‘Ah, so it’s not a real house! That makes so much more sense. No one actually lives in a place that picture-perfect.’
The look on his face says I’ve truly lost the plot. ‘There’s a grotto by the main entrance for children to visit Santa, and post boxes for them to post their Christmas letters. We used to have more, our elf workshops where toys were made are legendary, as were Mrs Claus’s Kitchen baking classes, but it hasn’t been the best few years.’
‘Do you know my dad well?’ I try to keep the conversation going because when it’s silent, my mind wanders to what could be living in these woods and I’m convinced I hear a branch snapping and something hunting us.
‘We’ve become close since he took over last year.’
My double take frightens Rudolph and Taavi has to murmur something reassuring to him. ‘He’s been here for a year?’
‘Didn’t you know?’
‘No, I didn’t … I didn’t know where he was. My dad is not the sort of person you can keep up with.’ I suddenly feel ridiculously awful. What kind of daughter doesn’t know where her dad is in the world? How many times have I spoken to him this year? Maybe three phone calls and a handful of emails. It’s easier to avoid the topic, because talk of his travels always inevitably leads to him asking me to go on some trip with him and me saying no and disappointing him yet again. ‘Are you sure? He’s never stayed in one place for a whole year before.’
‘He took over right after the Christmas season last year, at the end of December. He loves it here. He doesn’t want to sell, no matter how much you come in throwing your weight around and bullying him.’
‘Bullying him? Are you serious?’
He doesn’t reply.
‘He’s going to be eighty in March and he’s just had a heart attack. He can’t possibly stay out here alone. Even with you here, which I didn’t know about, this place looks huge. And he asked me for help, so it’s obviously too much for him, even if he hasn’t admitted it to you. I’m trying to do what’s best for him. Am I the only person who notices how insanely cold it is?’
‘No, you’re the only person who’s dressed inappropriately.’
That makes me feel like I’m a teenager wearing heels that are too high and a skirt that’s too short, not the jeans, thick jumper, and coat I’m actually wearing. ‘I was boiling in Britain. I felt like a right wally getting dressed this morning.’
‘Wally?’
‘Eejit. Moron. Plonker.’
‘None of those definitions help, but I get your drift.’
‘Look, you said you were worried about him after the heart attack; surely you see that it’s not in his best interests to stay here? Where’s your nearest doctor’s? Nearest hospital?’
‘Eighty kilometres south.’
I’m so caught up in the conversation that I walk headfirst into a tree and Rudolph stops to look at me disapprovingly. ‘I don’t know what that is in miles, but it sounds far.’
He doesn’t say anything.
‘He needs to be at home. To live a quiet life.’
‘This is a quiet life. He’s an adult. He’s older than both of us put together. He has a right to make his own decisions.’
I can’t argue with him there, but the problem with my dad is that his decisions are rarely sensible ones. Someone has to step in somewhere … don’t they?
Silence falls again and an owl hoots somewhere in a distant tree and I rush to keep up with him in case it was something more sinister than an owl. ‘Is that why you don’t like me?’
‘Never said I don’t like you.’
‘Are you this standoffish with everyone then? Because, if I’ve figured this out correctly, you work at a Santa resort and you get visitors here? You must be nice to tourists and children because I don’t think they employ people as monosyllabic as you at a Santa village.’
He lets out a loud laugh and meets my eyes for just a second. ‘You have a fair point and you make it well.’
Thankfully, the trees get more sparse and the twinkling lights of the house come into view, which saves me trying to make more awkward conversation. The dogs are still outside, but Dad has put down food for them and is standing on the decking outside Santa’s House with his hands wrapped around a steaming mug.
‘There you are!’ He waves when he spots us. ‘See, Tav? I told you we needed Sasha. She’s making herself useful already.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he mutters, totally deadpan. ‘I don’t know how I’d have managed without a posh hotel manager to escort through the forest.’
I ignore the hotel manager bit, even though it makes me uneasy that yet more people know about this stupid lie.
