by CP Ward
There was only the problem of the letter. Bonnie shifted uncomfortably. Len claimed to have found a copy of the book, but after Debbie’s assertions, the thought of visiting him made her feel awkward. She hadn’t come here for this, but now that the seed was planted … he did have a nice smile, she had to admit.
She finished her coffee and headed downstairs. Snoring came from Debbie’s room, so Bonnie tiptoed past to the shower, got herself ready and then headed downstairs to prepare the café for opening.
In the face of unexpected demand, June had lent Bonnie Niall’s services, but after leaving the boy in charge during the wedding reception, Bonnie was feeling guilty about asking him to work more hours, particularly when June was also busy over in the Mountain Breeze. Perhaps it was time to send Jean an official job offer. If only she had an assurance that the park would stay open past January. Everything was rosy now, but what if it fell away after Christmas? The threat of the mysterious letter hung heavy over her head.
The café opened every day at ten, but since Bonnie was ready by nine, she decided to take a walk over to the staff building and check her postbox. Outside, the fresh snow on the ground reminded her she needed to buy herself some proper snow boots, because her Wellingtons didn’t do a great job of keeping her feet warm. Having never experienced such snowfall down on the Weston-super-Mare seafront, she hadn’t realised how totally unprepared she was for a real winter until she came here.
Halfway there, she bumped into Jason, pushing a wheelbarrow of dry feed towards the reindeer enclosure.
‘A fine morning it is,’ he greeted her. ‘How was the wedding yesterday?’
‘Fantastic,’ she said. ‘I’m exhausted, though. I’m getting a little old for parties.’
‘Brendon was telling me how we’ve already had a couple more requests come in,’ he said. ‘People were posting pictures online even before yesterday’s wedding had finished. News travels fast these days.’
‘I suppose it is a unique experience,’ Bonnie said. ‘Getting married in a Christmas theme park.’
‘Brendon suggested that we offer romantic wedding sleigh rides as part of the package. Honestly, we’re going to have a lot of thinking to do if the park stays open.’
‘If it stays open.’ Bonnie nodded. ‘What would you do if it doesn’t?’
Jason shrugged. ‘I have a degree in zoology and conservation management, so I guess I’d try to find work in a zoo or safari park somewhere. I’d worry about the deer, though. We couldn’t just set them loose, and the idea of culling them … I can’t think about it. They’re like friends to me.’
‘I’m sure the park won’t close,’ Bonnie said, trying to sound confident. ‘Not after all the work we’ve done to get it up and running properly again.’
‘You’re right,’ Jason said, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts. ‘Those letters were just a warning. I don’t think we have anything to worry about.’
They went their separate ways, Jason heading for the reindeer enclosure, Bonnie for the staff building near the entrance. Brendon, Mark, Shaun, and Alan were clearing snow from the courtyard plaza outside the main gates. Bonnie stopped to watch the bizarre sight of a court jester and three elves working away with snow shovels. When they noticed her, she smiled and waved. Brendon thumped his back to produce a brief jingle, and the three elves did a quick dance step, finishing with a flourishing bow.
Inside the staff building, she found several other members of support and maintenance staff setting up for the day or working on computers. She put her head round the door of the office and gave the people inside a wave, then invited them over for free hot chocolate and marshmallows as soon as they had a break.
She had redirected her mail from her Weston address, and found several Christmas cards stuffed inside. Three were circulars: one from her local hair salon, one from the mechanic who usually did a shoddy job of looking after her car, and one from an online company she had used just once six years ago to buy a four-slice toaster, and now insisted on reminding her that she was a valued customer year after year after year.
There were also a couple of personal ones too, from an old neighbour who had moved to London, and from a cousin who lived in Stockport whom Bonnie hadn’t seen in twenty years, but who kept her in the loop with a colourful two-sheet family newsletter about people Bonnie had never met. She smiled, appreciating the effort, but wishing they’d use the printer ink for something more beneficial. Still, the card had a pretty robin design and she had already planned to hang them up around the café with some old ones of Uncle Mervin’s she had found in a store cupboard.
Below them, she found an unpaid gas bill, and a reminder that her car insurance would be due in February. Then, at the very bottom, she found a letter.
The stamp and postmark were from Bulgaria. The handwriting—her address in Weston, but with a redirection sticker over the top—also familiar. Almost too long ago to remember, she had seen the first shapes of those letters as she held the hand steady, helping her five-year-old daughter to write her weekend diary for school.
Her hands shook as she tore the seal and pulled out the piece of paper.
Mother, greetings! Just a short note to let you know that I might be able to make it after all. Was planning to stay in Sofia over Christmas and New Year but I’m getting a bit homesick for the taste of good old mince pies. Can’t guarantee it but I’ll do my best. My laptop fell in a river (don’t ask!) and I ended up losing your new address, so if you could pop a note in the post to the address below, I’d be eternally grateful. Fingers crossed, eh. Bye!x
At the bottom of the note was the address for a post office in Sofia. So excited she could barely think straight, Bonnie borrowed some notepaper and an envelope from the staff office and hastily scribbled down a note for her daughter. Claire had promised before and never shown up—once even claiming to have spent Christmas on a bus in Switzerland having been trapped in heavy snow for three days—but Bonnie never failed to get excited at the prospect.
