And judging from the smile playing on Tav’s face, he’s noticed it too. He doesn’t look up, but his smile gets wider as he starts singing the song softly under his breath.
I steadfastly ignore him and read another letter from a girl who wants Santa to make her grandmother better so she’s well enough to come for Christmas, but it’s like he knows this was another one of Mum’s favourite songs, and I don’t realise I remember the lyrics until I’m singing along too.
I forget my self-consciousness in front of him. I worked with Debra for months and she would always sing to the dogs in the parlour, but I could never let myself go that much. Tav makes me feel free and at ease. It doesn’t matter what my voice sounds like when it’s so easy to just be with him, to embrace the madness of the North Pole Forest and lose myself in the joys of Christmas.
The absurdity of this situation makes me start giggling.
‘You okay?’ Tav looks wary enough that I must look slightly deranged.
‘Do you realise how weird this is? Two weeks ago, I never even knew writing to Santa was still a thing, and now I can’t wait to respond to some of these.’ I wave the letter around. ‘This is the opposite of everything I’ve ever done in my life. I’ve never been anywhere and suddenly I’m reading letters from all over the world, from countries I didn’t know existed and in languages I can’t even identify.’
‘An opportunity to open your eyes to different walks of life?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ I shake my head and open another envelope. ‘No wonder my dad connects with you. You must be like a son to him. You’re my age and you’re outdoorsy and adventurous – exactly what he always wished I was.’
‘Whatever gives you that idea about me?’
‘You’re always, I don’t know, doing stuff.’
‘Outdoorsy, yes. Taught myself to do everything so I never needed to rely on other people, yes. Adventurous, no. I stay here. I talk to the same people, and the visitors we get. I trust no one. The furthest I ever go is taking my reindeer sleigh to pick up injured reindeer.’
‘Really? You don’t go on Great White shark feeding expeditions or base-jumping from the top of Angel Falls at any given opportunity then?’
His face screws up in confusion. ‘Why on earth would I do that?’
‘I don’t know why anyone would, but my dad enjoys it. Everyone wants to be adventurous these days and I don’t get it. I’m the odd one out for being happy to stay where I am. There are things and places I’d like to see, but the thought of getting to them … Planes, trains, and crowds of tourists. I’d rather see photos online and live vicariously through them.’
‘I’m with you. I’m happy here. Safe here. I like a quiet life. And I don’t like travelling. Why would I not be happy to stay where I am?’
‘Exactly.’ Our eyes meet across the pile of letters and the understanding in his makes me smile, even though something prickles at me about his use of the word “safe”. It seems an odd word choice for someone who is so good at making other people feel safe.
He watches me for a moment and then goes back to another letter.
‘Don’t you ever feel like there’s something wrong with you?’ I blurt out.
‘Plenty of things wrong with me, but why should that be one of them?’
‘Because everyone wants to travel and take holidays, and I don’t. People look forward to their holidays all year. My friend Debra used to count down to her holidays and which hot, beachy country she was going to would be planned out for the next three years.’
‘And, let me guess, she’s one of those people who call them “holibobs” and come to work in flip-flops, do no work in the week leading up to it, and make you suffer through holiday snaps.’
I burst out laughing. ‘Okay, how did you know that? Oh, wait, don’t tell me, the nisse told you?’
‘Use of the word “holibobs” puts anyone on the naughty list.’
I laugh so hard there are tears running down my cheeks, and Tav’s smiling, making me feel like we have an inside joke about a situation that always made me feel like an outsider at the dog parlour.
‘When I had time off work, I sat in the garden reading or caught up on Netflix. She made me feel like a real weirdo for not booking flights to a Greek island to laze around on the beach for two weeks and spend the evenings drinking Ouzo and pole dancing.’
‘While that mental image is one to treasure …’ He laughs and then turns serious again. ‘People like different things. That’s okay.’
‘Doesn’t my dad ever tell you that you should visit this-place or that-place?’
