Love and Lies at the Village Christmas Shop

by Portia MacIntosh

  ‘Hello?’ I reply, glancing around the busy café to make sure it is actually me he’s talking to. ‘Me?’

  ‘Yeah, you,’ he replies angrily. ‘You got me sacked.’

  ‘I got you sacked?’ I ask, puzzled.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies.

  ‘Oh,’ I say as it occurs to me who he is. ‘Oh! Can we just…talk about it…over here,’ I say as I scramble up from my seat. I really don’t want the kids realising this man is the Santa Claus they just saw.

  I usher the horny Santa away from the children.

  ‘I…I didn’t mean to get you sacked,’ I explain weakly. ‘I just felt so uncomfortable with you giving me your number in front of the kids, and if you’re doing that with other aunties, or mums, or grandmas…’

  ‘I’m not handing out my number with the candy canes; I only gave my number to you.’

  ‘I’m flattered…but…’

  ‘No, not like that,’ he interrupts. ‘You’re the lass from the Christmas shop, right? I thought you might want a Santa Claus, maybe on the days when I’m not here. Didn’t think I could just come out with it, so I slipped you my number.’

  Oh God, what is it with me lately, thinking every man who talks to me is trying to ask me out? With Seb, he was there about the shop. Now, with Santa, he’s just trying to get a job. I feel my cheeks flush.

  ‘Oh,’ is about all I can say.

  ‘So, now, not only am I without a job, but Marram Bay is without a Santa Claus. That’s on you,’ he says.

  I feel so guilty. I didn’t want to get him sacked; I just didn’t want him being inappropriate in front of the kids. I feel like such an idiot.

  ‘I can’t believe I thought you were hitting on me,’ I say, embarrassed.

  ‘You could hire me,’ he suggests.

  I think for a moment. That might be a good idea. Now that Marram Bay doesn’t have a Santa Claus, it would give people a reason to visit the shop.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, trying to work out whether I can afford to hire him. If he makes money, then it will be worth it; it’s just a gamble.

  ‘I’m pretty well known,’ he says. ‘Do you know Hugh Jackman?’

  ‘Of course I do. Do you know him?’

  ‘No, but I played Wolverine at the Milton Keynes Comic Con. I perform at all the big holidays – Easter Bunny at Easter, a leprechaun for St Patrick’s Day – and I’m free as bird now, until I play Cupid on Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say cautiously.

  ‘I’m a single dad,’ he admits. ‘Little Timmy’s dad losing his job before Christmas – isn’t that just the saddest thing?’

  His words tug on my heartstrings. I already felt guilty for losing him his job, but now I know that he’s a single dad I feel even worse.

  ‘I’m not going to regret this, am I?’ I ask him, although it does occur to me that he may not be the best person to ask.

  ‘I’m gonna change your life,’ he says confidently.

  I pull an unsure face. ‘Well, OK then, can you start tomorrow?’

  ‘I can,’ he says.

  I look back at the kids. Chloe is watching me like a hawk.

  ‘OK, sure, give me your number again and we’ll figure it out,’ I tell him.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Ah, love, you’re not going to regret this,’ he insists. ‘Give us your phone.’

  I reluctantly unlock and hand over my phone. When he passes it back, I glance at the screen.

  ‘Your name is Gaz?’ I ask.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘You have a tattoo of your own name?’ I blurt.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘What’s your name, love?’

  ‘Ivy,’ I reply. ‘No tattoo though.’

  He laughs. ‘Well, boss, I’ll be hearing from you.’ Gaz points at me as he says this.

  ‘You will?’ I reply, which sounds more like a question than an answer.

  ‘For the record,’ he starts, before he leaves, ‘I would’ve given you my number anyway, just not while I was working.’

  He flashes me a cheeky smile and then he’s off.

  I sit back down to see that the kids have drained their mugs. I sip my own, but its contents have gone cold while I was chatting.

  ‘Who was that?’ Chloe asks.

  ‘That’s Gaz,’ I tell her. ‘He’s going to be working at the shop with me sometimes.’

  I feel safe telling her this because, along with playing Santa Claus, I’m hoping Gaz will help out with other shop duties too – especially if, by some miracle, we get busy.

