‘And you,’ Amy said. ‘You have to be sure of what you want too.’
‘I know,’ Santa said, ‘and that’s the other thing I should tell you.’
‘What?’ Amy breathed, barely able to take it all in.
‘For Santa there is no maybe. For me to ask a girl to marry her, it has to be certain that she is my One True Love. There’s no divorce, no second chances, not for me. So there’s a test you can take, more of a sort of cosmic x-ray they give you, to examine your heart, just to be certain. I took it back at Lapland while you hanging out with elves.’
‘Oh,’ Amy said, wide-eyed. ‘And?’
‘I tested positive,’ Santa said. ‘You are my One True Love, Amy. For some reason it’s you. And it will only ever be you for the rest of my life. Whether you decide to marry me or not, I will always love you.’
Amy was silent for a bit. ‘That’s…erm…heavy,’ she said eventually.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘And that’s why I didn’t say anything straight away. It’s a hell of thing to tell a girl, especially one you’ve just met.’
‘I’ll say,’ Amy said, her head so full of mind-blowing things to think about that she’d completely forgotten she was sitting in a sleigh in the middle of the stars, high up in the sky.
‘You’re not jumping into my arms saying yes, let’s do it, I notice,’ Santa said.
‘It’s just so…I mean, to never see my mum again, and for her to forget me? And my dad, who I’ve missed and who’s missed me for all this time. He won’t remember me either, and I’ll never get to know him…that’s a lot to give up if…’
‘You’re not sure?’ Santa asked gently.
‘No, because I am sure,’ Amy said. ‘Sitting here, right now looking into your eyes, I am so sure about how I feel about you; I know because I’ve never felt like this before.’
‘So, what then?’ Santa asked. ‘A lot to give if what?’
‘If I’m wrong,’ Amy said unhappily. ‘You don’t know how many times in my life I’ve been absolutely certain and sure about something and it’s turned out, in the end, that I couldn’t have been more wrong and I’ve ended up getting hurt.’
The two of them sat there in silence for a while, Amy drawing the faux fur leopard print blanket up around her shoulders, as she began to feel the cold.
‘I understand,’ Santa said. ‘It’s fine. Eddie lives in Clapham, doesn’t he? We’ll head there next.’
‘Or,’ Amy said, determined to shake the sadness and uncertainty away on what, in theory, could well turn out to be the happiest day of her life. ‘We could go on a date.’
‘A date?’
‘Well, you are still in control of time aren’t you, and I seem to remember that kissing isn’t completely off the cards. Take me on a date, Santa. If you want me to give up my entire life to marry you, the very least you can do is take me on a date.’
‘Well, where?’ Santa asked.
‘Good God, man,’ Amy said. ‘You’ve got the entire planet at your fingertips. You think of something. Surprise me.’
19. Summer Lovin’
‘CORNWALL?’ AMY ASKED as Santa led her to a grassy slope a few metres away from where the land fell away sharply into the sea. ‘I must admit you have surprised me.’
‘Cornwall, in summer,’ Santa said, producing a gingham tablecloth from nowhere in particular, which very obligingly spread itself on the grass, exactly like a magic carpet might. ‘Midsummer’s Eve, 1976 to be precise. The sun won’t set until after ten, and it will be balmy and warm for the whole of the night.’
Amy watched as, out of thin air, he produced a picnic of small dainty-looking sandwiches arranged neatly on china plates, a pyramid of delicious-looking cakes, stacked prettily on a cake stand, a glass full of fat-looking prawns and a bottle of champagne, chilling in a bucket that brimmed with ice. Amy realised that it felt like weeks since she had eaten anything and suddenly she was very hungry.
And yet, despite the magnificent sky streaked with pink and gold turning the sea into a molten pool of fire, and the wonderfully tempting-looking food, not to mention the handsome man who was eyeing her from the other side of the cloth, there was one thing that was rather putting a damper on the mood.
‘Any chance of a costume change?’ Amy asked him. ‘Only it’s hard to know whether or not you should marry a person when you’re all itchy from polyester.’