‘All the time, but I don’t want to, so what difference does it make? That isn’t me. I’m not going to do something because someone else thinks I should. I don’t like travelling; other people do. That’s fine.’ He looks up and catches my eyes again. ‘It’s okay to be yourself, Sash. Your “friend” might judge you for it, but I won’t. And I don’t think your dad means any harm with his comments – he’s just trying to find common ground between you. He wants that to be through something he likes, but he’ll have to try a bit harder, won’t he?’
There’s something about his … what is it? Confidence? Self-belief? Knowing that he’s enough just as he is, and he doesn’t try to gain other people’s approval by being more like them.
I like that about him. I wish I was more like that.
‘Or you could isolate yourself in a forest surrounded by reindeer and never make a connection with anyone,’ he says. ‘Reindeer don’t care where you go as long as you have lichen in your pockets.’
It makes me laugh again, but he keeps his eyes down as he rifles through envelopes, and there’s a tinge of sadness to his words, and I can’t stop thinking about it, even when the “few minutes” Tav could spare turns into a couple of hours, and today’s post bags are almost empty. We’re both lost in snapshots of other people’s lives, and I can almost forget that one day soon, this isn’t going to be my life anymore.
Chapter 10
Dear Santa,
How do you get into my house? We don’t have a fireplace. Did you know that breaking and entering comes with a prison sentence? My dad installed a burglar alarm this year, so don’t think we won’t catch you.
How much do you get paid? Who employs you and pays for the elf factory and your house at the North Pole? Do you pay the elves fair wages or are you in the slave labour trade? How old are you? Shouldn’t you have retired by now? Do you not drink or smoke – is that why you’re still alive? Do you eat all the cookies at once or save some for later? Do you share them with the reindeer?
From,
Jackson
Unusually, Tav’s behind the reception desk in the hallway of Santa’s House when I get to the bottom of the hill a few mornings later. He’s got the phone between his shoulder and ear and is scribbling something down on a notepad and alternately jabbing at buttons on the computer in front of him.
‘That’s fine, it’ll be a pleasure to have you. The Nutcracker Cabin is ready and waiting for your family’s arrival.’ He speaks into the receiver but grimaces at me, even though his eyes are smiling.
‘Was that a booking?’ I ask when he puts the phone down.
‘That was the third booking this morning.’ He moves over so he can type details into the computer. ‘Two cabins and another igloo, all before Christmas, and I’ve had a coach company confirm full seating for a group of day trippers. The Christmas spirit must’ve crept up on people this year.’ He doesn’t sound as overjoyed as I’d expected him to.
‘But it gives you more work to do?’
His eyes meet mine and he looks surprised that I’ve understood. ‘I’ve only just fixed the roof of the Gingerbread Cabin, the inside still needs fixing up, and now we’ve got a booking for the Nutcracker Cabin, and that needs cleaning and getting ready and—’
The phone rings again and I toe off my boots and take off my hat and scarf while Tav takes another booking for two nights in one of the igloos.
‘No. We’re usually booked months in advance. Sometimes we’ll get an uptick if I’ve got an advert placed in a tourist magazine or something, but none of this last-minute stuff. I don’t know what’s going on.’ He shakes his head and smiles at me. ‘Also, good morning.’
He steps out from behind the desk and awkwardly wraps one arm around my shoulders and bends to hug me, and I slip one arm around his back and clumsily pat his forearm through the heavy knit sleeve of his brown and cream zip-up cardigan. Whenever I have time to think about it, I forget how to act around Tav. If I hug him on the spur of the moment, it works, but if I have time to overthink it, I swiftly develop the limbs of an octopus and the brain of a goldfish who can’t work out what to do with them all.
‘This is why!’ Dad shouts, waving around his tablet as he jumps out of the living room in full Santa outfit, and Tav and I leap apart like we’ve been caught doing something that would make Rudolph’s nose glow even redder.
‘We’ve gone viral! Well, you have, Sasha. Look at what you’ve done!’