‘I can take it from here,’ he says when we reach the house and my father is peering down at us from the top of the steps.
I unwind the end of Rudolph’s halter from where it was wound surprisingly tightly around my glove and hold it out. The thick glove-covered fingers of his enormous hand brush against mine as he takes it with a nod of thanks.
‘Thanks for the interesting arrival, Rudolph,’ I say to the reindeer.
‘Rudolph Number Three,’ Dad corrects me. ‘We wouldn’t want them getting confused.’
I reach over and pat Rudolph on his shoulder, avoiding his antler as he turns towards me. His fur is immensely thick, so dense that you can barely get your fingers through it. No wonder they don’t feel the cold. I stroke over it for a few moments.
‘I don’t know how he keeps getting out,’ Taavi says.
‘Maybe he can fly,’ my dad says.
‘Nah, don’t be silly, Perce.’ Taavi glances at me and then back at my dad. ‘Only Rudolph Number One can fly.’
He’s joking. Obviously he’s joking, but neither of them do anything to confirm he’s joking, and it’s a little unsettling. The silence is uncomfortable while I wait for one of them to start laughing, but neither does.
Eventually one of the dogs starts ah-woo-ing, which sets them all off, and Taavi tugs on Rudolph’s halter. ‘I’ll take Rudolph Number Three back and secure the paddock, and then return the dogs.’
‘Where do they come from?’
‘There’s an outdoor activities centre seven kilometres west.’ He meets my eyes and a smile twitches on his lips. ‘Just over four miles.’
‘How do you get back?’
He stares at me and then looks down at his feet like it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.
‘You’re going to walk four miles? In this weather? In the dark?’
‘Of course.’ He shrugs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
‘Don’t you want to come in and get warm? Have some food? You’ve been out here as long as I have; you must need to warm up.’
‘I assure you, I’ve been out here a lot longer than you have.’ He goes to walk away with Rudolph trotting after him, but stops and turns back. He tilts his head to the side as he looks at me. ‘Thank you, though. I appreciate the thought.’
‘Ahh, so you can be friendly.’
He lets out that warm laugh again and his eyes are twinkling when they meet mine this time. ‘I can, but I try not to do it too often. It unnerves people.’
He strides off with the reindeer and I stand with Dad on the wooden decking and watch as he follows the road we came in on, but instead of turning downwards towards the gate, he takes a narrow path left and disappears between the trees.
Dad’s hand touches my arm, and even my coat must be cold, because he says, ‘Oh, you’re frozen – come in and have some hot chocolate to warm up.’
The door is open and my suitcase is now inside, and the dogs have quietened down again while they wait. I’ve gone past the point of no return with being cold now, because instead of following my dad inside, I can’t help looking around for a moment.
Opposite the house is a wide hillside, clear of the trees that surround it. The hillside is dotted with little wooden cabins going all the way up and there’s what looks like a ski slope in the middle. At the bottom
, there’s another huge red post box with “North Pole Mail” written on it, and there’s another one at the edge of the house. We’re on a snow-covered road that disappears into the distance, and even though there are Victorian-style streetlamps glowing at intervals along either side, it’s too dark to see anything. I have no idea how big this place is or what exactly my dad is in charge of.
I eventually shake myself and hurry inside the door. I’m in a huge hallway with a log fire crackling in a hearth along one wall, and I rush over to it and pull my gloves off, rubbing my hands together and leaning as close to the flames as the protective grate will let me. I breathe a sigh of relief as the warmth filters through. It’s toasty inside, the complete opposite of the biting iciness outside.
Along one wall inside the door, there’s a mahogany reception desk with a computer monitor on it and in front of me is a mantelpiece over the fire, with nutcracker candlesticks holding flickering taper candles, and a huge portrait of Santa hanging on the wall above the fireplace. He bears a striking resemblance to my dad. The mantelpiece is decorated with another twinkling garland of evergreen branches interspersed with pine cones, berries, and sparkly poinsettia flowers. There are a couple of big rooms off the main hallway, and at the end, there’s a grand staircase, also decorated like something you’d see in a magazine, not in real life. The wooden banisters are wrapped with twinkling garlands and wreaths are hung at intervals going up the baluster posts and finished with big red bows.
