All I Want for Christmas: a hilarious and heart-warming romance

by Joanna Bolouri

  ‘A trampoline! Like Robbie’s. One with a net so we can do giant flips and tumbles and bounce and bounce and bounce!’

  I glance at his waiting parents who are frantically shaking their heads behind their physically boinging child, letting me know that large, costly outdoor trampolines aren’t happening anytime soon. His dad mimes being on a bike and I nod.

  ‘Hmm, the elves had a problem with the trampolines this year,’ I reply. David stops springing, the excitement on his face quickly draining.

  ‘But they’ve made some amazing bikes! Haven’t you, Izzy?’

  Izzy’s head spins around independently from her body and glares into my soul, indicating that she will kill me if I try and get her involved with los niños. I turn back to David.

  ‘So how about a nice new bike? Wouldn’t that be fun? Fancy new helmet too?’

  David doesn’t say a word. He moves off my lap and folds his arms, glaring first at his parents and then at me. This is horrendous. How many children am I going to have to disappoint today? I need to convince him that bikes are better than trampolines.

  ‘They’re so cool, David! Honestly! Coolest bikes you’ve ever—’

  ‘NO! IWANTATRAMPOLINNNNEEEEEE.’

  The screaming sound piercing my eardrum is almost enough to distract me from the sharp pain in my shin, but not quite. I yelp as David and his small yet powerful right foot are scooped up by his dad before he can inflict any further damage.

  ‘Fucking hell, kid! No need for—’

  I hear the smallest gasp from a girl in the front of the queue and the sound of at least ten jaws hitting the floor, as David is carted off by his embarrassed parents.

  ‘Mummy! Santa said the F-word.’

  Oh God.

  ‘Outrageous!’ one silver-haired granny yells, pulling her mildly amused child away by the arm. ‘Come on, Rosie, we’re not staying here.’

  ‘I’m s-sorry,’ I stammer as several of the parents and kids disperse, scolding me for being the worst Santa ever. The back of the queue doesn’t seem to realise anything is wrong, but I have no doubt that someone is already asking to speak to a manager. Once Geraldine finds out, I am so fired.

  The rest of my day doesn’t run any more smoothly. I’ve never seen so many spoiled brats in light-up trainers demanding iPads, PlayStations and something called Ricky the Trick-Lovin’ Pup, which is apparently a toy dog but sounds like a toy pimp.

  At 5pm I see Izzy pull across the rope behind the last child, letting everyone know that Santa is closed. After today, I’m starting to understand why Izzy seems so annoyed. Working with children is clearly a calling rather than a seasonal vocation.

  ‘And what’s your name?’ I ask the rosy-faced blonde girl who is already trying to grab for my beard. I’m so glad she’s the last one.

  ‘Jennifer,’ she replies. ‘I am three!’

  ‘And what would you like for Christmas?’

  ‘A Barbie house with the . . . ACHOOOO!’

  Something slimy flies from her nose and lands squarely on my hand, making me gag. Horrified, I try and flick it off while her dad just laughs like it’s adorable. It’s not adorable, it’s fucking green.

  ‘Barbie house, gotcha,’ I reply, handing her a gift. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  I don’t even smile as her dad takes a photo. I’ve had enough. I’m hot, sweating, bruised, covered in mucus, and I’m leaving. Geraldine can shove this job up her arse.

  Shaking my head, I stand from my throne, ready to rip this stupid beard from my face. Even though the grotto is closed, there’s still a crowd admiring the Christmas display so unveiling my face right now would be a terrible idea. All I want to do is get home, shower and enjoy a cosy night in with Angela to celebrate my new job.

  As I prepare to leave, I see a boy who looks around five sneak under the rope.

  ‘Little boy, we are closed,’ Izzy informs him, but he swerves around her and dashes straight for me.

  ‘Santa, I—’

  ‘Come back tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Santa is going home.’

  ‘But I won’t be here tomorrow,’ he replies, frantically. ‘And I haven’t told you what I want for Christmas!’

