by Anna Blix
“The deaf cat,” added Niklas.
Mrs Dollimore pointed to White on her lap. “He said Father Christmas doesn’t have to deliver presents to all the children in the world. One will be enough — at least this first year.”
Niklas put another forkload of eggs in his mouth. He looked forward to reaching the second rasher of bacon at the bottom of the bowl.
“And this list is meant to prove you are Santa Claus? Are you completely out of your minds?” She looked from Mrs Dollimore to Niklas. “There is no real Santa Claus. He was made up in order to get people to spend their money on a load of presents that nobody needs. I mean, you must know there’s no real Santa Claus. You’re both grown ups… supposedly?”
Mrs Dollimore let White the cat down to the floor. She pursed her lips and picked up Clare’s empty plate. Stacking it on top of her own, she said, “I think you said you were going to phone the garage, Clare. Maybe you should do that now.” She took the dirty dishes out to the kitchen.
Clare seemed to be about to say something, but she just shook her head and put the list on the table, and then she left the room.
When Mrs Dollimore came back from the kitchen, she said, “Some people don’t believe, Niklas. There’s nothing we can do about that.” She patted his arm, but then she gave him a serious look. “We do need to sort you out, young man. I know about your trouble at the shopping centre. Clare told me what you’d said to her. I can’t believe you were nearly arrested! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Niklas scooped some eggs into his mouth and said, “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”
Mrs Dollimore shook her head. “You can’t walk around getting arrested. Not when you’ve got such an important job to do. What would Sophie think if she didn’t get her scooter because you were sitting in a holding cell somewhere? I’ll phone my girl at the hairdressers and make an appointment for you. I’ll make one for me as well — we can go together.”
“Me, at a hairdresser?” Niklas swallowed down the last of the eggs and picked up the soggy rasher of bacon. “You don’t need a hairdresser if you’ve got scissors. Lend me a pair, and I’ll give myself a trim.”
Mrs Dollimore sighed. “Don’t be silly, Niklas! You’re coming with me to the salon. They’ll give you a good disguise so you can hide from the police. End of discussion. And, for your information, that’s your coat in the washing machine.”
Clare came back into the room with her coat on, carrying her boots in her hand. “I phoned the garage,” she said. “They won’t be able to fix my car today.”
“Pardon?” Mrs Dollimore said. “Did you speak to the manager?”
“It’s Sunday, so there was only one person in. He said it looked complicated.”
“Did he say if they can fix it by tomorrow?”
Clare shrugged. “He didn’t know.”
“Oh…”
“I’ll go out and see to Einar.” Clare went up to the window. “Take him outside and let him walk around in the garden. Are you sure the garden is private? Looks like the neighbours can see straight in from their upstairs windows.”
Niklas wasn’t sure at all. What if somebody looked out of one of those windows right now? Somebody who had heard the news and connected the dots.
He smiled reassuringly. “They’re probably not home. Besides, you won’t find a completely isolated place in this city.”
Clare nodded. “I guess not. But it feels a bit exposed. Anyway, I can’t keep him locked up if he’s going to be here for several days.”
“Several days?” Mrs Dollimore shook her head. “I thought it was only going to be for one night.” She handed Clare the key to the shed and Clare exited through the back door.
“Niklas, do you think it means something that Clare showed up like she did?”
Niklas got up and took his dishes out to the kitchen. He didn’t like to admit he had thought so. “Well, I guess it was handy to get the reindeer delivered just like that,” he said.
“Oh yes, the reindeer… But I feel there’s something about Clare herself as well, don’t you?”
“No.”
“It was something about the way she just… appeared. Like when you stood there on my doorstep that night, Niklas. Like it was some kind of intervention. Maybe you should show her Sophie’s letter? What if she can figure out how to find the house?”
“No.” Why should he do that? Clare didn’t seem particularly interested in their project. “I’ve already examined the drawing. There’s nothing there.”
