recognised him. Then again,
perhaps she had recognised him and wilfully feigned obliviousness.
Pat nodded to Steve to indicate he was next and pointed to
the Cloudy Kate pump. Steve nodded and gave the thumbs up. He pulled some
shrapnel from his pocket to see if he had the right money. Not quite. He
reached into his back pocket on his left side for his wallet and pulled out a
twenty just as our other man, the alcove drinker, drew up alongside him.
The two nodded at each other and each uttered an instinctive
greeting. The alcove man had said “Evening” in a bold confident tone, whilst Steve’s
“A’right” was more of a mumble. Why was this the first time the two of them had
ever exchanged any gesture or word, Steve wondered? Can it really have been the
only time in all these years that the two of them have found themselves at the
bar together at the same time? A very quick delve into the memory bank couldn’t
recall any instances, but then again, would I have ever noticed him, he thought?
“Guinness?”
It had come out without forethought. Drinker’s instinct.
When he would think back to this moment he had no idea what had prompted him to
pose the question. There must be a
reason, must there? Some unknown spirit had propelled Steve to offer the man a
drink. A man he’d never in seven years spoken to before now.
“Eh?”
“You’re a Guinness man aren’t ya? I’m just getting one.”
“Ah, no worries, I’ll get me own.”
“It’s okay, I’ll get one. Pat, Patrick, a Guinness as well
please.” And he pointed at the man’s empty glass.
“Ah, you shouldn’t. But thank you. Thanks, that’s very good
of you.”
“Well, it’s almost Christmas isn’t it.”
The man didn’t respond to the statement of festive fact.
Actually, it wasn’t even Advent yet, but Carole had already put up the tree,
tinsel and garlands. There then followed
what almost became an awkward silence. Ice that had been frozen solid for seven
years had been cracked, but neither had yet fallen through.
And things might well have stayed icy had Steve not let his
pint slip straight through his hands the moment Pat handed it to him. As anyone
who has lost even a quarter of a pint will know, a little liquid covers a large
area. In this case the Guinness guy took the lot. Trousers soaked.
“Jesus Christ!”
That was Steve. He said it very loudly so that everyone couldn’t
help but hear. Even the hen party. All eyes looked in his direction. And then
they looked at the man with wet trousers.
And with perfect comic timing he looked down, then looked up
and deadpan simply said, “You’re right, it is his birthday soon.”
Steve, before he could profess how desperately sorry he was,
was baffled. “Eh?”
“You were just saying that it’s almost Christmas.” And, far
from furious, the guy with the sodden trousers was actually grinning.
The penny dropped. Yes, indeed, the birth of Jesus Christ,
but never mind that, Steve was so sorry, he’d soaked your trousers. The other
guy kept saying it was no problem, these things happen, I’ve had worse. No,
honestly, it’s really not a problem and Steve kept saying he was sorry. Pat pulled
another pint. Maggie fetched a pair of Pat’s jeans and insisted that Nick get
changed out the back.
We now know that his name is Nick.
“You know this could catch on, accessorising denim with
cider.” It made Steve, Paul and Maggie laugh. The man who hadn’t said a dickie
bird to anyone for seven years had cracked two jokes in a minute, albeit two
bone dry jokes.
And with Sandeep confined to barracks the two drinkers began
to chat. And Steve wasn’t allowed to go without Nick having the opportunity to
return the favour. That’s the buying of his next drink, not his next clothing
accessory. And the two found, over the next two hours, that though they had
little in common other than a taste for alcohol and a liking for The Grapes’
hospitality, they had much to talk about.
Nick found out that Steve works “in windows”. “Fitting or
sales?” Steve laughed. “People always say that. Dressing. I’m head of a team of
two. We dress the window displays in John Lewis in the town centre.” Yes, it is
a full-time job. People always seem surprised to hear that. He also heard how
Steve and Amy met, what brought them to this part of town, why they chose to
buy the house in Rose Terrace and, of course, he heard all about Saul and
Kirsty, now five and three.
After the best part of an hour, (and another pint) Steve
finally says, “So what about you?”
“Me? You want to know about me?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, where do we start? I’m nobody, really. I have no
wife, no children, no family and I don’t work. But I haven’t always been nobody.
I used to be some-body.” And he says it like that. Like it’s two words. Some
and body.
