by Clare Revell
Chapter Two
BRIE HESITATED. THE SENSIBLE PART of her said “no” while the other side, the side that got her into trouble said “do it.” As always, the other side won.
“Sure, why not.” The words were out before she realized. She ordered two cans of soda and watched Hector cross the small eating space to the one remaining table by the window.
What was she thinking? She ought to have more sense than to eat with someone she’d never met before tonight and hadn’t exchanged more than five minutes worth of conversation with. Still, at least she was doing this crazy thing in a public place. If he did turn out to be a creep of the first degree, she could just scream and leave.
She glanced up at the tinsel hung over the counter. Yet another reminder of her unwanted assignment in Santa’s grotto. She paid for the food and carried it across to Hector. Tinsel framed the window, with little fairy lights twisted into it and carols played through the loud speaker system.
She dropped into a chair and handed him one of the cans.
“Thank you.” He held it away from her before opening it. “Just in case I drown you again.”
She shook her head, pausing to say grace silently before unwrapping her meal. She opened her eyes as he said her name. “Yes?”
“May I say grace for the both of us?”
She smiled, pleased his faith extended to being shown in public. “Sure.” Her hand burned with unexpected fire as he grasped it gently while he prayed. So intensely did it burn, she could barely concentrate on the words he spoke. As he let go, she glanced up. “What does your brother do?”
“He’s a researcher on the Arctic station.”
She smirked. “Seriously?”
Hector nodded. “It’s okay to laugh. Everyone does. Yes, Nick Clause really does work at the North Pole. I’m convinced he did it deliberately.”
“Where else could he work? Sounds like something my brother would do given half the chance. What about you?”
“Me?” He stabbed a chip, his eyes clouding. “Right now I’m working for my grandfather. It’s not ideal, but it’s a job and until something better crops up where I can use my law degree, that’s where I’ll be. The business has been in the family for four generations and he asked as a personal favor, so…there you go. Someone has to do it and right now that someone is me. And what do you do?”
“I have an office job.” Her conscience thumped her. Well, I do she told it firmly. The fact I won’t be in it for a few weeks isn’t my fault. She stabbed the wooden fork into a chip. “Answering phones, filing letters, typing more letters and filing and posting them, making coffee…”
“Sounds fascinating. Maybe we find whoever invented paperwork and shoot them.”
“Not a very Christian thing to do,” Brie said. “Plus it makes an awful mess and besides being illegal, would obviously mean more paperwork.”
“True.” He paused. “I don’t make a habit of this.”
“Shooting people?” She giggled. “I should hope not.”
Hector grinned. His eyes shone, reflecting the multicolored lights from the window. Rain pattered against it, the soft sound mixing with the lyrics to God rest ye merry gentlemen. "I didn’t mean that. I meant inviting strange women to dinner.”
Brie wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not, but since he was smiling decided it was a somewhat outlandish attempt at humor. “So now I’m a strange woman. Thanks. Well, I’ll have you know I don’t tend to accept invitations from strange men either. Especially ones who spill beer all over me.”
“I didn’t mean that either.”
She dunked her chip in the ketchup. “I’d hoped you didn’t. Although some people might agree with you on the strange part; my brother for one.”
Hector sipped his drink. “Not called Menelaus is he?”
She snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “No, but you’re close. His name is Paris, but not from Troy. My parents insist he’s a honeymoon baby and named after where they stayed.” She waved the chip at him. “You’ve got ketchup on your chin.”
Hector grabbed the serviette and wiped his mouth. “Well, I decided that if I ever get married and have kids, they will have boring names. And their initials won’t spell anything either. I went to school with a chap called Algernon Laurence Pierson. The problem was he really was built like a mountain.”
Brie tilted her head. She had to think before the penny dropped. A-l-p. Alp. Mountain. “At least he wasn’t Richard Head, like one of the kids in my class at school.”
Hector snorted. “Now that is just plain mean to a kid.”
She took a large mouthful of her drink and promptly dissolved into hiccoughs. “I hate it when that happens. Too much fizz.” She pressed a hand to her chest and drew in several short painful breaths. “Using a straw makes no difference either. You know, your name comes from the Iliad as well.”
He stabbed the fish with the fork. “Yes, but I really am named after that cardboard dog from the black and white TV series.”
Brie giggled. “At least it wasn’t Kiki the frog. Or Andy Pandy.”
Hector groaned. “Don’t. I guess I could have been Kris with a K.”
“You got to admit that goes well with Nick.” She finished her food and cradled the drink in her hand. This chap, for a complete stranger, was so easy to talk to. She hadn’t simply sat and talked with anyone for months. Okay, they weren’t discussing anything deep and meaningful, but she was holding down a proper conversation and not running away.
“I had a fortunate escape.”
“Not lucky?”
He shook his head. “I don’t do luck. All my steps are ordained by God. I don’t know where it comes from, although I should do, I’m afraid.”
“The steps of a man are established by the LORD, and He delights in his way. When he falls, he will not be hurled headlong, because the LORD is the One who holds his hand. Psalm 37 verses 23 and 24.”
Hector looked impressed. “You know your Bible.”