Santa smiled, and in an instant Amy found herself in the most beautiful ivory organza dress, which was fastened with a row of tiny crystals that also dotted the full, knee-length skirt, like a sky full of stars. Delighted, Amy twirled and swirled in the dress, feeling the skirt lift a little in the breeze, her hair swishing against her shoulder blades as she turned and turned. Then, catching the look on Santa’s face as he watched her performance, she stopped in her tracks.
‘This is a wedding dress,’ she realised looking down at herself. ‘You conjured me up a wedding dress.’
‘Sorry,’ Santa apologised. ‘The outfits come from what my heart sees you in. It’s kind of hard not to see you this way at the moment. You could look at it as a summer dress?’
‘A summer wedding dress!’
Santa smiled. ‘Well, yes. Now, will you come and sit down with me?’
‘No,’ Amy said.
‘No?’ Santa looked crestfallen.
‘You’re still wearing a fur trimmed hat,’ Amy said. ‘And no one can take you seriously in those ridiculously camp boots.’
Only when Santa was adorned in a white shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of faded jeans, would Amy join him on the picnic blanket on the grass.
‘For a first date you are pretty high maintenance,’ Santa said, smiling, as he offered Amy a tiny sandwich. She took six.
‘Yes, well,’ Amy said, too afraid to look directly at him. ‘This isn’t like most first dates I’ve been on. On most first dates I’ve had to remind myself not to talk about marriage. On this one I’m actively supposed to be considering it!’
Santa said nothing, mirroring Amy as he too gazed out at the far horizon, watching the night creeping ever so slowly down from above, chasing the last remnants of the sun into the sea.
‘So why Cornwall?’ Amy asked, breaking the peace at last, because she felt that someone had to say something. ‘Why here?’
‘I came here when I was a boy; it was a school trip,’ Santa said. ‘I was only a kid, not even nine, I don’t think. I found this place, this exact spot on my own, when I was off on an adventure. I’d never seen anything so beautiful before. And so I decided, when I met the girl I was going to marry, I’d bring her here to propose to her.’
‘Oh,’ Amy breathed.
‘Amy,’ Santa whispered.
‘Yes?’ Amy said, rather squeakily.
‘Amy, look at me,’ Santa said.
‘At you, you say?’ Amy said.
‘Yes, at me,’ Santa said, the sound of the warm smile in his voice giving her courage at last to look at him. And when she did, when she turned to find his beautiful face just a few centimetres from her, his silver eyes gazing into hers, she discovered that she could no longer breathe. That would at least solve her problem, Amy thought. She wouldn’t have to choose between Santa and her life, if she died from asphyxia right there and then.
‘Please may I kiss you?’
Amy nodded, wondering if now was a good time to ask him if he knew CPR, but fortunately very soon she discovered that if Santa was kissing her, she didn’t need to know anything at all ever again. The touch of his lips on hers felt like the touch of the sun that was blazing its final glorious moments out to sea, and the lightest stroke of his fingers on her cheek made Amy shudder with desire. It was short kiss, lasting only a few seconds, and almost chaste. The kind you’d see in an old movie, so much more about passion than sex, and yet, Amy thought, it might be the most profound moment of her entire life. Which was why she was a little disappointed when the first words that came out of her mouth were, ‘Blimey, that was even better tha
n the last one.’
‘I had to hold out a bit then,’ Santa said, softly into her ear. ‘That was more for demonstration purposes. This kiss…this kiss was all me.’
‘Goodness,’ Amy said. ‘I’d quite enjoy some more kissing, if that’s OK with you or, you know, maybe we shouldn’t be kissing, maybe we should be talking about what sort of music we’re into, our favourite books and movies, that sort of thing. Like, do you have any hobbies? We should probably talk about hobbies. I took up knitting last year, but I can’t get the hang of casting ohhhhh—’
Amy entirely lost track of whatever it was that she had been saying as Santa’s lips met her neck, tracking kisses just under her jaw line until he reached her ear.
‘I think we’ll just stick to kissing for now,’ he whispered, pushing her back gently on the grass.
‘Kissing, yes,’ Amy said. ‘Sounds good to me. Let’s crack on with the kissing.’