Steve chokes a laugh, unsure whether that was supposed to be
funny or whether he’d be offending his new drinking pal.
Steve assumed Nick was going to continue, but there is
another pause, so he fills it. “What do you mean, some-body? Of course, you’re
somebody. Everyone is someone.”
“Ah, no, now I’m a nobody, but I was somebody once. And do
you know who I was?”
“Who?”
“I was… Father Christmas.”
And Steve lets out a huge laugh.
Nick sits motionless and expressionless. We’re starting to familiarise
ourselves with Nick’s sense of humour.
“I was.” And he laughs too.
“Priceless. Come on then. Tell me more.”
Nick’s only job that he’d ever had was with the Midland Bank.
He had joined them straight from school in the early 1970s and was with them
for almost thirty years until they closed in 1999. He got two big payouts in
the same week; one from the bank and the other from the estate of his father
who’d died four months earlier. And he hasn’t lifted a finger to work since. He
has no hobbies, never goes on holiday, never been married, no kids, but he does
like Guinness. And Mild, but you can never get a pint of Mild these days.
“Don’t you spend all year in the workshop with your elves?”
“Ah, yes, we’re getting around to that. I was Father
Christmas. I was. I used to do charity things, events, with a local group,
through work. We’d organise sports days, celebrity football matches, It’s a
Knockout, stuff like that. Fund raisers. People didn’t do marathons back then.
And then each year they would ask around for a volunteer to be Father Christmas.
In Hardy and Jefferson’s. You won’t be old enough to remember it. A big
department store, huge it was. They knocked it down to build the Chequers
Centre. Beautiful old building it was. I was still in my twenties but thought
why not? I was happy to give it a go when no-one else stepped forward.
“And so I would get there at half eight every Saturday. They
had a staff canteen and I’d have a huge breakfast, I could eat like a reindeer
back then. I ate meat in those days. Big plate of bacon, sausages, black
pudding, fried slice, two eggs. I’d go and get changed and make my way to the
grotto and that’s it. I’d be Father Christmas all morning. Shops used to close
at 1 o’clock on a Saturday back then. There would be a big line of parents and kids
like a snake around the shop, out the doors and down the stairs. We were on the
fourth floor I think. Whatever the top floor was. I think it had four floors,
maybe five.
“And I loved it. Best job I ever had and didn’t get paid a
penny. So I did it the next year and the next. It was only the four or five Saturdays
before Christmas. I did it until the store closed. I don’t know what happened
when the shopping centre opened, I mean I don’t know how they chose who was
going to be their Santa. Hardy and Jefferson’s was a family business.
“It’s funny you saying you say you do window displays. I’m
an admirer of your work. “
“Mine?”
“Oh yes, every year I make a point of checking out the
Christmas windows. I go around all the shops looking at their Christmas displays.
There’s something about the time of year that I love. Christmas was a very
happy time for me as a boy and a young man. These days, it’s not quite the
same, not having children or a family. It’s a family time, don’t you think?
Steve, is it?”
“Yes, yes, Steve…” They hadn’t even swapped names but after
an hour of getting to know each other, friendship bonds are forming, and names
are almost superfluous.
“I thought that’s what I heard Patrick say. Nice to meet you
and nice to chat to you, Steve. I’m Nick.”
“Cheers, Nick. Same. I heard Carole call you Nick. Sorry
that I’ve never said hello before. I’ve seen you here enough times.”
“I’m actually Nick Saint. Not Saint Nick, Nick Saint.”
Steve gives him a look, but before he can say anything, Mr
Saint continues.
“I know! It’s like I was born for the role of Saint
Nicholas, although my first name is actually Archibald, I’m Archibald Nicholas
Saint, but Archie was already an ancient name by the time I appeared in the
50s. I never liked that, so I’ve always been Nicholas.”
Steve is a little sceptical, as Nick cannot prove it, as he
doesn’t have a driving licence or passport, but he goes with the flow.
So, Steve has a new friend. It’s the guy he and his pals
used to laugh at. He can’t recall why they laughed at him. They were younger
and less mature and an old guy sat on his own in silence with his thoughts was
an easy target for whatever it was that used to make them laugh. Amy had told
him off for doing so one night. Steve had forgotten this. He’d forgotten by the
next day. He was drunk. “You’ll be like him one day” she had told him. “Trying
to enjoy a quiet pint on your own, minding your own business, not doing anyone
any harm. How would you like a load of young berks laughing at you?”
