Phoebe fell equally in love with the snow ponies who were greedy for polos, which they could detect in someone’s pocket from five miles away. Eve showed Phoebe how to keep her hand flat when she presented a sweet to the ponies so she wouldn’t get her fingers nibbled. Big old Christopher didn’t use his size to push to the front of the cheeky ponies, but stood patiently with hope in his big brown eyes. Eve wasn’t that keen on having drool all over her hand, but somehow the sensation of giving a treat to the old horse offset any yuk factor. She could sense he was content here, which was just as well because he was a huge horse and if he did decide to go off on one, they would be in trouble. Tim the keeper had brushed him till he almost shone. He had to do it quite a lot, apparently, because Christopher liked nothing better than to roll around on the ground.
‘Hi there,’ boomed Jacques as Eve was fishing in her handbag for tissues. Phoebe had horse drool all over her coat sleeves as far as the elbow.
‘Hello again,’ said Phoebe. Eve noticed how intently she studied him as he walked towards them. Her little eyes were travelling up and down over him as if he was a walking Where’s Wally? book.
‘I’ve been thinking, Eve,’ said Jacques.
‘Dangerous,’ said Eve under her breath.
‘How about, when we open the park on the first day, we give all the families of servicemen free entry? I think your aunt would have approved of that, seeing as we’re allied to a military charity.’
Eve’s head swivelled slowly round to him. She wanted to laugh but thought better of it because it was a generous idea, if not entirely a shock. Was there no end to the man’s obsession with the military? From a PR point of view, it was a beauty, of course.
‘I think that’s a very good suggestion,’ she said, unable to quite keep the twist of a smile from the corner of her lips.
‘Good, I’ll get onto the press, then, and line it up, shall I?’ said Jacques.
‘You can leave that with me. I’m used to dealing with the press,’ said Eve with calm firmness.
‘Okay, if you’re happy to do that, then it’s fine with me.’
Eve felt a tug on her coat sleeve.
‘Can we go and see Santa now, Auntie Eve, please?’ Phoebe’s voice was heavy with impatience.
‘Yeah,’ said Jacques, with all the enthusiasm of a young boy who had just been presented with a fishing rod at the side of a lake teeming with fish. ‘Let’s go, Auntie Eve.’
Eve took Phoebe’s chilly little hand and warmed it in her own. Somehow, between getting on the train and now, she had managed to lose her fluorescent-pink gloves.
‘You know, when I was a little boy, I used to go and see Santa in a cave,’ said Jacques. ‘Boy, I just love Christmas. Isn’t it the best time of year, Phoebe?’
‘Yes,’ giggled Phoebe.
‘He once brought me a bike and the handlebars were covered in soot. Now, doesn’t that just prove that it came down the chimney?’
He actually sounds as if he believed that, thought Eve. But she held back on the sarcasm because her god-daughter was enjoying his twaddle.
Phoebe was desperate to travel on the nutter-speed train but the engineers were tweaking it again.
‘It won’t be ready in time,’ said Eve, having a sudden stab of panic. ‘It’s just madness expecting this park to be open before Christmas. It’s the last week in November now.’
‘Chillax, ma cherie,’ said Jacques. ‘It will be ready because Jacques Glace has said it will be ready.’
‘Captain Jacques, don’t you mean,’ said Eve under her breath again. She could imagine Alan Carr more in the role of an army captain than she could this clown in front of her, wearing a Dr Who stripey scarf long enough to wrap around the equator.
They walked through the enchanted forest and once again Eve was reminded of her Enid Blyton Enchanted Wood. It was barely mid-morning, yet the snow was falling soft as down on them and was bright-white as if the drops were carrying tiny specks of sparkling light. It was eerie – but nice-eerie. The machines pumping it out were totally camouflaged and the snow really did look as if it was coming from the skies.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Eve jerked as a full-size grinning snowman appeared from behind a tree and waved at them.
‘I thought your visitor would appreciate a few personalities around,’ said Jacques, steadying her with his hand. ‘So your god-daughter can get a true feel of what a day to Winterworld will be like when it opens.’