  ‘He has a lot of tattoos,’ she observes. ‘I want a tattoo when I grow up.’

  ‘Oh, do you?’ I laugh. ‘Would you want to wear the same dress every day?’

  ‘No,’ she replies, as if I’ve just asked a stupid question.

  ‘Well, if you get a tattoo, you’ll have to wear the same one every day, so you need to be sure it’s what you want.’

  Chloe pulls a face. I’ve clearly given her something to think about. I’m not sure I can think of anything that I’d want to ‘wear’ every day – I could always go for something timeless, like my own name, like Gaz has. Gosh, I really hope I haven’t made a mistake, hiring him. I suppose he can’t exactly make things any worse – I can’t have minus customers – but it still feels like a risk. What if he causes trouble? But what if I’m the reason his son has a rubbish Christmas? I really don’t want that on my conscience, and I definitely can’t afford any bad karma at the moment.

  I swear, I didn’t intend for things to play out this way, but if Wilson’s was the only place in town with a Santa – and now they don’t have one – it feels like a really good time to invest in one. I’ll have the only Santa in town, and that’s got to be good for business.

  Santa Claus might not have wanted me to sit on his lap, but maybe him falling into mine is a blessing in disguise…

  Chapter 8

  After dropping the kids off at my sister’s, I head straight into town, to the Apple Blossom Deli, to meet up with Prue and find out what she made of Seb. On the drive over, I fantasise about what she might have said to him. Prue is a bizarre combination of a very modern woman, with very old-fashioned values. Neither charming men, nor outsiders, do much for her. She works hard for Marram Bay – mostly to protect it and to preserve it. Seb riding into town, in his diesel-guzzling car, bragging about his modern, hi-tech holiday homes isn’t going to do anything for her at all. If I’m lucky, she’ll single-handedly put a stop to his plans, giving me time to work out how I can buy the shop and the land as well.

  I approach the deli excitedly, ready for the good news that is going to turn this whole situation around for me, only to spot Prue and Seb through the white-framed arch window, still chatting away, getting on famously, it seems.

  I watch them for a second, Seb saying something obviously charming, Prue placing a hand on his forearm.

  I feel my face being to scrunch up in annoyance, when I catch Seb’s eye. I quickly try to look away before ‘casually’ glancing back and waving, trying desperately not to look like I was looking, even though I was.

  Seb beckons me inside. ‘Ivy, hello,’ he says as I walk in.

  ‘Hi,’ I reply cautiously. ‘Hello, Prue.’

  ‘Ivy, lovely to see you,’ she says, in what you’d probably call a posh North Yorkshire accent. ‘Sit with us, we’re having a lovely chat.’

  I pause for a second.

  ‘Actually, I’ve got to go,’ Seb says. ‘I’ve got dinner plans over on the Island, I need to set off because the causeway closes.’

  I wonder who he could possibly have dinner plans with, and it annoys me that it’s even crossing my mind. What do I care, if he’s got dinner plans?!

  ‘Well, it was lovely to meet you, Sebastian,’ Prue coos.

  Seb extends her a hand to shake and, as she takes his, he uses his other hand to encase hers tenderly.

  ‘And it was a real honour to meet you,�
� he replies. ‘See you around, Ivy.’

  ‘Yeah, bye,’ I say, mustering up as much enthusiasm as possible.

  I take a seat opposite Prue. I’m just about to grill her when Viv, one of the ladies who works here, comes over to ask if she can get me anything.

  ‘I can’t stay long, unfortunately,’ Prue informs me.

  ‘In that case, I’m fine, thank you, Viv.’

  Viv smiles, leaving us to chat.

  ‘Ivy, thank you for raising your concerns with me earlier,’ Prue says, and I just know that I’m not going to like what’s coming. ‘I know that you were worried that he might be doing things in an underhanded way, or that he might not have the town’s best intentions in mind, but I can assure you that Sebastian is a lovely man.’

  Brilliant, he’s charmed her too.

  ‘Oh,’ is about all I can reply.