Nick knew that Steve and his pals had laughed at him, but
that was a long time ago. They were young men on a night out. Not holding their
drink as well as they thought they could. He had been like them once. He had
seen them mature over the years. One of the others in their group also has
toddlers. They were never allowed in pubs in the old days, youngsters. Times
change. No point moaning about it. Pubs are better for not being citadels of cigarette
smoke. And once upon a time you could never get anything any better that a
dried cheese or ham sandwich with curly corners or a bag of salt and vinegar
crisps.
I have already mentioned that this episode took place four
weeks ago. A lot can happen in twenty-eight days.
In that period Steve and Nick have seen each other seventeen
times, the majority of those warranted just a nod, a hello, a “how you doing?”,
being that Steve was usually with his pals though he had now introduced them
all to Nick so that they could all now say hi to him rather than ignore him.
And he had also introduced Nick to Amy. But the two had only sat down together
once more in that time.
That was on 15th December and the two sat in the
alcove. Nick asked more about Steve’s profession, how had he got into that line
of work, where did he get his ideas from, is he worried about the future? He
had a lot of questions. Steve found it quite refreshing that someone appeared
genuinely interested in his line of work. The two also exchanged tales from
their childhoods and Steve found out that Nick still lives in the house in
which he grew up and has never been married, though he did have a serious
relationship for a couple of years at about the time he was Father Christmas.
And inevitably, when two drinkers drink in the month of
December, no matter what they’re talking about, one will eventually ask the
other, “So what are you doing for Christmas?”
It was Steve who asked it of Nick who then answered by
asking Steve if he would like another pint. It was Nick’s turn and, naturally,
the answer was an affirmative, but it was as if Nick had conveniently downed
his remaining Guinness rather swiftly to engineer the transaction in order to
avoid the question.
Guinness and cider refuelled, before Nick could steer the
conversation elsewhere Steve rephrased the Christmas question; “So is it just
you on your own at Christmas or do you go somewhere?”
This time Nick answers, after a pause. “I go nowhere. I’ve
got nowhere to go. All the people I want to spend Christmas with are dead.”
That last statement sent a sobering chill through Steve. In
that moment he thought of his own parents, of Amy’s, the in-laws, his children,
his brother and wife, Amy’s sister and her husband and their families, plus
Amy’s grandma. Seventeen people, young and old, who form their tight knit
family. Does he take them for granted? What if they were suddenly not there?
What if he found himself in Nick’s position of having a family of one. Nobody
else to call upon, to chat with, to laugh with.
Steve immediately felt the loneliness of Nick’s situation
and wished he hadn’t asked the question. The prospect or possibility of being
adrift alone in the world is not something that had ever occurred to him.
As we’re learning about Nick, nothing much seems to faze
him. Yes, it does cause him some sadness, a lot of sadness, but what else can
one do? He cannot conjure a family from nowhere, his life’s path has led him
here and he prefers being Nick Saint, age 64, lifelong resident of Rosemary
Terrace, than the alternative.
He bobs up from any despondency like a buoy upon the ocean
with some reminiscences of times when he wasn’t alone at Christmas. Times when
he was among people very much alive even if they now be ghosts. He was an only
child and enjoyed the unconditional love of two sensitive, kindly parents. There
were the years when his mum would play carols at the piano and he and his dad,
aunt, uncle and cousins would sing along. The years when the neighbours would
all gather for mince pies and chat and laugh in the street on Christmas Eve.
The tinsel tree that his mum would dress each year with more tinsel, baubles,
and chocolate. The year he and his school pal Trevor Jarvis both got drunk on ginger
wine, his first experience of alcohol. The year when his dad brought home their
first television set. It even snowed one year on Christmas day, 1971, he thinks.
There was something, however, about the phrase “All the
people I want to spend Christmas with are dead” that Steve just cannot
forget. He goes to sleep with the words on his mind and they surface again the
next day whilst he’s at work.
And he has an idea. He has to run it past Amy. Amy loves the
idea and puts her total trust and faith in Steve that he wouldn’t dare suggest
it unless he was convinced it was a good one.