So far so good then, thought Eve. Almost killed on a broken train and given a heart attack by a round bloke dressed up in a cotton-wool suit. The even scarier thing was that the snowman didn’t look as if he was wearing a costume – he looked too real for comfort.
As they approached the edge of the forest, Eve gave a small, involuntary sneer in the direction of the ridiculous wedding chapel. Effin’s men were draping the roof in what looked like a cross between a cotton-wool sheet and thatching.
‘Permanent weatherproof snow,’ explained Jacques. ‘Looks fantastic, doesn’t it? It’s just come in from Germany.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Eve, with a smile as fake as the roofing. Phoebe was hopping up and down so much at her side, Eve was forced to ask her if she wanted to go to the loo before they met Santa. She didn’t. Or at least if she did, she wasn’t admitting to it.
Eve hadn’t seen the inside of the grotto yet and hoped she hadn’t cocked up by allowing Jacques so much leeway. That stupid illness had kept her eye off the ball too much. But, she supposed, if the grotto was a mess, she had enough time to step in. Just. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. At least in a business sense.
‘Ready to meet Santa?’ said Jacques, bending down and smiling at Phoebe with his wide mouth and sparkling blue eyes.
‘Yes,’ said Phoebe.
‘Come on then,’ said Jacques, and gestured to Phoebe that she should go through the entrance.
Once inside, well, that’s where it got weird for Eve. Because no way was the grotto so large inside if you judged it from the outside. The cabin was tantamount to a Tardis.
As if he knew what thoughts were trying to piece themselves together in Eve’s mind, Jacques whispered, ‘It’s a clever bit of trompe l’œil and building work. The grotto goes under the false hillside.’ And he touched his nose, secret-wise.
‘Hello there,’ said one of the elves, appearing from their left with a tray full of red-and-white striped candy canes. ‘Miss Phoebe, would you like a sweet? I made them myself.’
Phoebe gasped. ‘How did he know my name?’ she asked Eve with breathless delight.
‘Well, he’s magic, of course,’ butted in Jacques.
‘You’re at the top of the nice list,’ said the elf. ‘I recognized you.’
He was a funny little man, thought Eve. Like one of those actors in an American Christmas film, who had obviously been chosen because he really did look like an elf. And his ears didn’t look plastic either. Eve half wanted to reach out and touch the left one, which was nearest to her. It had a ghost of a thin purple vein on it. God is in the detail, she thought, which had been a steadfast mantra of hers in the Eve’s Events years.
Phoebe took a candy cane. They were all slightly different shapes, giving the impression that they really had been handmade. She didn’t unwrap it but placed it in her Hello Kitty bag to take home for her mum.
‘Are you coming to see our workshop afterwards and help us make a toy?’ asked the elf. He had a name badge on, Eve then noticed. ‘Derek’. Derek the elf. She wouldn’t have thought that was a suitable name for an elf, but it suited him, strangely enough.
‘May I?’ asked Phoebe, once again asking permission from Eve.
‘Yes, of course.’ Eve’s eyes were roving all over the inside of the grotto. It really was impressive. There was a window to the right which afforded a 3D view of snowy hills and a blue lake and lots of grazing reindeer. It must be a film screen, thought Eve. She was very impressed. There were presents everywhere from every era – teddies and stylo
-phones, wind-up toys, board games, the Sindy doll that Eve remembered coveting as a child poking out of the top of one of the huge hessian sacks. There was even a faint smell in the air of sweet plastic, which she recalled as being the scent of old toyshops she used to go in. And as they turned a corner, four more elves were wrapping up presents and beautifully so, with thick paper and wide ribbon, and the smell of hot chocolate hit her and made her stomach groan with want.
Phoebe mmm-ed. Eve didn’t blame her. Then there was a knotty wooden door and at the side of it a smiling elf with ‘real’ ears and a tiny face, dressed in what could only be described as a green military elf costume. The sort of garb that fairy-folk would wear if they had their own armed forces. Quel surprise, thought Eve, looking at the elf’s medals pinned on his breast. She might have guessed that if Jacques were involved, there would be uniforms. She half expected the door to open and to see Santa dressed as an Admiral.
‘Ready to meet Santa, young lady?’ asked the ‘guard’.
‘Oh yes, yes, please,’ said Phoebe, nearly wetting herself with excitement.