No wonder it’s only a show house. It feels more like walking onto a film set than into someone’s home. Even the air smells like cinnamon and freshly baked vanilla cookies.
‘I’m so glad you came, Sash.’ My dad reappears from what must be a kitchen with a steaming mug in one hand and a plate of … freshly baked cookies in the other.
Does my dad bake Christmas cookies now? Of all the things that have surprised me today, this is probably the biggest of them. Dad could barely find his way around a tin opener when I was young.
He puts the mug and plate down on a table beside the fire and takes my freezing hands between his warm ones. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘It’s good to see you too,’ I mumble as he wraps me up in a hug, and it makes me realise it really has been far too long. I haven’t hugged my dad in three and a half years. It’s normal not to see him from one year to the next, but when something like this happens, it makes you realise how important hugs are, and my arms automatically tighten around him.
‘How are you?’ I ask as he squeezes me tight enough to make the breath leave my lungs. ‘Seriously now, Dad. What did the doctors say about your heart?’
‘Oh, nothing for you to worry about. It was just a warning – telling me that I need to take it easy.’
‘I want to know everything. What happened that day? Where did it happen? How are you feeling now? Are you taking it easy? Have you got any follow-up appointm—’
He releases me and steps back before I can finish insisting on accompanying him on his next doctor’s visit. ‘You look cold. Take your shoes and socks off and leave them to dry by the fire. We’ve got underfloor heating – that’ll warm your tootsies up in no time.’
I do as he says, even though I’m annoyed at him for trying to change the subject, and also keen to know what part of chasing a reindeer around a frozen forest constitutes “taking it easy”.
I pull my wet trainers and damp socks off with a squelch of melting snow and leave them by the fire, and Dad disappears and returns again with a pair of fluffy socks, which he waves in my face until I take them from him, roll the frozen bottoms of my jeans up, and pull them on. I breathe a sigh of relief when my dry feet touch the warm floor.
I shrug my coat off and finally pick up the mug of hot chocolate, which looks like something you’d buy in a Christmas film, complete with whipped cream dotted with pink and white marshmallows and sprinkles, and a stripy candy cane hooked over the edge of the Santa-shaped red mug. I take a brightly iced bauble-shaped cookie and look over at my dad, who seems to be assessing me too.
He’s wearing a white T-shirt and red braces holding up a pair of black trousers, and his feet are in thick red and green striped socks, like the ones he’s just given me. I can’t get to grips with the hair and beard, and without meaning to sound judgemental because I could do with losing a few pounds and a chin or two, but my dad is quite literally twice the man he used to be. He’s on the go so much that eating is an inconvenience in his busy schedule, and he’s always been so active that he’s been slim and muscular without even trying. But now … he looks like the personification of Santa Claus in every way possible.
‘I appreciate you taking time off work for me. I know your job is so important and it can’t be easy to take off at the drop of a hat …’
Oh, that. I should tell him. I’m going to tell him. ‘About that …’
‘I’m so proud of you. I know I haven’t been the best dad, but to see you strike out on your own, work hard, and get such a prestigious job …’ He pats under his eyes like he’s about to tear up. ‘Your mum would’ve been so proud.’
The words die in my throat. He’s so proud of my job that he’s nearly in tears, and he’s brought up Mum as well. How can I disappoint him now?
I bite the cookie instead and a multitude of flavours burst in my mouth. The sweetness of the icing, coupled with vanilla and cinnamon and an after-hint of some homely spice that turns warm in your mouth. ‘These are amazing. You made these?’
‘Tav made them. He’s an incredible cook.’ He takes a biscuit of his own and picks up his mug and beckons for me to follow him. I glance back at the fire longingly, but the whole house seems as warm and snug as this hallway.