We haven’t met Amy yet. Barely an inch or two over five foot
in height her strength of character makes up for her slight stature. She had studied
at Leeds Conservatoire, primarily piano, but also flute, but wasn’t quite
proficient enough to shine as brightly as some and her first job was in fact as
a nursery assistant, at which she certainly did shine. At ease with children
and they with her, being able to control and educate whilst generating fun, a
sense of play, fairness and sharing in her charges. Goes without saying that she’s
proved a natural at motherhood.
Born in the same hospital as Steve, though seventeen months
earlier, she had moved back to her parents’ house after her three years in
Leeds. The two of them met in Hardy and Jefferson’s, Steve having to help out
on the shop floor during a Summer staffing shortage. She had gone there for
some curtain fabric as a favour for her parents and a project that she was
quite excited to tackle on their behalf. Steve’s expertise in this area meant
that the two of them discussed her intentions for fifteen minutes or so, Steve then
not only offered some useful tips and suggestions, he rejected her first two
favoured choices as being unsuitable for the project, and then sold her a
cheaper but far more practical fabric. As
he bagged up the purchase and handed back her Visa card he felt a knot in his
stomach, and knew he really had to ask one more question.
“Right, there you go, your bag… and your card, thank you
very much. And good luck and… Uh, and, I don’t suppose you’d fancy a drink
sometime, one night maybe?”
Amy blushed. She blushed easily. It was far from the first
time a guy had invited her out when she barely knew him. But over the fifteen
or twenty minutes they’d been chatting, she had liked this one. She really quite
liked him.
That was in 2010 and things progressed fast. Steve was no
jack-the-lad but nonetheless he drank too much, spent an inordinate amount of
time with his mates and Amy wondered if he really liked her as much as she did
him. Her doubts were misplaced. Steve was crazy about her. He drank too much
and spent many many hours in The Grapes with his pals, but he also knew, at
least as far as he was concerned, very early in their relationship that Amy was
‘the one’ in a way that he’d never quite felt when he had been with Gemma or
Kayleigh.
They married in June 2014, the date had been set way before
Amy became pregnant, though she was seven months when the big day came around.
So, back to Steve’s idea that he puts before Amy. He has
kept her abreast of his chats with Nick, the man in the pub, and he begins to
recount the conversation of the night before and his “All the people I want to
spend Christmas with are dead.”
“I know what you’re going to say.” She said.
“What?”
“You’re going to suggest that we have him round for
Christmas dinner.”
Steve laughed. “Uh, yeah. How did you know?”
“Because I love you, that’s how. I have a degree. It may be
in music, but I can read you like crotchets, quavers and minims.”
He laughed again. “What do you think?”
“Sure, I think it’s a lovely idea. He seemed really nice
when we chatted the other week. I trust your judgement that he’s not a weirdo
or a Savile. He doesn’t seem like that.”
“I know, I don’t get that vibe about him either. Your
parents will be at Gary and Lizzy’s and mine are going to Ellie and George. We’ll
be here all the time, just the four of us. He won’t ever be with the kids on
his own.”
“Of course. Sure. Ask him, I think it would be a really nice
thing to do. My mum and dad always used to have strangers round for Christmas
dinner. I didn’t know who they were, blokes who worked in my dad’s office who were
at a loose end, probably just split up from their wives, Roger one year and
Derek another, men who I’d never seen before smelling of Blue Stratos, Hamlets
and Teacher’s whisky! We were very accepting of waifs and strays.”
“Great, I’ll ask him, no idea if he’ll accept. I get the
feeling he’s been on his own so long that he might prefer it like that. Oh, if
he accepts, I don’t mean to invite him just to lunch. I have another idea.”
This time Amy couldn’t second guess her husband and it was
her turn to laugh when he told her.
“He can be Father Christmas.”
****
The plan is for Steve to meet Nick at The Grapes on
Christmas Day at half twelve, have a quick couple and then head back around
half one to surprise the kids before lunch.
Steve steps into the Grapes ten minutes after schedule and
Nick is there already. Nick is always there already, but today especially. Steve
spies Nick sat at his table in the alcove. Nick is sat at his table in the
alcove in his Santa Claus outfit, head to toe.
“Hey, happy Christmas” Steve greets a woman whose name he
can’t remember, who is married to Jeff who runs the darts team. “Happy
Christmas” he says to Darren and Shelley. “Sandeep here yet?” “No, they’re not
coming after all.”
He makes his way to the bar, turns to Nick and bids him a
Happy Christmas, which is returned in a hearty Brian Blessed manner.