‘Okay then,’ said the guard, and slowly opened the door. Following Phoebe, Eve walked into a room which could have been projected out of her own memory store: a room like the old, oak-panelled library in Higher Hoppleton Hall. A room which could not possibly have been built in the last few weeks because it was old and aged and smelled of the same beeswax polish as the room in her head. And even more odd, the Santa who sat huge and smiling in the old chair with his half-moon glasses on his head and his great white beard hanging down was the same Santa Claus who had restored her faith all those years ago.
Don’t be stupid, Eve.
He held his arms out to Phoebe who went rushing towards him and plonked herself on his knee, and Eve could so easily have been watching herself that fateful Christmas because that’s exactly what she had done. She came over light-headed and put her hand on the wall to steady herself.
‘You okay?’ asked Jacques.
‘Where did you find him?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Jacques. ‘Your Aunt Evelyn did.’ He raised his fingers to his lips and said, ‘Just watch him at work. He’s absolutely brilliant.’
‘Where are your gloves?’ Santa was saying. Then he pulled a pair of pink gloves bundled together out of his pocket. ‘Ah, here they are.’
‘You found them,’ Eve said to Jacques. ‘You might have said.’
‘I didn’t find anything,’ said Jacques, standing with his arms crossed, smiling. ‘Santa knows.’
‘It’s all very well keeping the faith alive in little girls, but I’m not a little girl and you don’t have to treat me like one,’ growled Eve, as quietly as she could.
‘You are a little girl,’ said Jacques, turning the full intensity of his warm sea-blue eyes onto her. ‘Beneath that hard, stubborn shell, you’re a little girl who wants to be cuddled and loved and believe in some magic’
His voice, like a sharpened dart, pierced her with its tender truth, and though the middle of her yelped with pain, the outside of her stiffened. ‘Rubbish,’ she sniffed.
‘I think I recognize you,’ said Santa, raising his black-gloved finger at Eve. His beard looked real and soft. The Father Christmas she remembered asked her to tug at his beard to prove it wasn’t a false one. ‘You used to like me to bring you Fuzzy Felts, didn’t you?’
Eve swallowed. Auntie Susan always had a Fuzzy Felt waiting for her under the Christmas tree at their house. Oh, don’t be silly, Eve, came a counter-thought. Santa had obviously worked out her age and paired it up with a toy of the times. Everyone liked Fuzzy Felts back then. But, for the sake of Phoebe, who was mesmerized, Eve played the game. Even if she wasn’t quite able to keep all the sarcasm out of her voice.
‘Yes, I did. How clever of you to remember.’
‘I never forget a child, or a toy,’ said Santa, smiling at Phoebe, who looked as if she was in seventh heaven. ‘And you are a book lady, aren’t you?’
Phoebe nodded. She was too excited to speak as Santa leaned over to root around in a huge sack at his side, full of beautifully wrapped presents.
‘You can open this now if you like,’ said Santa. ‘If you promise not to tell anyone.’
‘I won’t,’ gasped Phoebe, ripping off the paper and squealing with delight to discover a How To Draw Cartoons For Beginners book with some pencils.
‘He’s good, isn’t he? Go on, admit it,’ said Jacques, leaning over Eve’s shoulder.
‘Yes, he is,’ replied Eve. Jacques had surpassed himself with the grotto and Santa was a true find. Eve shivered. In fact this whole grotto was a bit too good. It was stirring things up inside her and she didn’t know why. It was evoking memories of being at Auntie Susan’s house and eating Christmas dinner one year. And Uncle Jeff had a silly hat on and mustered everyone to the table to play Cluedo and Frustration. And Susan had insisted they stay the night so Violet and Eve had fallen asleep together in her big soft bed. Eve had wished that she could live with them rather than go back to their damp-stinking, poky flat.
Her mobile rang and disturbed her from her mince-pie-scented reverie. It was the printers attempting to butter her up in order to deliver an apology for something they’d done wrong yet again.
‘I’ll just go outside and take this,’ Eve mouthed at Jacques.
‘I’ll meet you up at the carousel,’ said Jacques. ‘I’m sure Phoebe would like to ride on one of the horses.’