  ‘Sorry, little man.’

  I reach into my sack and pull out a selection box. ‘Take this. Free chocolate is better than nothing.’

  As he takes the gift, his huge brown eyes start to fill up with tears. ‘But if I don’t tell you my Christmas wish, it won’t come true! Please, Santa.’

  ‘I’m sorry but—’

  ‘Santa!’ Izzy snaps. ‘You can do one more, yes.’

  I nod. Partly because Izzy scares the shit out of me, but also because I cannot be responsible for one more crying child today. Besides, I think he’s melted Izzy’s heart a little. That should be rewarded.

  ‘What’s your name, little boy?’

  ‘Alfie,’ he replies, following me back to my throne. I take a seat while he stands beside me. ‘Alfie O’Brien.’

  ‘Alfie. That’s a great name. And how old are you?’

  ‘I’m four.’

  ‘And what would you like for Christmas?’

  Alfie takes a deep breath and quietly says, ‘I want my mum to be happy again.’

  Yikes. I feel uncomfortable. I’m even less equipped to deal with selfless children than spoiled, selfish ones. The look of sincerity on his face is killing me.

  ‘I’m sure she’s very happy!’ I reply, cheerfully. ‘She has you, right?’

  He looks at his feet. ‘She pretends to be, but she’s been sad since my dad died. I hear her crying sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, mate.’

  He shrugs. ‘Please make her happy, Santa. That’s all I want for Christmas.’

  Now my eyes are welling up. This sweet little boy thinks I can take away his mum’s grief and I have no idea how to respond.

  ‘Um . . . well, you see—’

  ‘ALFIE! Oh, thank God you’re here, I’ve been looking everywhere!’

  I turn to see a woman racing towards us, wearing one of the bright blue aprons from the café opposite the grotto.

  No, thank God you’re here, I think to myself, I was totally out of my depth there.

  ‘That’s my mum,’ Alfie whispers, waving to her.

  She sweeps up Alfie and kisses him repeatedly on the cheek.

  ‘I nearly had a heart attack!’ she tells him. ‘You cannot just run off like that! I was going to call the police . . . and the Avengers . . . and Spiderman . . .’

  ‘Spiderman is in the Avengers,’ Alfie replies, giggling. ‘Sorry, Mum, I just had to see Santa.’

  As Alfie’s mum looks at me apologetically, I suddenly feel my chest tighten and a little tingle shoots all the way down my spine. Oh God, she’s lovely. I see where Alfie gets his big eyes from. They’re like two dark pools of . . . Jesus, this isn’t appropriate, Nick, you idiot, she’s a grieving widow. Get a hold of yourself, man.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurts out. ‘One minute he was with me, the next—’

  ‘It’s fine!’ I reply, now more aware than ever of how stupid my Santa voice sounds. I clear my throat. ‘Very nice boy.’

  Fucking hell, now I sound Russian.

  She smiles and ruffles Alfie’s mop of brown hair as I look anywhere that isn’t directly at her. Damn, she smells good.

  ‘We’re going to miss the bus; let’s go, Alfie. Say bye to Santa.’ She takes Alfie by the hand and begins to lead him towards the exit.

  ‘But Santa didn’t say he’d get me what I want for Christmas!’ he exclaims, looking back at me. ‘He needs to say it!’

  Oh God, what do I do? People are staring!

  ‘Santa, PLEASE!’

  ‘OK, OK, you got it!’ I reply, even throwing in a thumbs up for good measure. His little face lights up and he returns the gesture.
Seconds later Alfie and his mum are gone.

  ‘Imbecile!’ I hear Izzy snarl at me. ‘You just lie to him and now you ruin Christmas for the child.’

  ‘What was I supposed to do? Tell him no? You saw how cute and desperate he was.’

  ‘Well, now he will hate Santa.’

  ‘Well, you hate Santa too, so maybe you can form a club together?’