“Guinness?”
“No, no thanks, can I have a St Clements please?”
“What’s the matter with you, it’s Christmas. Are you coming
down with something?”
“I’m on duty. Your little ‘uns don’t want Father Christmas
stinking of booze.”
Steve laughs and tells him that they won’t mind. Santa
should smell of cigars and whisky, but Nick won’t hear it. A bitter lemon and
orange juice will do him fine. Plenty of time to catch up later in the day.
Steve chats to Darren and Shelley and Pat and Carole and someone
called Gary from the HSBC crowd and eventually makes his way to the empty chair
at Nick’s table. “There is something
magical about a pub on Christmas Day,” Nick says. “It’s the only day that was
better when you could smoke. A day when pubs would be filled with the scent of
new perfume, aftershave and slim panatelas. A room full of people in new
jumpers, a room full of smiling people, whether they’d had a good year or bad.
All forgotten for a couple of hours. Magical. It’s, as they say, the most magical
time of the year. I love it. People have been gathering and drinking in pubs on
Christmas Day for centuries and nothing will ever stop that. Long after I’m
gone, even when you’re gone, new folk come along, people who won’t ever know we
existed and they’ll be sat here in whatever garments they’ll be in, probably
not knitwear, but they’ll have a drink and a laugh and they’ll be wishing each
other a Merry Christmas just as we are. People were doing it long before we
were around. I love that link with the past and the future. No one can ever
take away the freedom for people to gather at this time of year, to share
hospitality, kindness, laughter. It’s as much a given as air or water.”
It’s not the first time that Nick has been quite the
philosopher in Steve’s presence. He prompts thoughts in Steve that wouldn’t
otherwise have occurred to him.
Nick has remained teetotal throughout the lunch session
whilst Steve has had two ciders and a port and they leave The Grapes at 10 to 2
arriving at chez Joseph at 1.54. The plan is for Nick to remain on the doorstep
whilst Steve asks his children to guess who has he met in the pub and who has come
back to have Christmas dinner with them.
The kids hazard guesses of Grandad, Nanna, Gary, Lizzy,
Ellie, George, Pingu, Paddington, The Teletubbbies, Zog, and Steve Backshall
before Saul ponders whether it might be Father Christmas?
“Shall we find out? Let’s call his name – Santa? Santa are
you there?”
“Ho ho ho. Have I come to the right house? Is this where
Saul and Kirsty live?” And a familiar figure steps into the open doorway to
Steve and Amy Joseph’s living room.
The two youngsters’ faces light up, Kirsty screams, fortunately
a yelp of delight, rather than horror, and Saul just gasps and stares as the
man in red takes a step forward,
“Ho ho ho. Are you two Kirsty and Saul? I’ve heard all about
you.”
Like riding a bike, he’s stepped back into the old role like
he’s been doing it all his life. Nicholas Saint really is Saint Nicholas.
“Mum, mum, come here, look who’s here. Father Christmas is
here.”
“Wow, it’s Father Christmas” she exclaims. “What are you
doing here?”
“I met him at the pub…”
“Well, I was thirsty after delivering all those presents to
all the boys and girls, so I thought I’d pop to the pub and then I met your dad
who told me how good you’ve been this year and so I asked him if I could come
to meet you before I go back home.”
And he even has some items left in his sack after his
night’s work. “Anyway, I had to come back as I’d forgotten to leave you these.”
For Saul, Nick had bought and wrapped a Rupert annual and Kirsty unwrapped a
cuddly meerkat dressed in a Santa outfit. He also pulls out a tub of Twiglets
(“Don’t know if you like them, but they’re my favourites.” Amy does, Steve
doesn’t), a bottle of red wine, four cans of Guinness and another four of
Weston’s cider for Steve. “You didn’t need to do that, I’ve got plenty of
cider, but thanks anyway. Very kind.” There is also a present for Amy. Wrapped
in Disney Christmas wrap like the children’s presents it’s a matching woollen
scarf, bobble hat and gloves set in Amy’s favourite shade of purple and pink.
Nick’s been observant sat there on his own in the pub down the years.
Throughout the afternoon Nick is bombarded with questions
but has an answer for all. Things like do you really visit all boys and girls?