“I ought to. I’m a pastor’s daughter. Dad’s the pastor of a small kirk in the western highlands of Scotland. Growing up he pastored a large city center church in Southampton.”
“Scotland’s a long way from here. Mind you, so’s Southampton.”
She shrugged. “It’s where God wants him. The church was in serious trouble and he’s trying to unite them. It’s been two years and he’s finally getting them back on an even keel.”
“What happened?”
“The pastor left his wife and ran away with the organist. Suffice it to say there’s a lot of hurt and division; not to mention a huge amount of healing needed up there.” She yawned. “Sorry. It’s been a long day and I have an early start tomorrow.”
“Me, too.” Hector scrunched up the paper. “Well, thank you for joining me. Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again.” He dumped the rubbish into the bin and held the door open for her. “Good night, Brie.”
“G’night, Hector.” Brie pulled her hood over her hair and headed down the street. The rain was cold, but inside she was warm. She wouldn’t mind seeing him again. His warm eyes and cheeky smile, the brown mop of hair that seemed to go in seventy different directions at once, all made him completely different from anyone she’d ever met.
It occurred to her as she sidestepped a large puddle, that he was the first bloke in a year she’d actually paid any mind to. The first man since John, she’d even given a second glance, never mind eaten a meal with. A car drove through the puddle at speed, sending cold water cascading over her, soaking her, shattering her train of thought. She cried out in annoyance, recognizing the car as it vanished.
Hector.
Maybe she didn’t want to see him again; because if she did, Christian or no, she’d be giving him a piece of her mind.
Chapter Three
HECTOR LOOKED AT HIMSELF IN the mirror. He shook his head. Red was so not his color. He rubbed his cheek, finger tips grazing the five o’clock shadow and decided against shaving. No one wou
ld see it under that ridiculous white beard anyway. He grabbed a woolen sweater and pulled it over the close fitting white tee shirt and jeans. He splashed on aftershave and ignored the hair gel. Again, not like anyone would see his hair for the foreseeable future.
He trotted down the stairs in double time. His coffee was cold, but he drank it anyway. He dumped the cup in the sink with yesterday’s dishes and this morning’s cereal bowl. He’d wash up tonight. After all, he wasn’t expecting company, now or anytime soon. A flashing light caught his eye and he sighed. The phone must have rung while he was in the shower.
“Hector, its Grandad. Please don’t be late this morning. There’s a staff meeting at quarter past eight; and play nice. Don’t think you can get away with that attitude of yours because of who you are.”
Hector glanced at the clock. Seven forty-five. Great start to the day. No quiet time this morning. He shoved the remainder of his costume into a back pack and zipped it up. Maybe he could leave the outfit at the store in future.
The phone next to his car keys beeped. Scanning the message from his mother quickly, he groaned. Hector. Come to dinner here at the house on Friday. Seven o’clock sharp. Bring a friend and a bottle of something.
He had to give Mum points for trying. He had no friends, she knew that. Especially the type she wanted him to have—of the female variety that were single, pretty and a walkover.
He wasn’t single for want of trying. He’d asked plenty of girls out over the years and been knocked back so many times he assumed he was unlovable. Apart from his parents, who kind of had to love him, and God, who didn’t have to love him at all, He just did. For that Hector was eternally grateful.
Dinner at his parents this week, he could well do without. He knew he would be shattered by Friday. However, as always, he’d drive up and at least pretend to be having a good time. Perhaps he’d take some of the non-alcoholic raspberry ginger beer he’d discovered a few weeks back in a high end supermarket and really liked.
He shoved his arms into his coat and headed out to the car. At least the rain last night meant he didn’t have to scrape ten layers of frost off the windscreen this morning. He tossed his pack into the back and climbed into the car.
The engine refused to start. It merely clicked.
“Oh, come on. Don’t do this to me. Not today.” He tried several more times, but to his annoyance nothing happened. Not even a faint hint of turning over.
He slammed his hands on the steering wheel. “I could really do without this today, you know that?”
Hector reached across the car for the bonnet release, and then climbed out. He fiddled under the engine for a few moments, covering his hands with oil, but to no avail. He rubbed his hands on a hanky and sighed.
He’d be late. This wasn’t the way he’d envisaged today going when he woke. It would be a stressful day as it was, without adding being late into the mix. Retrieving his pack, he ran down the road to the bus stop.
The bus began pulling away. Hector ran faster, waving frantically at the driver. The bus slowed and stopped for him. He climbed aboard, breathless. “Thank you so much,” he panted. “Day return, please.”
“That’s four pounds sixty, mate.”
Hector pulled his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled a fiver out and offered it to the driver. “I don’t have change, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry, mate, its exact change only.”
He decided getting to work had priority over giving the bus company forty pence extra, and dropped the note into the slot. He grabbed the ticket and hung on the railing as the bus pulled away. He found a seat and sank into it. He pinched the bridge of his nose. What else was going to go wrong this morning?
Silver lining, Hector. At least you can have a quiet time now as you’re not driving.
Pulling out his phone, he pulled up the Bible app and began to read.