With the letter sealed and the address written, Bonnie fussed around, trying to find a stamp. No one in the office had one, but someone reminded her of the Christmas Land Post Office, in a little log cabin next to the restaurant forum, where she could buy stamps with an official Christmas Land logo.
There wasn’t much time left before the café had to open, so Bonnie headed back to check on Debbie. To her surprise, Debbie was already up and about, and in uniform, no less. She gave Bonnie a wide grin as she came through the door.
‘Surprised?’ she said. ‘I heard you go out. Figured you’d get sidetracked somewhere and leave me to do all the work. I cleaned out the coffee machine filter and made a decent brew with the dregs. You game?’
Bonnie winced. ‘I’ll pass. Thanks for everything. I’ve just got to nip up to the post office for a moment.’
‘Oh? Something happen?’
Bonnie told her about the letter from Claire.
‘That’s great. Reckon she’ll actually show up? I don’t mean to dump on your parade, but didn’t she promise to come back last Christmas?’
‘She got caught in an airline strike in France.’
‘Yeah, that. And the Christmas before?’
‘That was the bus incident.’
Debbie sighed. ‘You’re the best mother in the word, Bon. Well, second best after mine. I always knew she was awesome from when she gave me a Maiden CD for my eleventh birthday. None of this whole, “Sweetheart, can’t you listen to Backstreet Boys instead?” rubbish. It was like, “don’t keep shoplifting metal CDs from that shop at the end of the street, because you know his bottom line is tight. I’ll just buy them for you instead.” But you get what I mean. Your kids are punks.’
‘Um, thanks.’
‘Seriously. I mean, I hope I’m wrong, but you don’t deserve to be treated like a doormat. You’ve done so much for so many people. Look, I’ve got today. You go and take a break, go into Quim and do some shopping or something. Get your nails done.’
>
‘Do they have manicurists in Quim?’
Debbie shrugged. ‘No idea. Go and have a look. Post your letter while you’re at it, but have some you time. Seriously.’
‘You’re going to be busy.’
Debbie shrugged. ‘Larry said he’d help out.’
‘Larry?’
Debbie frowned. ‘What? He’s cool. Yeah, I know he looks like a potato wrapped in a Burberry blanket but he’s sharp as a whistle. Needs to sort out his music tastes, but you can’t have everything. And he’s an influencer.’
‘A what?’
‘He posts a video online saying jump and a whole lot of people do it. That’s the new power structure, Bon.’
‘Great.’
‘So, I’m thinking to set you up an online marshmallow shop.’
Bonnie winced. ‘There’s only so much marshmallow these hands can make.’
‘We’ll get staff.’
‘In that case, I think I’ll leave you in charge of recruiting.’
‘My pleasure. I’d make sure they all had perfect music tastes and no weird habits.’ Debbie picked up a broom and swished it in Bonnie’s direction. ‘Right, you. Out. It’s your day off.’
Bonnie smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Despite Debbie’s misgivings about Claire’s sincerity, Bonnie headed to the post office, bought a stamp with a little picture of Father Christmas leaning over the Christmas Land logo, and dropped the letter into the postbox. Afterwards, she took a walk around the park, stopping to talk to some of the people she had become friendly with such as Belinda, and Jan from the Bad Taste Christmas Goods shop. On her way, she stopped by Gene’s place to see if Ben had any news.
‘He says he’s fine,’ Ben laughed. ‘The old fool. He tried to get out of bed and nearly fell on his face. They told him to start following the rules, and he bellowed that he was Father Christmas and that magic would take him home.’
‘I wish it would.’
‘Me too. Unfortunately he’s going to have to rely on more conventional medicine.’
‘Do you still think he’ll be home by Christmas?’
‘I don’t think he’d have it any other way. He’s been Father Christmas here every year since the park opened. He wants me to take over, but he doesn’t want me to at the same time, you know what I mean?’
‘He can’t let go of the past.’
‘Something like that. Where are you off today?’
Bonnie told him about her forced day off. ‘Debbie thinks I’m working too hard, so I’ve been sent for some retail therapy.’
‘It’s easy to throw yourself into it, isn’t it?’ Ben said. ‘When you see the smiles of the kids, hear the laughter … beats working in a bank. That’s what I was doing before. Becoming a trainee Father Christmas wasn’t quite the career change I was looking for, but now that I’m here … I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be. It really is quite lovely.’
Bonnie smiled. ‘I know.’
The station at Quimbeck was bustling with people ready to make their way up to Christmas Land. Bonnie pushed through the throng, silently wishing Debbie good luck as she caught a couple of snippets of conversation praising her marshmallows. It was set to be a busy day.
Quim was relatively quiet, with a few older people wandering up and down its narrow streets, taking pictures, going in and out of the pretty shops or sitting on benches that surrounded its quaint square, eating cakes or lumps of fudge out of paper bags.
Above, a grey sky hung heavy with the threat of more snow. Bonnie’s breath steamed as she wandered about, with no interest in shopping or getting any kind of makeover, trying to delay the inevitable.