  ‘He’s told me all about his plans and they sound well thought out and like they have the town, the country and the world, in fact, in mind. His environmental efforts are incredible. We need more conscientious business developers in this world. He’s also told me of his plans to make the location more accessible for all, by proposing alterations to current bus routes, which we shouldn’t have a problem approving. He makes a lot of sense.’

  ‘Well, that’s great,’ I lie. What else can I say? I can’t argue with his perfect facts and statistics. I’d be lying if I said that his plans weren’t great; they are. I just wish they didn’t impact on me. If they didn’t, I’d be just as excited as the rest of the town. More tourist accommodation is exactly what we need, especially in this part of the town – I know I’d benefit from it.

  ‘Sorry I can’t stop longer,’ Prue says. ‘That Sebastian can talk.’

  ‘He can indeed,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh, I can count on your support at the Christmas charity drive this year, can’t I?’

  Every year I volunteer at the Marram Bay Christmas Charity Drive, where the town all come together to raise money for a variety of good causes. This year, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t going to volunteer, because I just have too much to do. But, now that she’s put me on the spot like this, I can’t exactly say no.

  ‘Count me in,’ I reply.

  ‘We’ll have another catch-up soon,’ she assures me, before grabbing her bag and dashing off.

  ‘You sure I can’t get you anything?’ Viv calls over.

  ‘Maybe a cannoli to go,’ I call back. ‘I think I’ve earned it.’

  Prue hating Seb and putting an end to his plans might not have worked out, but it has given me another idea…

  Chapter 9

  ‘Your train is broken,’ Gaz points out.

  I glance over at him, to see him holding the model steam train in his hands, turning it upside down to examine it for faults. The garment bag containing his Santa suit, which was previously wedged between his body and his arm, slips to the floor.

  I hurry over to him and take it from him, carefully placing it back down.

  ‘I know, but please don’t pick it up,’ I say. ‘It’s worth a lot of money.’

  ‘Even broken?’

  ‘Even broken,’ I reply. ‘I’m going to get it fixed, it’s just expensive.’

  ‘It’s a catch-33, innit?’ he says.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I laugh, not getting the joke.

  ‘I mean that, if you sell the train, you’ll have enough money to repair it,’ he unhelpfully points out.

  ‘Cheers, Gaz,’ I reply sarcastically, certain he means ‘catch-22’. ‘Anyway, if the shop floor is all clean and everything is in its place and switched on, we’re ready to open up, so we can unlock the door.’

  Gaz walks over to the door and unlocks it, exaggerating every movement.

  ‘I am a classically trained actor,’ he points out.

  A classically trained actor who plays Santa Claus; wow.

  ‘So?’

  ‘I thought I was just going to play Santa Claus. I’m too skilled to be working in a shop.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘Take it or leave it, Gaz,’ I tell him. ‘You want to work here, I’m going to need you to help out with everything. We don’t need a Santa if we don’t have any customers.’

  ‘Another catch-33,’ Gaz points out.

  ‘That really isn’t helpful,’ I tell him.

  Gaz walks over to the counter, taking a candy cane from the jar that sits on top of it.

  ‘Want one?’ he asks.

  ‘No thanks,’ I reply.

  ‘So, how do we get more customers?’ Gaz asks, crunching a chunk of peppermint candy as he speaks.

  ‘The problem is that since satnavs started taking people along a different road the tourists just don’t know we’re here,’ I tell him. ‘So, I’ve hired a vehicle that will do round trips each day, picking people up in the tourist hot spots and dropping them here before heading back into town.’

  ‘That’s mint,’ he replies. ‘Like a minibus?’

  ‘Not like a minibus.’ I laugh. ‘It’s due to arrive any minute – you can see for yourself.’

  ‘Exciting,’ Gaz replies, through more crunching. ‘So, we get more customers, I get to be Santa again?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘Obviously I’m having to pay for the train, so I want to make sure that’s worth its money first, but if it is, then I’ll be able to afford to build a little grotto here – even better than the one you were in before.’

  ‘I do deserve a better grotto,’ he replies thoughtfully.

  I kind of like Gaz. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s part of his charm.

  ‘We just need to get busy,’ I say.