*
The moon had risen in sky, which was studded with as many stars as her skirt, when Amy and Santa took a break from hours of kissing. Lying with her head on his chest, with Santa’s fingers drawing a lazy circle on her shoulder, Amy wondered if it was really possible to feel this happy, if it should even be allowed. To be this happy could only mean that one day she would have to be as equally as sad, and she wasn’t sure that she could bear the opposite feeling of the joy that filled her to the brim right at this moment.
‘What are you thinking?’ Amy asked.
‘That I could murder a cheeseburger,’ Santa said.
‘What?’ Amy lifted her head and looked at him. ‘That’s not romantic at all!’
‘I know, I just think it’s funny that girls always insist on asking boys what they are thinking, when mainly we aren’t thinking about anything very profound at all.’ He smiled, reaching out to brush her kiss-tousled hair off her face. ‘Except on this one occasion I am pondering something really, really very, very important.’
‘Which is?’ Amy asked archly, expecting another quip or offhand comment.
‘I’m wondering, Amy Tucker,’ Santa said, revealing a diamond ring that shone as brightly as any star, resting in the palm of his hand. ‘If you will do me the honour of becoming my wife.’
Amy could say nothing, she couldn’t move, or breathe or think.
‘And just for the record,’ Santa added, ‘that was a proposal.’
‘Aren’t I supposed to be proposed to in Venice?’ Amy asked him.
‘Seriously?’ Santa stuttered. ‘I’m proposing to you in 1976 and you’re wondering about the other man who, by the way, you were scheduled to turn down?’
‘It’s just, I’m a bit confused with all the time travel and destiny and so no proposal in Venice then, no?’
‘Do you want me to take you Venice again?’ Santa asked her frustrated. ‘No, no proposal in Venice, we’ve changed your timeline Amy, it changed the moment that you fell for me and I…I fell so very much in love with you.’
‘Oh.’ Amy looked mortified. ‘I’ve really rather ruined the moment, haven’t I?’
‘A bit,’ Santa said. ‘There is one way you could redeem yourself though.’
‘Kissing?’ Amy asked hopefully.
‘I was thinking more along the lines of you saying yes,’ Santa said. ‘So, Amy, what’s it going to be?’
20. Mamma Mia!
‘I NEED TO see my mum first,’ Amy said, sitting up, drawing her legs under her chin and hugging them. ‘I need you to take me to see her so I know how to answer.’
‘Except you can’t tell her about me, or Lapland or anything…’ Santa said uncertainly.
Amy could see he was disappointed that she hadn’t leaped into his arms, declaring yes and covering his face in kisses, but she also knew that he would understand. That was one of the things she loved about him: he actually did want what was best for her, even if neither of them knew what that was yet, and even if it meant him living with a broken heart forever.
‘Yes, but I could talk to her in a dream state, couldn’t I?’ Amy said. ‘Like I did with my dad? I need to see her, I’m her only child. If I’m going to disappear I’d like to at least leave her with a dream.’
‘OK,’ Santa said, and as he stood up his casual summerwear transformed back into his Santa suit. Amy was a little sad to see her organza dress vanish as easily too. She was back in her elf costume with the annoying little bell that hung on the end of her hat dangling in her eyes, taunting her with its naffness.
‘Come on then, love of my life,’ Santa said, a little sadly, as he lifted Amy into the sleigh. ‘Take me home to meet the in-laws.’
*
‘Mum,’ Amy whispered. ‘Mum!’
Amy’s mum was lying on her back, her head thrown back, snoring like a snarling wolf about to pounce. How her step-dad, Jack, slept through it, Amy did not know, but she supposed that he was able to was partly what made them such a happy couple. That and the fact that – unlike her biological father – he at least liked ladies.
‘Sally! Wake up!’ Amy tried again.
‘What, what now? Honestly, if you tell me you’re too scared to go to the toilet again alone, Amy Tucker, you’re eleven for goodness sake…Oh, Amy, love.’ Sally’s eyes flickered open. ‘What are you doing here, you’re not supposed to be here ‘til morning.’
‘I’m not here, really,’ Amy said. ‘It’s a dream. There’s Santa, look!’
Santa waved from the foot of the bed.