Niklas had not yet given much thought to how he would find Sophie’s house. He had been fully focused on the scooter. But he had to face the reality that finding Sophie’s house was now his number one priority. How could he be Santa Claus if he didn’t even know what chimney to drop the present through? And he only had three days left.
30
One Friday at lunchtime, Niklas walked from his office to the university’s canteen. It was in the month of May, and with only one week left until his doctoral defence.
He spotted her from a distance. Emma stood there outside the door, leaning against the railing and looking just the way she always had, dressed in a skirt and jumper and with her hair down over her shoulders. He stopped, not sure what to do. Then he walked up to her. She smiled when she spotted him. “Hey there stranger,” she said.
“Hi Emma. What are you doing here? I thought you worked in the city.”
It turned out Emma had come to meet up with some friends over lunch and she was waiting for them to arrive. Niklas made a move to go inside, but then Emma said, “Niklas, maybe you can help me with something?”
“Yes?”
“My computer has completely locked me out. You’re good with computers, aren’t you?” She pulled her fingers through her hair.
Niklas nodded. “Yes.” His face felt hot.
“Do you think you could take a look? I can bring it over to yours tomorrow afternoon, if you’re around. At three o’clock?”
Niklas was usually home on a Saturday afternoon and he didn’t have any plans for this one, until now. “Yes. I can be home in the afternoon.”
Emma smiled. “Great!” She took a little notebook and an even smaller pen out of her rucksack and looked at him. Was she waiting for him to say something? He couldn’t think of anything else to add.
“Thank you,” he tried.
Emma laughed. “What’s your address?”
Niklas told Emma his address and she wrote it down.
She wanted to come to the house. Tomorrow! He was going to have to stay up late and clean. Maybe he should take the afternoon off so he had enough time to prepare. Go to K-Supermarket and buy some food. He turned and hurried back down the steps in a state of blissful confusion.
31
“So, what are we doing today?”
It was December 23. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, followed by Christmas Night — Niklas’s one and only shot at validating the Christmas Hypothesis, and he would have to get it right on his first attempt. Yet, there was so much work left to do. Even though he had managed to acquire the present, the accuracy of Sophie’s delivery address was still just “somewhere in London”. He would never be able to scan the entire city for the house that matched Sophie’s drawing in just one day. He knew he would have to narrow the search area down, but he had no idea how.
And to make things worse, he wasn’t even working on it. Because Niklas was sitting in a black swivel chair at the One Cut Ahead hair salon — an unassuming hairdresser’s that mostly served a local clientele of mature ladies. Along with a kebab shop and a dry cleaner, it formed the little cluster of shops just outside the Underground entrance.
Niklas had kept a low profile on the walk over. Head down, but still watchfully observing his surroundings for signs of recognition on every face he passed. Luckily, there weren’t many people out on the streets, and those who were seemed to be preoccupied with their own business and not particularly out to catch reindeer thieves. When they reached the
salon, Niklas breathed a sigh of relief, fairly certain nobody had recognised him from the surveillance photo in the newspaper.
A delighted Mrs Dollimore sat in the chair next to him. She had booked Niklas in with the new girl, Chloe, and herself with Lyndsey, who she had informed Niklas was her usual hairdresser. When they had walked through the door, an elderly lady with newly permed hair was just leaving, and they were now the only two customers in the small salon.
Niklas watched the assistant, a young girl with pink hair, sweep cuttings from the floor with a large broom as Chloe ran her fingers through his washed hair, while she waited for his answer.
“I don’t know. Shorter?”
“Give him a complete makeover!” called Mrs Dollimore from her chair.
“Or else, if you just hand me the scissors, I can cut it myself.” Niklas reached out a hand from underneath the black gown draped over his shoulders.
Chloe giggled nervously. She was in her mid-twenties, with long, blond hair and unnaturally tan skin. Lyndsey was slightly older, maybe in her early thirties. The two hairdressers were wearing matching black uniforms.
“Just give me a little trim, then. A couple of centimetres will do.”