  ‘Now who is flirting?’ Gaz laughs.

  It takes me a few seconds get Gaz’s joke. ‘Gaz.’ I laugh. ‘That was not flirting.’

  ‘Sorry, boss,’ he says. ‘You could go for a drink with me though. Try the flirting thing out.’

  ‘Sorry, we have a very strict policy on workplace relationships here,’ I inform him.

  Gaz frowns.

  Our conversation is interrupted by a loud whistle.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ Gaz asks, jumping out of his skin.

  ‘Ahh, that’s my transport,’ I say excitedly, hurrying for the door. Gaz follows close behind me.

  Parked up outside the shop is the miniature road-going steam train that I’ve hired to make trips into town and back, picking up tourists and bringing them to the shop, before giving them a lift back into town. Not only is it free, but it’s just a fun thing to do, which hopefully people will jump at the chance to experience, whether they want to come to the shop or not. Then ideally, once I’ve got them here, they’ll be happy to stay, and when they’re inside the shop will speak for itself.

  ‘Whoa, this is awesome,’ Gaz says, running towards the train like an excited kid. ‘Can I sit in it?’

  ‘Hello there,’ the driver says cheerily as he climbs out. ‘Ivy?’

  ‘Yes, hello,’ I say, making my way towards him.

  ‘This is just awesome, so awesome,’ I hear Gaz’s muffled voice coming out from one of the two carriages.

  ‘I’m Mick, I’ll be driving the train. Would you like to come on the first run?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say. ‘Gaz, are you OK to mind the shop while I’m gone? You shouldn’t have anything to do, just don’t touch anything.’

  ‘Really?’ Gaz replies, disappointed. ‘OK, fine.’

  I take a seat in the first carriage and wait excitedly for Mick to set off. It’s bizarre, to see a steam train with tyres, and I feel that weird nervous excitement you get before a rollercoaster sets off. Hopefully it will be a smoother ride than Thunder Mountain though.

  As we set off, it’s nice to take the journey into town at a slower pace than when you’re driving, and you certainly take in a lot more of the scenery – something Marram Bay is rich in.

  Driving along the road that runs alongside the coastline, I look out to sea, admiring Hope Island, M
arram Bay’s tidal island. Depending on the time of day you visit, Hope Island is either isolated by the North Sea, or connected to Marram Bay by a mile-long road. Twice a day, the tide comes in and fully covers the road, so you have to check the causeway times if you’re planning on visiting or leaving Hope Island. It might feel like a slow process, like the tide creeps in, but at high tide the water can reach 6 feet deep.

  It’s a fascinating phenomenon, which I suppose I’ve gotten used to, living here all my life. Visitors don’t always take it seriously though, expecting the water to not be very deep, just like a big puddle that they can drive through. That’s why, at least once a month, some chancer will think they can race the tide, only to get stuck in the middle. I remember, when I was learning to drive here, my instructor told me that a sea rescue cost £2,000, whereas an air rescue cost over £4,000. After learning those numbers, I could never, in good conscience, take my chances crossing outside the safe times that are clearly posted on the noticeboards at each end of the causeway.

  We arrive at the bottom of Main Street, on the seafront, which is abuzz with people.

  ‘This is the pick-up point we decided on,’ Mick tells me, after parking up, getting out of the locomotive and opening the carriage door for me. ‘And we’ve made this sign, with approximate pick-up times.’

  I step out and take a good look at both the sign, and the train.

  ‘This is a brand-new logo,’ Mick tells me.

  You can really tell. It’s cherry red, with gold lettering on it. Although it isn’t intended to be, it’s festive-looking, which is perfect for what I need it for.

  ‘Shall I get people’s attention, encourage them to get on board?’ Mick suggests.

  I nod.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, step right up,’ Mick, a stout, grey-haired man in his sixties calls out. Mick would make a much more authentic Santa Claus than Gaz, although I don’t suppose that would be much of a compliment if I were to tell him so. ‘We’re offering free train rides to the cutest little Christmas shop in the UK, if not the world. Enjoy a scenic, leisurely ride, before a pleasant stroll around the stunningly decorated shop.’