We gather around the tablet and he presses play on a video onscreen. It’s a group of children in an African school tearing into shoeboxes I filled with little goodies – colouring books and pens, fidget spinners, stickers, cracker toys, festive bows and ribbons, and candy canes. It was one of the first packages I sent out. Their letter had been a class project – their teacher wrote to Santa and each child added a wish. There wasn’t much I could do about their actual wishes, but the idea of a whole class of children going to so much effort, and the juxtaposition between their world and mine was something I hadn’t been able to shake off.
In the video, the children are screaming and laughing and running around barefoot on the beach under a scorching December sun with their gifts, the total opposite of freezing and snowy Norway, then they’re throwing tinsel and ribbons at each other, and then it ends back in the classroom. ‘Three cheers for Santa!’ the children all shout at the end and unroll a banner between them that reads #ThankYouNorthPoleForest.
The video has 12,987 views so far, and there are loads of comments.
‘Look at this one.’ Dad points out a comment from a parent saying her daughter got a personal reply from the same people and it made her year. The comment finishes with, “She’ll always believe in Santa now, even when she finds out the truth.”
There’s a link to Twitter, and someone else has posted a photo of a little boy playing with a wooden train I sent, and used the hashtag #ThankYouNorthPoleForest.
‘This is phenomenal,’ Tav murmurs.
I reach out and press the play button again, and the children’s delighted cries echo through our bedazzled hallway. ‘Look at how happy they are.’
My eyes fill with tears and I turn away and take a few deep breaths. This is ridiculous. Why am I getting so upset over a few happy children? I didn’t expect to ever see the results of the letters and parcels I’ve sent. Some of those letters are so poignant that you’d need a heart of stone not to be touched, and this video has hit me like a thump in the chest. We can make children this happy by spending five minutes packing up a box with stuff we don’t need.
Tav’s hand closes over my shoulder and squeezes, a comforting gesture, just being there. ‘Look at how happy you made them.’
It makes my eyes water even harder. I don’t think I’ve ever made anyone happy before.
‘I knew you could do it!’ Dad claps me on the shoulder and then addresses Tav. ‘See? I told you she was just what we needed.’
Something bristles at that, and I wipe my eyes and turn back. ‘It wasn’t meant to go viral. I wasn’t trying to generate publicity; I was trying to help.’
Dad’s reading through the comments now. ‘People are saying they’ve been on our website and it looks like a lovely place. Someone else says they don’t live far and they’re going to bring their kids here solely because of this video. Someone else asks where they can make a donation to the nice people who do this. Someone says this is exactly what they needed to see today, and just the sort of content the world needs. Ooh, I’ve just checked our Twitter account and Santa’s got five hundred more followers than I had last night. Let me share this video …’
‘It’s Tav as much as me,’ I say as Dad presses a few buttons and types something.
‘Nothing to do with me.’ Tav’s hand is still on my shoulder. ‘This was your idea. Credit where it’s due, because I’m guessing you never got much of that from “Ms Holibobs” even though you did a vast majority of the work.’
I laugh loudly to outshine the prickle of unease because he’s not exactly wrong.
‘I might congratulate myself actually,’ Dad says. ‘It was me who knew you two would make a wonderful team, and now look, we’ve got guests booking and people talking about us. This is exactly what we need to turn our fortunes around.’
‘It wasn’t meant for that though. I didn’t know this would happen.’ His insistence that the viral video was somehow planned makes me feel underhanded.
‘Good people doing good things will always find the right audience.’ Tav says it so softly that I don’t think Dad even hears it. ‘And this is just one parcel. You’ve sent out hundreds, and there’s plenty of stock left. Think of how many children you can make a Christmas wish come true for.’
It makes a lump jump into my throat again, and I turn around, and Tav sidesteps until he can catch my eyes. He gives me a silent nod, a wordless “you okay?” and I nod in response. Seeing that video has given me the warm fuzzies like nothing ever has before, and I want to rush to the post office and start replying to children’s letters right now, but Dad’s busy with his Twitter comments and the business email account is open onscreen on the desktop computer and it’s pinged with the new email arrival sound six times in the last ten minutes.