‘Hello darling,’ Sally said, sitting up in bed, which was when Amy remembered that her mother slept in the nude, save for a dash of Chanel No 5, just like her heroine Marilyn Monroe.
‘Mother! Cover up!’ Amy cried loud enough for Jack to roll over, muttering something in his sleep.
‘Why?’ Sally said. ‘If this is a dream then I can be naked, can’t I? I’m usually naked in all my dreams, especially that one where I get caught shoplifting in Asda. Never attempt shop lifting in the nude, love. Serious risk of frostbite.’
‘Mum!’ Amy threw a purple silk dressing gown at her mother. ‘You need to cover up because this man might very well end up being your son-in-law. I’m thinking of marrying Santa!’
‘Really?’ Sally said. ‘And about time too, I was giving up on you ever finding love.’
Her mum got out of bed, putting the dressing gown on as she went to kiss Santa on both cheeks, taking him by surprise with her embrace; he had both eyes tightly shut, for fear of seeing even more of Sally than was decent.
‘Well, then, ‘Sally said. ‘I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’
*
As Amy sat in the kitchen – the kitchen she had grown up in – watching her mum bustle about arranging biscuits in a fan shape on the best china, in the middle of the night for a dream guest, she felt a pang of love for her mother so strong that it brought tears to her eyes.
It would have been easy to be angry with her, for hiding the truth about her father, for not telling her about him for so long, but that would be impossible. Before marrying Jack, Sally had done all she could to be two parents to Amy. Even when Jack took her to his heart and loved her just has much as any real dad could, she’d still had a very special relationship with her mum. Sally had fought tooth and nail for her daughter, always comforted her when times were bad, always cheered her on when things went well. Amy phoned her every single day, sometimes twice. How on earth would she be able to leave that bond behind? Especially knowing that if she did so her love for her mother wouldn’t exist, even as a memory.
‘So,’ Sally said, presenting Santa with a plate of garibaldis. ‘You love my daughter do you?’
‘Yes,’ Santa said, smiling at Amy across the table. ‘More than I thought was possible.’
‘That’s nice,’ Sally said. ‘And how long have you known her?’
‘About…’ Santa stopped, as Amy frantically waggled her brows at him. ‘It feels like a lifetime.’
‘Hmm, and why are you dressed as Santa, is it
some sort of fetish thing? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a bit of experimentation, but not if it’s going to get out of hand. One minute you’ve got her dressed as an elf, the next as a penguin, that sort of thing.’
‘Mother!’ Amy said, covering her face. ‘Please, no.’
‘Jack and I don’t mind a bit of dressing up ourselves,’ Sally said cheerfully. ‘He’s more traditional though – a French maid sort of man, if you know what I mean.’
‘Um.’ Santa looked up at the ceiling, his complexion matching his suit. ‘I’m dressed as Santa, because I am, in fact, Santa.’
‘Really?’ Sally said, looking him up and down. ‘Much better than the ones we had in my day. Not much job security in that, though, is there? I mean what, you work for one month a year and then they sling you out of the grotto and you’re unemployed again? An actor, are you? You’re very good looking, you should do well. I say, Amy, he’s fit this one, darling. Well done.’
‘Mother,’ Amy said, using her serious tone, the one she had to employ whenever she wanted Sally’s full attention. ‘Santa is real. He’s the actual…real Santa. It’s his job all year round. And I love him, I love him a lot. He’s funny and kind and, yes, handsome, and good at heart, and even though he already knows all of my faults—’
‘You do have a lot of faults.’ Sally nodded. ‘Bless you.’
‘And yet he still loves me,’ Amy added. ‘And I think if I married him, he’d make me very happy.’
‘Well then,’ Sally said happily. ‘You should certainly marry him. I must remember to tell you this dream in the morning, maybe it’s a sign. Maybe Mr Right is just around the corner. I can’t wait for an excuse to buy a hat…’
‘The thing is, Mum,’ Amy said. ‘If I go with Santa, if I marry him, I’ll never see you, or Jack or Dad again, and you, you will forget that I ever existed.’
The tone of Amy’s voice caught Sally’s attention at last and she leaned forward to look into her daughter’s eyes, taking her hand.
Santa Maybe Page 7