  She rolls her eyes and flounces off with the credit card machine while I make my way back to the staffroom, feeling like shit. Have I just ruined that kid’s Christmas? Eager to get the hell out of there, I grab my clothes from the locker, shoving them into my backpack, and start walking home – belly, beard and all. I need a drink.

  Twenty minutes later, I arrive home to see Angela standing outside my building.

  ‘Hey, sweetie! You’re early!’

  I pull the door and hold it open for her. Angela looks at me bewildered until it finally clicks. She steps tentatively towards me.

  ‘Nick? Is that you?’

  ‘Yup!’ I laugh as she roughly unhooks my beard from my ears. ‘Careful with that, my boss will make me replace it if I damage it.’

  ‘Your boss? You got a job?’

  ‘Yes . . . this is my new job! What do you think?’

  Without a word, Angela walks around me and up the two flights of stairs until we reach my front door. I enter first with her following quickly behind me, loudly slamming the door.

  ‘Whoa, leave the door on the hinges, sweeth—’

  ‘NICK, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?’

  I’m beginning to think that Angela is less than impressed with my new job.

  Chapter Five

  As I open my fifth beer, I realise that I don’t think I’ve ever seen Angela quite so enraged as she was earlier. I also think that less than impressed with my new job was an understatement.

  ‘I cannot believe this . . . you’re Santa,’ she’d repeated, over and over. ‘Santa! My boyfriend is Santa.’

  ‘Christ, Ange, I’m not the real Santa. I didn’t just vanish down a chimney. Relax.’

  She stood up from the couch dramatically, like she was objecting in court.

  ‘This is no time for jokes, Nicholas.’

  Sometimes, when Angela is mad, she’ll sternly call people by their full name, like a parent expressing their disapproval. The main problem with this is that I was christened Nick. I’ve never been a Nicholas. She knows this, but it doesn’t suit her narrative right now.

  ‘Why are you getting so upset?’ I asked. ‘It’s a job. I needed a job, desperately, and now I have one!’

  ‘Because, you can do better,’ she’d snapped. ‘Jesus, Nick, my friends shop there. I shop there! God, this is so embarrassing.’

  ‘It’s six weeks’ work, Angela. You’re overreacting. Yes, it’s not ideal, but it’s also not a big deal either.’

  ‘Wait, is this like a charity Santa?’ she enquired, almost hopefully. ‘Like raising money for a good cause – sick kids or dogs or something? I can work with that.’

  ‘Nope,’ I reply. ‘Normal kids. Paying gig.’

  ‘Ugh, for God’s sake. I cannot deal.’

  As I watched her pout petulantly, hands on hips, I realised that it wasn’t me that she felt could do better. It was her. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t felt slightly mortified that this was my last resort, but I honestly thought she’d find it funny. Matt did. He laughed so hard I thought his brain might short-circuit.

  ‘You can stop now,’ I’d requested, watching him hold his sides. ‘At least I can pay rent this month.’

  ‘Saint Nick!’ he exclaimed, his shoulders shaking. ‘It’s perfect! Oh God, can I sit on your knee? Will there be elves? Please let there be elves.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  He’d continued to laugh even as my couch cushion hit him squarely in the face, but unlike Angela, he was happy for me. His mate being Santa wasn’t an embarrassment, it was a source of great amusement.

  Angela finally sat down again, but by the way she fumbled with her handbag at her feet, I could tell she had no intention of staying.

  ‘I think we need a break, Nick. We’re on very different paths right now. Maybe some time apart will—’

  ‘Oh, come on! This is just a temporary—’

  ‘Sorry, babes, I need some space.’ I watched speechless as she put her bag on the crook of her arm and stormed out.

  That was three hours ago. I’m now spending what’s left of my Friday night bingeing on Chinese food and terrible Christmas movies.

  Around 1am, I hear the familiar click of the front door closing, followed by an unfamiliar giggle.

  ‘Matt, buddy,’ I yell. ‘Is that you?’

  The living room door opens and Matt strides in with a tall blonde woman carrying her shoes in her left hand. She gives a little yelp when she sees Santa sitting in the dark, balancing a plate of Singapore noodles on his belly.