Mrs Dollimore said, “He means a couple of inches, Chloe. Make it three while you’re at it!” Niklas looked at her in the mirror. “And the usual for me, please Lyndsey.” She smiled at Niklas. “Isn’t this nice, the two of us going to the salon together?”
Niklas didn’t answer.
Chloe combed through his wet hair, tugging at knots when she had to. “Where do you part?” she asked.
“Where do I what?” He examined his reflection. His brown hair was long and dripping wet, and his beard stuck out to the sides.
“Where do you normally part your hair?”
“I don’t.” Niklas never combed his hair, let alone part it.
The assistant appeared behind Chloe with the coffee she’d offered him. She placed a cup on the floating shelf in front of him, next to a stack of magazines. “Here’s your tea,” she said, energetically chewing gum.
Niklas leaned forward to check the cup’s contents. It certainly looked more like weak, milky tea than the black coffee he’d asked for.
“Thank you, Chrissy,” Chloe said. “Okay, I’ll just cut it so you can part anywhere.” She tugged a little harder at the knot she was disentangling. “Do you want me to trim your beard as well?”
“No.”
“Yes, he does!” Mrs Dollimore said, catching Niklas’s eyes in the mirror. She had half of her hair up in clips, and Lyndsey had already started cutting the back.
“No. Don’t touch my beard! Seriously.” Having a beard was a crucial point on the checklist. He wouldn’t let Chloe the hairdresser ruin the Christmas Hypothesis.
“A little trim won’t hurt, Niklas. Do you really want to walk around looking like a savage?”
“I’m serious. Don’t touch my beard!” Niklas gave Mrs Dollimore’s mirror image a stern look.
“Do you want to frighten people? I thought you fancied yourself as benevolent. Well, I say — you’re lucky it happens to be the fashion these days. Each and every man seems to be walking around with a full beard.” Mrs Dollimore pursed her lips but didn’t say anything more.
Niklas reached for the cup.
“Tilt your head forward, I’m going to start cutting now,” Chloe said, and gently pressed her fingers against the upper part of his head.
With his head weirdly tilted forward, Niklas attempted to drink his tea from the far side of the cup. He spilt most of his first few sips over himself, and little brown rivulets ran down his hairdresser’s gown. With his head bent over, he set the cup back on the shelf and reached for one of the magazines instead. It was a weekly ladies’ magazine, full of celebrity gossip. He flicked through it casually.
“You’ve got to keep your head down, hun.” Chloe put her fingers on his head and pressed it down again, firmer this time.
Niklas put the magazine back on the shelf, making sure to keep his head down throughout the movement.
“Did you hear about that reindeer on the loose in Aspenwood?” Lyndsey had asked the question to Mrs Dollimore, but Niklas’s heart skipped a beat at the words.
“No,” Mrs Dollimore said. “Sounds quite dull.”
“Apparently, it’s still on the run somewhere in London. They haven’t found it yet.”
“I’m sure it has run home to Lapland by now,” Mrs Dollimore said. “Don’t you think so, Niklas?”
“Yes.”
Mrs Dollimore nodded wildly. “You’re absolutely right. It’s what animals do when they get lost. They have a built-in compass that tells them the way home. Didn’t you know that, Lyndsey?”
“I thought that was birds,” Lyndsey said.
“Well, now you know that reindeer migrate too. I don’t see why on Earth they thought it newsworthy. It must have been a slow day in the newsroom.”
Lyndsey didn’t say anything more on the subject. And neither of the two ladies appeared to recognise Niklas from the newspaper photo.
After a while, Chloe said, “Where’s your accent from, Niklas?”
“Finland.” Niklas stared at Mrs Dollimore in the mirror, hoping she’d be quiet and not start telling them about the hypothesis.
Mrs Dollimore nodded excitedly. “Originally, yes, but he’s been living at the North Pole for over a decade.”
“At the North Pole? Really? Did you meet Father Christmas?” Chloe giggled as she snipped a tuft of hair from behind his ear.
Niklas wished he could teleport himself back to the North Pole. Or to the moon. Or anywhere far away from this hairdresser’s salon. And he wished Mrs Dollimore would be quiet. “No,” he said.