Finally, she could no longer put it off any more, so she headed for The King’s Thistle. The pub wasn’t yet open, but Len was setting up tables and chairs beneath parasols on the wide patio area. Bonnie climbed a set of steps to the fence surrounding the beer garden and waited until he noticed her.
‘Bonnie! How nice to see you.’
Was there a hint of a blush in his cheeks, or was it just from the exertion of carrying out the tables and chairs? Bonnie felt like a shy schoolgirl, her heart thundering, words that had come so easily before Debbie’s observation now stumbling on her tongue like drunks leaving a Christmas party.
‘Hey Len, I, uh, just stopped by to ask if now was a good time to, um, take a look at the book you found.’
‘Sure. Come on in. With this weather I’m not expecting a lot of people this morning.’
He headed into the pub, leaving Bonnie to trail behind. He held the door for her, then offered her coffee, which she agreed to with a silent nod.
‘Thomas and I had a great time at the park,’ he said. ‘We’ll certainly visit again before the Christmas season is over. He’s gone into Kendal today, and I couldn’t leave Mal in charge of the pub yet again.’
‘Mal? Your wife?’ Bonnie blurted.
Len laughed. ‘Malcolm. My second-in-command. He needs a day or two off sometimes. We’re pretty flat out at this time of year.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Come on back. We’re not open yet.’
He disappeared through a bead curtain. Bonnie stood dumbly by the entrance for a few seconds until Len reappeared.
‘Come on, don’t be shy.’
Trying not to show any obvious signs of discomfort, Bonnie followed him behind the bar and through the curtain. She found herself in a narrow connecting corridor with another open door a few steps in front. This led through into a small but comfortable living room. All stone walls and white-washed ceiling beams, it had an open fire flickering behind a fire guard, and lines of bookshelves fitted into the irregular walls at haphazard angles, the kind of DIY project that must have taken weeks and no little skill. On a mantel over the fire, several pictures displayed a happy family of three, Len, Thomas, and a homely, attractive lady Bonnie assumed had to be Len’s wife. In one, a much younger Len was smiling while his wife held a baby. In another, a tall, handsome boy beamed as he held up a certificate, with older versions of each parent standing beside him. In another, the woman, this time wearing a headscarf, hugged Thomas, now in his late teens, as they both smiled at the camera.
Something in Bonnie’s stomach knotted. This felt like a private place, one where she was an intruder. She wanted to be gone as soon as possible.
‘Here,’ Len said, carrying in a book from another room and setting it down on the table. ‘This is it, isn’t it?’
Bonnie, happy to be distracted from the memories steeped into the living room’s walls, peered at the cover. ‘It looks like it,’ she said.
‘Do you remember what page you needed to see?’
‘Yes. Is it okay for me to touch?’
Len smiled. ‘Sure.’
Bonnie flicked over the pages, turning each gently. The book had a similar feel to the other, barely looked at, a historical document to be kept rather than something to be read over time and time again. One page before the one she wanted, she paused, afraid to turn it over. What kind of mystery would she reveal, if any?
‘Go on, then,’ Len said, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
Bonnie took a deep breath, and turned over the page.
32
Mysteries Unearthed
At first she wasn’t sure what she was looking at. The black and white photograph had not transferred to the book very well, leaving faces grainy. Five men stood in a semi-circle, staring at the picture. She recognised the man on the right as Gene, his beard shorter than now, revealing a powerful, youthful face. Beside him was a man labeled as Donald Connelly. Taller even than Gene, he was more slender, clean shaven, with piercing eyes that stared straight at the camera. Bonnie glanced up at Len, and saw a younger version looking back.
‘My father,’ he said. ‘He didn’t last long up there, so I heard. He sold his share and bought this pub. Told me he got claustrophobic among so many trees.’
On the other side of the semi circle were a man a
nd a woman. The man was Mervin, and Bonnie stared for a long time at the face which had given her everything, a face she barely knew. He wore a cheeky grin as though his life was one long joke, and had his arm around the person on the outside of the semi-circle, the only woman.
Belinda Chadfield.
It was the same Belinda, surely. The elderly woman Bonnie had slowly begun to befriend was one of the park’s founders. In her youth she had been strikingly attractive, hair falling over her shoulders and curving in below her neck. She looked like a fashion model, even from the way she had angled her body to allow the camera to catch her from the side. Considering the rest of the people in the picture, she looked a little out of place.
‘That doesn’t help, does it?’ Len said. ‘I mean, it’s something of a joke, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know,’ Bonnie said, staring at the fifth and final member of the group.
In full Father Christmas garb, the man standing in the middle was labeled simply Saint Nick. His identity was hidden behind the beard and beneath the Christmas hat he wore. In the black and white photographs the colours he wore were uncertain, but from the shadows Bonnie guessed they were shades of dark green, perhaps even the same or a similar coat to the one Gene wore.
‘Saint Nick,’ she said. ‘The letters were signed S.N. Saint Nick. Are we being pranked?’
‘I suppose it depends who that man is,’ Len said. ‘I can ask my father, if you like. He’s losing his marbles a bit, but he might remember.’