‘Have you two had breakfast, I can—’
‘No!’ Tav cries out. ‘We’ve suffered enough. I’ve got a pocket full of lichen, please let me eat that instead.’
I laugh so hard, complete with squiffy-pig-style snorting, that it drives me away from the edge of tears. ‘It’ll be Mum’s cinnamon rolls today.’
The phone rings yet again and I push Dad into the kitchen and leave Tav to answer it.
‘I knew you’d be good at this, Sasha.’ Dad puts his tablet on the counter and climbs onto his usual stool at the kitchen island.
‘What about you, Dad? You’re supposed to be taking things easy, and with more guests coming, that’s—’
‘Yes, yes, I knew you’d see exactly what this place needed.’ He’s not even going to listen, but this feels like the opposite of the gentle retirement I was supposed to help him accept.
The deep lilt of Tav’s voice reverberates through the downstairs as he takes another booking. ‘It’s barely 8 a.m. and he hasn’t stopped. The last thing he needs is to come in here and cook breakfast for all of us.’
Dad lets me clatter around the kitchen, getting ingredients out and making a dough. ‘You really care about him, don’t you?’
‘No, not at—’ I was going to tell him not to be so silly, but I can’t get the words out.
‘You’ve been good for him. He’s different with you here. A bit fuzzier around the edges.’
This time I do tell Dad not to be so daft, but I can’t help smiling to myself as I move around the kitchen, rolling out dough and adding the sugary cinnamon filling. I don’t realise I’m humming “Silver Bells” until Dad joins in.
‘Another igloo gone for New Year.’ Tav comes into the kitchen and surveys the scene. ‘I’m going to back out slowly and you two pretend you never saw me. There’s some charred remains of last night’s fire in the hearth. I’ll eat that instead.’
‘The mince pies weren’t that burnt,’ I say incredulously.
Tav’s laughing as he sits down next to my father, seemingly willing to be fed despite his teasing.
Dad’s s
till engrossed in replying to Twitter comments, and Tav folds his arms on the counter in front of him and lays his head down on them.
His tousled dark hair has flopped forward and I have an overwhelming urge to brush it back. And I can’t help thinking he has changed lately. I can’t imagine the guy I met a couple of weeks ago letting his guard down enough to do that.
I put a cup of coffee down and slide it across the island towards him, the backs of my fingers nudging the thick jumper covering his forearms. ‘I’ll help getting the cabins ready.’
‘I can’t let you do that.’ He lifts his head and meets my eyes. ‘You’re here for your dad, Sash, not for me. We both know he’s meant to be resting.’ Tav’s comment is aimed at Dad, who steadfastly ignores him too. ‘You’re loving the post office and you’re doing something wonderful there. I can’t take you away from that.’
‘All right. Answer me one question.’ I lean my elbows on the countertop and reach one hand across until I can slide my fingers over the top of his fist. ‘Can you do this by yourself?’
He goes to open his mouth but no words come out. He stares down at my fingers touching his and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. ‘Yes, of course. I’ve never backed down from a challenge before and I don’t intend to start now.’
All right, maybe not that fuzzy around the edges.
‘Okay, another question. Can you do this by yourself and still have time to sleep at night?’
After the serious answer to the last question, his smile makes dimples appear at the edges of his mouth. ‘No.’
I grin even though he isn’t joking. ‘It’s settled then. The letters can wait – paying guests cannot. You can do the structural stuff and I can sort out the inside.’
‘Sash …’ His other hand closes over mine where it’s still on top of his. I assume he’s going to protest so my fingers tighten, and we smile at each other for a few long moments.
He lifts his chin towards the oven. ‘Burning.’
‘Now you’re just teas—’ The smoke alarm starts shrieking, making Dad look up from his tablet.
The Post Box at the North Pole: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with in 2021! Page 19
