by Anna Blix
Niklas considered this for a minute. Mrs Dollimore had a good point. Santa Claus had elves. It was even on the list. But where would he find elves skilled at metalwork in London? He certainly wasn’t going to Piccadilly Circus again.
“I won’t find any elves here,” he said. “Unless you want to be my elf?” He sat up and brushed the dried grass off of the back of his T-shirt.
Mrs Dollimore laughed. “Oh, my goodness, no. I don’t think that would turn out well. But who’s to say your elves can’t be a team of skilled factory workers?”
Niklas pondered this. “Do you mean I should buy the scooter?”
“I think it would make life a whole lot easier for you. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, dear.”
“And let the factory workers be my elves?”
“A great idea.” Mrs Dollimore brushed the rest of the grass off of Niklas’s back.
“But elves are supposed to sing. Do factory workers sing?” The only time Niklas had been inside a factory was on a school trip to a liquorice producer. He didn’t remember any singing. But that was a long time ago.
“I wouldn’t be the least surprised if they did,” Mrs Dollimore said.
Niklas watched a plane cross the sky. White contrails formed behind it. He thought about the proposal. Then he nodded and said, “That settles it. If they sing, then I can safely use their services.”
“A very wise decision, I should think.”
Mrs Dollimore was right — even though Niklas didn’t like to admit it. Buying the scooter from a shop would certainly make life easier. He might be able to validate the hypothesis for her after all.
23
It was the last Saturday before Christmas, and Clare had spent the morning hours cruising up and down the streets of West London, before she finally found a double parking space big enough to accommodate the four-by-four and the reindeer trailer. It was located in a residential area, a good half-hour walk from the shopping centre, and by the time she went through the revolving doors, she had worked up a sweat, even though it was a chilly morning.
The centre was heaving with people, and Christmas music blared from speakers in every corner. Children crying, parents shouting. Shoppers, wanting nothing more than to tick the final item off their list and go home to an afternoon of peace and quiet, prepared to kill for that last present. It was altogether a nightmarish place that Clare normally would avoid at all costs. She prayed she was at least in the right place.
She pushed her way through the crowd, squeezing past people and offering her excuses left and right. A lady clapped a protecting hand over her handbag and shot Clare a disapproving look. But surely this must be the right place. This was the only place in London that had advertised a live reindeer event on this date. It had to be the right place. Einar had to be here. Clare was convinced she would find him here; she could feel it in her gut. But that was as far as her plan stretched. How was she going to persuade them to give up the reindeer? What if it turned out to be Russ Gibson, a convicted criminal? He wasn’t going to hand Einar over just because Clare asked him to. And assuming, against all reason, he did give her the reindeer, how was she going to walk him out of there and take him with her all the way to the trailer? Clare didn’t know.
It was a large, two-storey shopping centre, newly built with glossy white floors, and shops spanning the whole range, from shoe repair kiosks to full department stores. Clare rode the escalator up to the first floor. Straight ahead, she found an information desk, and behind it were two smiling young women, both wearing green elf costumes and pointed hats. One of them turned to Clare with a plastic smile. “How may I help you?”
“Do you know if there’s an event with live reindeer on today?” Clare asked.
The elf lady’s face brightened. “There is indeed,” she said. “Santa and his reindeer will see the children at three o’clock.” She looked at her wristwatch. “That’s in twenty minutes, so you’d better make your way there right away if you don’t want to miss it.”
The other lady chipped in, “You can buy the tickets here. They’re eight pounds per child, and that includes a present from Santa.”
Elf Lady Number One smiled even broader, exposing her flawless white teeth behind red lipstick.
“One, please.” Clare got her purse out of her pocket, ready to pay.
“Lovely! And what’s the age of the child?”
Clare frowned. “Does it matter?”
The two ladies exchanged a quick look, and Elf Lady Number Two said, “It’s just so we can give him or her an age-appropriate toy.”
Clare sighed. “Okay, eight years old, then.”