Outside, the dogs start howling again and there’s the sound of boots crunching on snow and a deep voice talking to them, and then the swish as they take off and their excited barking echoes into the distance.
I go over to the window in the living room, both hands wrapped around the mug as I sip the pepperminty hot chocolate. There’s snow piled in drifts along the window ledges outside, and it’s so quiet that I imagine the twinkling of all the lights on Santa’s outside veranda is audible. I look upwards again, hoping the Northern Lights might make a reappearance, but cloud has drifted in now. ‘You could’ve mentioned it was a Santa village, you know.’
‘I didn’t think you’d come. I know you like animals and thought you might be swayed by the reindeer, but you’re not really a big Christmas fan.’
‘Dad, I would’ve come to help you, no matter where. Even halfway up a mountain in Outer Mongolia.’ I hold a warning finger out. ‘And don’t go getting any ideas about mountains in Outer Mongolia; that wasn’t a suggestion.’
My voice sounds joking, but I wouldn’t put it past him to be actively planning his next trip up a mountain in Outer Mongolia. ‘I’d go to the ends of the earth if you needed me.’
‘Oh, now there’s an idea. I’ve yet to see an end of the earth. I wonder where you might find one.’
‘No,’ I say warningly, but he’s laughing when I turn to look at him. ‘Speaking of things you didn’t tell me, what’s with the Big Unfriendly Giant?’
‘Oh, Tav? He wasn’t unfriendly, was he? I’ll make sure he gets nothing but coal in his stocking if he was.’
I expect him to laugh, but his face is serious. How much has this place got to my dad? Coal, seriously? ‘Not unfriendly, as such. Just … unexpected. I thought you were on your own. As you repeatedly told me on the phone despite saying “we” a lot,’ I say to myself more than to him. It’s making me question every aspect of my relationship with my dad. He’s asked me to go many places with him – I’ve never said yes. Did he really think he had to hide so much just to get me to visit him when he’s had a brush with death?
‘He’s a good lad.’
‘Lad? He looks like he lives at the top of a beanstalk. I don’t think “lad” is quite the right word.’
‘Well, he’s a lad to me. He’s thirty
-eight, you know, only a couple of years older than you. Single too.’
‘That’s very interesting and very irrelevant information. I’m not looking and he thinks I’m such a witch that I must have a folding broomstick in my suitcase.’
Dad laughs. ‘You mustn’t take him seriously. He’s just being protective of me.’
‘I’m your daughter! He doesn’t need to protect you from me.’
‘He knows how much I love it here. This is the first place I’ve ever been that feels like home.’
‘Your home is in Oxfordshire. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for you to come back. To be a family again. You can’t—’ I go to repeat that he can’t stay here, but it’s falling on deaf ears.
‘He’s the best friend I’ve ever had, Sash. Do give him a chance.’
‘I will, but it doesn’t matter what he thinks. I’m here to help you, and that includes doing what’s best for you, even if neither of you agree. You remember our deal, right? I’m here to help you get everything under control and sell up.’ The words do sound a bit bullyish as they come out of my mouth, but what else am I supposed to do?
‘I know,’ he says solemnly, and I have a feeling this isn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped.
‘So do you have visitors now? There’s no lights on in the cabins on the hill over there, but Taavi said something about glass igloos?’
‘We’re empty at the moment.’ Dad looks sadly at his pristinely decorated tree in the centre of the room, ceiling height, and so perfect that it couldn’t possibly have been decorated by a real person. ‘We’ve been empty for a while now.’
‘How long’s a while?’
‘I bought it because it was going under last Christmas. Things had been going downhill and it was the end of the line for the old owner, but I couldn’t imagine a world without the North Pole Forest in it. I wanted to restore it, but with my health …’
My ears instantly prick up. ‘Has your health been this bad for a whole year then?’
The Post Box at the North Pole: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with in 2021! Page 4