“Did you hear that Lyndsey?” Chloe said. “He comes from the North Pole.”
Lyndsey rested her scissors and looked up with a curious expression. “Really? What did you do there? Were you a tour guide?”
“No.”
“Were you an explorer?”
“I had a traumatic experience. A polar bear encounter, if you must know. I don’t want to talk about it.” Hopefully, that would keep them quiet. Niklas kept his eyes fixed on the hairdryer hanging from a hook underneath the shelf, but he heard how Mrs Dollimore drew a sharp breath.
The rest of the time, Niklas sat quietly with his head down and let Chloe do her work. He listened to Mrs Dollimore and Lyndsey’s cheerful chatter, with the occasional comment from Chloe, and soon their exchange turned into a convoluted discussion that covered all the local gossip and celebrity affairs.
Niklas and Mrs Dollimore walked home side by side in a drizzle of rain. Mrs Dollimore opened a large umbrella, which she dutifully held halfway in between them, successfully sheltering neither of them. She didn’t say a word the whole way, and when they reached the house, she shook the water off the umbrella before she folded it down.
Clare came to meet them in the hallway. “They called from the garage,” she said. “It’s going to take another day to get the car fixed. They have to replace the starter motor. And it’s going to cost me.”
Mrs Dollimore sighed. “Well, isn’t that just typical? Nothing can ever be as easy as they first promise, can it?”
Clare shrugged. “Is it all right if I stay here another night? I can go and collect the car in the morning. Then I’ll come and pick up Einar.”
“But Clare… Tomorrow is Christmas Eve… My son’s coming, didn’t I say?”
Clare glanced at Niklas. “Well, yes. I just didn’t know… Don’t you think he would phone and tell you when he’s coming?”
“Yes, but… I don’t know… I don’t think Steven and Lydia would leave it any later than Christmas Eve. They might be driving up here as we speak. I can’t very well turn them away at the door.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll try to organise something,” Clare said. “I’ll make some phone calls — maybe I can find a hotel.”
Niklas nodded.
“Nice haircuts,
by the way. You two look very smart,” continued Clare.
“Look at Niklas. Isn’t he a transformed man?” Mrs Dollimore said.
Clare looked at him and nodded. “Very handsome.”
“But isn’t it a shame he wouldn’t let them touch his beard?”
Clare tilted her head and said, “I don’t know. It goes quite well with the whole Santa Claus thing he’s got going on.”
“Well, I still think a little trim would have been in order. Everything in moderation, but this is really over the top.” Mrs Dollimore reached over and gave his beard a tug. “And Clare, you should have heard how he embarrassed me at the salon — going all grumpy and refusing to talk to poor Chloe.”
Wait a minute. “I embarrassed you?” Did she really think that was true?
“You really need to apply yourself to be more sociable, Niklas. At least try to make people around you feel comfortable.”
He stared at her. “Hold on. I played along with your whole exercise in humiliation. Wasting the whole morning at that salon, as if I weren’t busy enough trying to deliver this Christmas present and validate your hypothesis? And you say I embarrass you?”
Mrs Dollimore crossed her arms. “Well, I was only trying to be helpful, but I can tell now it was a misdirected effort. And whoever told you that you have to give Sophie her present?”
“You! You told me that. This was all your idea.”
White, blissfully unaware of the ongoing situation, came down the stairs and rubbed the side of his body against Mrs Dollimore’s legs. She picked him up, and placed him over her shoulder, burying her face in his soft fur.
Niklas shook his head. “But Sophie’s getting her present anyway, I’ll make sure of it. I’m not going to fail at this. They’ll see.”
“Who will see?” Clare said.
“They! Everyone who’s never believed in me. I’ll show them!”
There was a long silence. Clare looked down at the floor. Then Mrs Dollimore’s muffled voice came out of White’s fur. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Niklas. But you could have mentioned it earlier. Now, I’m the one who’s going to have to explain your peculiar behaviour to Lyndsey and Chloe.”