“Boy or girl?”
Clare couldn’t stop herself. “Does the toy have to be gender appropriate as well?”
The elf ladies glanced at each other again. Both of them smiled, but neither answered the question.
“Okay then. A boy, aged eight,” Clare said. No point in getting into a squabble with the elf women. Right now, her top priority was to get close to that reindeer. And for that, she needed a ticket.
Elf Lady Number Two handed Clare a green ticket which read “Boy 4+”.
“Has he gone off with Daddy?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Your child.”
“Yes, he’s gone off with Daddy.” It was time for this discussion to come to an end.
“Aww, how nice for them to have some boy time together.”
Clare smiled and nodded. “Where’s the event?”
The elf ladies instructed her to go back down the escalator, and then make her way deeper into the shopping centre, where she would find a stage. It would be signposted, and without a doubt already attracting a crowd. She really couldn’t miss it.
Clare made her way through the mass of people, past numerous stores, restaurants and cafes, while being force-fed Feliz Navidad, Jingle Bells and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The crowd thickened as she progressed, and eventually, Clare was at the end of a long queue, which was being managed by a third smiling elf lady, dressed in an identical red and green costume with a pointed hat. Clare peered over the heads in the crowd — she could just about make out a wooden stage with a small pen and a burlap tent — presumably the “grotto”. She joined the queue.
Elf Lady Number Three came up to her. “Do you have a ticket?”
Clare showed her the ticket.
“And where’s your child?”
“He’s gone off with Daddy.” At least the ladies at the information desk had provided her with a plausible explanation.
“Well, they’d better get here soon because it’s about to start. You should call them on your phone, so they don’t miss it.” The elf lady had a disproportionately worried look on her face.
“I will,” Clare said.
Soon, more people joined the queue behind her, and after a few minutes, there was a stir in the crowd. Clare craned her neck, trying to see over the heads in front of her. A white-bearded man in a red costume and red hat had appeared on the stage. He was short and slim, not of a stereotypical Santa Claus constitution, but Clare could only assume this must be him.
Next to the slim Santa, she glimpsed the head of a reindeer. Was this Einar? A tingle ran down her spine. She was so close now, almost within reach. If only the queue would move so she could get to the stage — then she would know.
By the looks of it, the reindeer was a young bull and he had already shed his antlers for the season. He was dressed in a halter adorned with numerous jingle bells, and he was held by a male handler in another elf costume, although his differed from the ladies’. The handler was bigger and taller than Santa Claus, with brown hair sticking out from underneath the hat. He was half-turned away, and Clare couldn’t see his face.
The reindeer held his head up high and his body twitched when he moved — both clear signals he was in distress. Clare got up on her toes to see better, but just then, a family stepped up on the stage, blocking her view.
She turned aroun
d and called out to the elf lady, “Excuse me! Could you turn the music down? It’s frightening the reindeer.”
Elf Lady Number Three came up to her. “You don’t have to worry about Rudolph,” she said smiling. “He’s used to people, and he loves children.”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Clare said. “Please, listen. That animal is clearly in distress, you need to—”
“Is your kid not here yet?” the elf lady snapped. “He’s going to miss Santa if he doesn’t hurry up. We wouldn’t want that. There will be no refunds.” She turned her attention to a family who had just arrived. “Just in the nick of time. Can I see your tickets, please?” The two children showed her their tickets.
“Excuse me,” called Clare.
The elf lady turned back to her. She wasn’t smiling any more. “Listen, ma’am, you need to calm down, or I’ll call security.” She gestured towards a guard posted across the aisle. “Do you understand?”
Clare nodded.
“And where is that kid of yours? It’s not fair on the other children, who have been queuing patiently, for yours to show up at the very last minute.”
“He’ll be here soon.” Clare looked down at the floor.