Yes, all those who have been good. Everywhere? Even in London? Yes. Even in
Florida? Yes. Even in Brazil? Yes. How do you carry them all? They are all in
sacks in the sleigh. Do the reindeers get tired? They do eventually, but they
take it easy for the rest of the year. They enjoy the journey. Is the sleigh
easy to drive? Very easy. It doesn’t need any petrol, but parking on roofs is
the hardest bit.
The questions continue throughout the meal. Amy has cooked a
salmon pie, as none of them eat meat, including Nick. Crackers are pulled,
Santa reads all the jokes then tells them some of his own. Santa listens
patiently as each child details all the presents that they’ve unwrapped that
morning. Santa even has a couple of glasses of red wine. Steve invites Santa to
flame the Christmas pud, which Amy makes every year. It’s her nan’s recipe.
After dinner Nick offers to help Steve with the washing up
but his offer is politely refused. Instead, Amy says she has a surprise for
him. She revs up the Yamaha and they sang for the next hour, Steve joining them
after loading the dishwasher.
Amy played and sang beautifully in Nick’s opinion (not just
his opinion, she does). Away in a manger, Once in Royal David’s City, Frosty
the Snowman, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
(Nick’s favourite), Last Christmas, Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime,
plus a few more. Why, there may even have been the makings of a teardrop in the
corner of Mr Saint’s eyelids at one point.
The kids were enthralled and entertained and took it upon
themselves to invite him back next year. Santa said he would love to but would
have to check with their mum and dad that they continue to behave well next
year.
On a couple of occasions Nick confides to Steve that he
ought to be going, so that they can have some time to their selves. Steve talks
him out of it each time. We’ll get the kids to bed at seven and then we can
have a drink.
At ten to seven Saul and Kirsty beg that Santa puts them to
bed and reads them a story. At this Nick casts a sly look to Steve and Amy that
suggests he’s not entirely comfortable with this just as Amy says that she will
read them a story as Santa really has to go now but you’ll be able to see him again
next year.
“Yes, my reindeers will be hungry now. I’ve got to get them
home. I left them outside the pub.”
Both Saul and Kirsty say their farewells to Santa, thank him
again for their presents, and take a hug before Amy sheepdogs them up the
wooden hills to Bedfordshire.
Steve wastes no time in cracking open a Guinness and filling
Nick’s glass.
“Thanks so much, Nick, that went down a storm. I really
appreciate it. You can take the beard off now.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t been Father Christmas for 30 odd years,
I’m making the most of it. I might not be him ever again.”
“Oh yes you will. You’ve got the job. We’re booking you next
year. Same time, same place.” And they both laugh.
“I’ve loved it. Thank you, the both of you. But they grow up
fast. It won’t be long before Saint Nick is no longer required. But I just can’t
tell you how much I’ve enjoyed today.”
The whole operation had been a resounding success. Amy and
Steve had extended hospitality to a relative stranger and that stranger was now
a somebody once more.
Amy comes back and tells Steve that Saul won’t settle, he
says he needs to tell him something, but he won’t say what. Steve excuses
himself and whilst he’s gone, Nick repeats his gratitude to Amy, who in turn,
says pretty much the same as Steve, that it had been an absolute pleasure to
have him. It had made their Christmas just as much as it had made Saul and
Kirsty’s.
“Well, that makes five of us then, because you’ve really
made mine. Thank you. You really don’t know what today has meant to me.” And he
raises his glass of Guinness and takes a long sup.
Steve returns with a look of a camper whose sleeping bag zip
has just broken.
“What’s up, love. What was it? Is he okay?”
“Ah, some kid at school had been telling him that there’s no
such thing as Father Christmas. Bloody five years old. Five.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Well, hang on. He was telling me that that is what someone
had told him. This kid had told him that Father Christmas was made up and it
was just dads dressed up. And before I could say anything he said, he’d thought
this kid was telling the truth, but now he knows he wasn’t, because Santa came
here today and he wasn’t me dressed up!”
Amy laughed.
Nick said “There you go. Wise lad you’ve got there.”
Steve continues, “I told him that he should have asked me,
that I’d have told him the truth. And then I thought, but do I tell him the
truth? I don’t think it sets a good example to, uh, lie to them.”
“But you wouldn’t have been lying. Father Christmas does
exist. He’s a somebody. You invited him to Christmas lunch.” And he raises his
Guinness once more. “Cheers!”