Brie tugged off her leggings, revealing the stripy red and white tights. Her dress hid the elf tunic which fortunately wasn’t as short as she’d been afraid it would be. She tied back her dark hair, and pulled on the elf hat. The final touch was the green jingly boots. Or was that the final nail in the coffin which made her look totally stupid?
She tossed her things into the locker she’d been assigned and headed down to the second floor. She hoped desperately no one would recognize her. There ought to be no reason they would. Most of the elves were seasonal staff, and in any event, she had nothing to do with the hiring or firing of staff. Even the permanent team members would have few reasons to have come across her—unless they’d been summoned to the office for some infraction or other.
Some people would regard it a crime she had never explored her workplace better, but she didn’t see the point. No nieces or nephews, as yet, along with not having children of her own, gave her little or no call to shop in a toy store.
The ground floor was stuffed toys, teddies, and other baby toys. The first floor was dressing up, action toys, dolls, trains, beads and the like. The second floor was construction—bricks, models, modeling clay. The third floor was offices, canteen, locker rooms and storage.
The grotto was in the basement and they’d gone all out this year. A magic sleigh ride, followed by a woodland walk before ending up in Santa’s workshop where Santa would be waiting while the elves made toys. No one went away empty handed and for a quid more the child could have a photo taken with Santa.
Brie had fond memories of doing things like this with her parents as a child, but not on as grand a scale as this. Sometimes she wished she had kids so she could show them the wonders of Christmas.
On the second floor, it looked like an elf convention in full swing.
Mr. Jennings stood at the front of the room. “Good morning, everyone. Thanks for coming in early. I wanted to give a welcome to all our seasonal staff and give everyone a quick update. As you know it’s the store’s anniversary just before Christmas. However, there won’t be a celebration in December like there usually is. As it is the centenary, and thus an important anniversary, I have decided we’ll celebrate in January, when we can do so without distraction. I know how busy everyone is this time of year and Christmas is a time for families, is it not?”
Everyone nodded and murmured. Although Brie was convinced they weren’t reacting favorably to the news. She knew everyone here loved the annual Christmas parties Mr. Jennings threw each year.
“We have a new Santa for the season. Our normal Santa, Grant, had a heart attack yesterday afternoon.”
“Grant was old and stank of booze,” the elf next to her commented.
Brie scowled. “His wife and son died in March. Give him a break.”
“Takings are also down from last year and thefts are up. As a result, all the store detectives are now in elf costume as well and I would ask you all to be extra vigilant.” Mr. Jennings looked over the elves and smiled directly at Brie. “Briseis, I’d like you to be Santa’s personal helper. Leon, you’re on photo duty. “
The big, fat elf next to her muttered again. “Camera duty should go to the longest serving member of the team. Everyone knows the photos bring in the most commission.”
“It isn’t up for debate, Dylan. As store owner I make the assignments. If you don’t like yours, then perhaps you’d be happier working elsewhere.”
Dylan snorted. “And where is Santa anyway? You should have picked someone who could tell the time. I’ve never been late in the thirty years I’ve worked here.”
Running footsteps echoed across the polished floor. “I’m here. Sorry, I’m late.”
Brie recognized the voice instantly and turned.
Sure enough the same blue eyes twinkled under that shock of untamed hair. He wore red trousers with black braces over a close fitting white tee which molded to his impressive, broad chest. Black boots came almost to his knees.
“Half dressed, Hector?” Mr. Jennings raised an eyebrow, looking less than impressed.
Hector held up wig, beard and coat. “You said eight f
ifteen on the dot. The car wouldn’t start and the bus got caught in traffic.” He caught sight of Brie and winked. “Better to arrive half dressed, than not arrive at all.”
Mr. Jennings repeated what he’d said so far for Hector’s benefit, and then continued. “Briseis, as Santa’s personal assistant, you’ll be the most important elf on the shop floor. You’ll stand next to Santa, escort the children from the head of the line to see him and make sure he has everything he needs during the day.”
Dylan’s scowl deepened.
Hector smirked, his amusement lighting his eyes. “Cool. I’ve always wanted a personal assistant. Does she make good coffee?”
Brie held her breath, but fortunately Mr. Jennings didn’t answer that question. “Okay, places everyone. We open in twenty minutes. Hector, I’d like a word with you and Briseis please.”
Everyone moved away apart from her and the man who’d drowned her after eating dinner with her. She narrowed her eyes, torn between berating him for it and dropping the whole thing. After all, they apparently had to work together. Closely.
“Hector, this is Briseis. She’s my PA, but we’re an elf short so she’s helping out on the shop floor until Christmas. Be nice to her as this kind of thing is way out of her comfort zone. Briseis, this is Hector, my grandson. He’s doing this as a favor, so that’s something the both of you have in common.”
“We’ve met,” she said, wishing the fact she wasn’t going to enjoy the shop floor at all had remained a secret. “And as long as there is no liquid involved, working with him won’t be a problem.”
Hector turned to face her as he tugged on the beard. “It was half a pint,” he protested. “And an accident for which I’ve apologized.”
“And the puddle?” she asked, hand on her hip. “That huge one you drove through after leaving the chip shop? Was that an accident, as well?”