The queue nudged forward painfully slowly. Clare felt like pushing people out of her way and screaming, but she stayed calm, taking tiny little steps when there was a movement in the queue. After more than twenty minutes, she was second in line to the stage. In front of her, a mother wearing an expensive camel coat and a little girl in a red jacket and neatly plaited hair were invited up the wooden steps, and finally, Clare could get a clear view of the situation.
There was only a low picket fence, about a foot tall, separating the reindeer from the spectators. Behind the fence was a thin layer of straw. Santa’s “grotto” had been set up using three broomsticks tied together at the top with rope, and draped with burlap. It was a pathetic tent, not big enough for anything, not even for the little man dressed up as Santa Claus. Outside the burlap tent were four sacks in different colours; pink, yellow, blue and green, and a wooden hand-written sign reading “Santa’s Grotto”.
Einar, still jerking his head from side to side, was held by the man in the elf costume. Clare could see his face clearly now, and she recognised him straight away from his Facebook page. It was Russ Gibson — the man convicted of animal cruelty offences and banned from keeping animals for life. He must have taken a huge risk coming to the event in person.
Clare shuddered. She wanted to run straight up there and snatch the rope out of the man’s hands, but she knew she had to wait. She pressed her nails into her palms. Only a few minutes now.
The mum in the camel coat guided her daughter to Santa Claus and handed over a pink ticket. Santa reached into the pink sack behind him and produced a present wrapped in pink paper. “Ho ho ho, here you go little girl, Merry Christmas!”
The girl accepted the present but didn’t speak.
“Would you like to feed my Rudolph?” Santa asked.
The little girl nodded. Her mum took her by the hand and they approached the reindeer and Russ Gibson. If only they knew what a thug he was. The man offered them the bucket and let the little girl help herself to a handful of pellets. “Hold out your hand for Rudolph,” he said.
The little girl stretched out her hand towards Einar’s mouth. The reindeer refused to take the food.
“Now then Rudolph, eat your dinner,” Russ Gibson said and pulled Einar’s halter. The reindeer jerked back into the burlap tent, causing the whole construction to collapse, and knocking over the pink sack of presents. Startled, the animal then jumped forwards. Russ Gibson managed to reel him in and keep him under control.
Santa Claus snatched the presents up and shoved them back into the sack, but he didn’t bother trying to re-erect the tent and it was left in a mess on the floor.
Russ Gibson laughed nervously. “It seems Rudolph isn’t hungry right now. Please put the food back in the bucket and move along.”
“But we’ve paid eight pounds to feed Rudolph,” the mum said. “My daughter will be extremely disappointed if she can’t feed him.”
“The fee is for the present, not for feeding the reindeer. Move along now.”
“Well, in that case, you shouldn’t advertise it as ‘Meet Santa and his reindeer’. You can expect a bad review.” She turned to her daughter. “Come on, sweetheart. Rudolph isn’t hungry right now.”
Clare didn’t think the little girl looked too disappointed. She watched her drop the pellets back into the bucket and walk off the wooden stage, down the steps to the polished floor, where she was offered a squirt of hand gel by Elf Lady Number Three.
“Next!” called Santa.
Clare stepped up onto the wooden stage and handed him her green ticket. Santa reached into his green sack and fished out a green present, which he gave to Clare. “Where is your child?” he said.
Clare shrugged. “He’s gone off with Daddy.”
“That’s a shame. Tell him Santa said ‘Happy Christmas’.”
Before Clare had a chance to answer, Santa had called, “Next!”, and the family behind her stepped up onto the stage.
Clare stopped in front of the reindeer. Einar was a young bull, antlerless, with a tawny-looking, matted brown coat. He was possibly malnourished, his nostrils were flared and the whites of his eyes were showing. He held his head up high in alarm.
“Shh,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
Russ Gibson spoke to her. “This is Rudolph. I’d let you feed him, but he isn’t hungry right now. Please move along.”
Clare glared at him hard. “Aren’t you Russ Gibson?” she said.