After Phoebe had said a reluctant goodbye to Santa, she trotted at the side of Jacques, passing Eve at the grotto entrance snarling down the mobile.
‘Ooh, that doesn’t sound very friendly, does it?’ Jacques chuckled. He noticed that Phoebe was hanging behind him and he felt her little eyes boring into his back.
‘Everything all right there?’ he asked.
‘Are those men’s jeans?’ Phoebe replied. ‘They’re very nice.’
Jacques creased his eyebrows.
‘Er, yes,’ he replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Where do you buy them from?’
‘A shop in Meadowhall.’
‘Topshop?’
Jacques smiled. ‘No, not Topshop.’
‘My Auntie Eve says that you wear ladies’ clothes.’
Jacques snorted with laughter. ‘Does she now?’
‘She says you have a lady’s uniform hanging up in your wardrobe.’
Jacques’ breath caught in his throat and his laughter dried up instantly. ‘And what else does your Auntie Eve say about me then?’ he asked, trying to sound casual as they walked on.
‘She says you collect medals and have one that belongs to her. And that you go to the doctors. Are you ill?’
Jacques’ hand rose to rake through his short hair. ‘No, Phoebe,’ he said gently. ‘I’m not ill.’ Not any more.
He didn’t show it as he helped the little girl onto the carousel but he was rocked to the core. The horses whirled around and around in front of him, but he didn’t see them. He was too busy piecing things together in his head and sinking to a dark place as he replayed Phoebe’s loaded words. Then Eve appeared at his side.
‘Why is this place called Santapark and not Winterpark?’ she said, pointing upwards at the sign. No prizes for guessing whose idea that had been.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Jacques, walking off, his stride firm and quick.
‘What . . . ?’ began Eve, but he was gone. And so, she noticed before he turned away, was the light in his eyes.
Chapter 39
‘She’s worn out, bless her,’ said Eve, carrying a solidly asleep Phoebe into Alison’s house and transferring her to Rupert’s waiting arms.
Eve then unlooped Phoebe’s Hello Kitty bag from around her neck and put it on the kitchen table with her book from Santa and the toy wooden carousel which she had helped to glue together in the elves’ workshop. Those workshops were going to be an enormous hit, she just knew it, and the elf-people were amazing. She hadn’t seen Jacques for t
he rest of the day though. He was on her mind much more than she intended him to be. What could have made him storm off like that?
‘How’s it going?’ asked Rupert. ‘Are you nearly ready to open for business?’
‘Amazingly we are,’ said Eve. ‘Our train keeps going berserk and some idiot has called the park Santapark instead of Winterpark so that needs changing, but we are just about ready. Oh and I apologize. The café isn’t up and running yet so Phoebe just had chips and chicken nuggets for lunch. And some mince-pie ice cream.’
‘Sounds yummy,’ said Rupert. ‘Alison has just made us some salmon, which is why the place stinks of fish. It was vile and I’d kill for chips and chicken nuggets.’
Alison grimaced as Rupert swept his daughter up the staircase.
‘I was missing some ingredients and improvised,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t good.’
‘Thanks for lending Phoebe to me,’ said Eve. ‘She was as good as gold.’
‘No doubt I’ll hear all about it in the morning. I hope she took plenty of photos.’
‘I’m not sure if she did or not,’ Eve tried to recall. ‘She seemed to be enjoying herself too much to want to stop and capture the moment. She’s been in a workshop with elves banging hammers and sitting on Santa’s knee and looking at snow globes. Phoebe had liked them so much, Eve now knew exactly what to buy her for Christmas.
‘How did she get on with the reindeer? That’s what she was looking forward to most of all. Did she come up with a name?’
‘Noel,’ smiled Eve. ‘She fed Holly a carrot and got bullied into parting with lots of polos by the snow ponies as well.’
‘Oh it all sounds so lovely,’ sighed Alison. ‘I can’t wait to visit myself. Did she meet the infamous Jacques?’ She mouthed a drink at Eve, but Eve shook her head.
‘No, I want to get back and look through some accounts. Yes, she met him. He took her to the carousel whilst I was having a ding-dong with the printers. Then he left us.’
A Winter Flame Page 17