A fleeting look of surprise passed over the man’s face before he said, “Move along now. There’s a long queue behind you.”
Clare didn’t move. “And is this Einar?” she asked.
“Move along, lady, or I’ll call security.”
“It’s just that I happen to know you have been banned from keeping animals — for life.”
Fear flashed in the man’s eyes. “You really must step down now, lady. You’re holding everybody up.” He glanced over at the guard by the adjacent wall, who was talking to a shopper. The family behind Clare had finished with Santa and were now waiting impatiently to see the reindeer.
This was going to be Clare’s only shot. “Hand him over! Or I’ll call the police!” she demanded, and grabbed hold of the end of the rope.
“Security!” called Russ Gibson.
The guard looked their way, and at the same time, Elf Lady Number Three hurried up the steps to the stage, reaching for her walkie-talkie. She grabbed Clare’s arm. “You again! I knew you’d be trouble!”
The guard came up behind her and grabbed Clare’s other arm. He pulled the rope out of her hand and dragged her off the stage. Clare dropped the green present on the floor. She stopped to pick it up, but the guard pulled her along. “Leave it. You’re coming with me.”
A rasping noise came out of the guard’s walkie-talkie. He removed it from his belt and pressed a button, while still holding Clare’s arm in a firm grip with his other hand.
“Requesting backup at the north entrance,” a voice over the radio said.
Clare glanced back at the stage. The family of four had gone up to Einar.
“I want to feed the reindeer,” shouted the older girl.
“I want to stroke him,” whined her little sister.
The guard pulled Clare along by her arm. “I’ll be right there,” he said into the walkie-talkie. “And you’re coming with me, lady.”
“No!” Clare struggled to free herself.
She watched as one of the girls reached across the low fence and grabbed a handful of pellets from the bucket. “Here you go, Rudolph,” she shouted, and reached out her hand. Einar tried to back away, but Russ Gibson held him tight by the rope. “Pull him closer, I want to stroke him!” called the girl.
“Pull him closer, so the girls get to stroke him!” barked the father.
“We’ve paid sixteen pounds.”
Russ Gibson pulled the rope. The reindeer threw his head wildly from side to side. The guard stopped in front of the stage. Clare could feel his grip on her arm loosen somewhat.
With a sudden movement, the girl flung her handful of pellets at the reindeer’s face, shouting, “Eat your dinner, Rudolph!” The two girls laughed.
The animal bound back, tugging hard at the rope in Russ Gibson’s hand. It slid out of his grip, and at the same time, Clare tore her arm free of the guard’s hold. Russ Gibson lunged for the rope — but it was too late. The reindeer jumped over the low fence and off the stage. Frightened shoppers scattered as the reindeer careered between them, frantically trying to find a way out of the bustling centre.
Russ Gibson jumped off the stage.
“Can I have him now then?” shouted Clare.
“ Just take him!” Russ Gibson was running towards her.
“Where did you get him from?”
“From some crazy lady in north London.” He continued past her and fled into the crowd.
The guard was no longer bothered with Clare. He ran after the reindeer, shouting to shoppers to take cover. Clare set off after him — and after the careering animal. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elf Lady Number Three put her walkie-talkie to her mouth and shout something into it. Clare chased after Einar, pushing people out of her way when she had to. She overtook the guard, who had to stop for breath.
Gradually, she gained on the animal.
24
Niklas hardly spoke for the remainder of his visit to Tenerife. Not to Teijo or Terttu, and not to his parents. He stayed in the basement for most of the time. Reading, sleeping, thinking. Venturing upstairs at mealtimes only. He answered questions politely when addressed, then he returned to his room in the dark basement. The others didn’t seem to miss him too much. He could hear them laugh and move about upstairs.
Back in Helsinki, he put all of his efforts into his studies. He spent long, lonely evenings buried in course books. The phone calls from Mum became sparser and hollower. Eventually, Niklas mustered the courage to ask about what Teijo had said that afternoon by the swimming pool.