  ‘Oh Christ, Nick,’ Matt says, turning on the living room light. ‘This place looks like a bomb went off.’

  ‘It did,’ I reply, wincing at the harsh light now drilling into my eyeballs. ‘A big Angela-shaped one. She’s embarrassed by me; can you believe it? She’s quite mean. Why didn’t you tell me she was mean?’

  I see Matt scan the untidy room, the table covered in open takeaway containers and empty beer cans stacked in a tower. He turns to the woman beside him, who has the same puzzled yet disgusted look that Angela had earlier.

  ‘Leanne, babe, my room’s second on the left. Give me a minute, yeah?’

  She nods and retreats into the hall, while Matt takes a seat beside me. He smells like fresh air and lager.

  ‘Are you supposed to take that Santa outfit home?’ he asks softly, picking a noodle from the furry trim. I shrug.

  ‘Fuck knows. To be honest, I forgot I had it on. There’s a beard kicking around here somewhere if you want a shot?’

  ‘Should I ask how your day was? Are you watching . . . Home Alone?’

  ‘Yup. Christmas marathon on the movie channel. No idea where the remote is. My day was fucking awful; honestly, you have no idea. I’ve been sneezed on, shouted at by a Spanish elf, kicked, screamed at and Angela’s dumped me.’

  Matt makes a yikes face. ‘Jeez, sorry, Nick.’

  ‘Annnd,’ I continue, ‘I lied to a little boy. This sweet little dude with a dead dad and a sad mum and I’ve ruined his Christmas.’

  I glance at the television in time to see Kevin being reunited with his idiot parents. I hurl a spring roll at the screen. Sure, Kevin is a brat, but he deserves better.

  ‘It’s all bullshit!’ I yell. ‘In real life, social services would have been called. Alfie’s hot mum will never have a happy reunion. There are no happy endings!’

  ‘Who the hell is Alfie?’

  I lift my last spring roll, but Matt intercepts it and takes the polystyrene container away from me before I can throw anything else.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, fella,’ he says, nudging me. ‘Get some shut-eye and we’ll talk in the morning.’

  He walks over to the door and switches off the light again.

  ‘I’m here for you, buddy, but you need to get a grip. Remote’s on top of the telly.’

  Matt closes the door and joins his date while I continue swigging on my beer. I smile as I see Scrooged is on next. At last, a film I can relate to.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Ugh. How can anyone live like that? He still has food stuck to his face!’

  As I slowly open my eyes, I hear a mumbled reply from Matt about me having a hard time, followed by the sound of the door slamming shut. God, what time is it? I feel rough.

  ‘She seems nice,’ I say as Matt joins me in the living room. ‘I love the smell of contempt in the morning.’

  ‘I’ve made you a coffee,’ he repli
es. ‘Budge up.’

  Matt plonks down beside me, placing a strong, almost tarry-looking coffee on the table. I must have fallen asleep with the television on, as Miracle on 34th Street is almost at the end.

  Matt remains quiet as I come to, undoubtedly wanting to kick me up the arse for scaring off his date, but knowing that at this moment, it’s pointless. I’m a mess; my life is a mess. As I watch the little girl wax lyrical about the magic of Christmas, I think about Alfie and his mum. I shouldn’t have given the kid false hope. What am I supposed to do? Snap my fingers and bring his dad back? Magic up a new Prince Charming?

  ‘I believe . . . I believe . . . it’s silly, but I believe . . .’

  I sit bolt upright on the couch as the little girl on screen makes her Christmas affirmations. Maybe there is something I can do.

  ‘Matt, you’ve put it about a bit, yeah?’

  He stops sipping his coffee and narrows his eyes.

  ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

  ‘I mean you’ve pretty much slept with every over-entitled blonde under fifty in London, right?’

  ‘How dare you!’ he replies, pouting slightly. ‘But yeah, that’s fair.’

  ‘So how about going on a date with someone with a bit of substance? A real woman. Someone who doesn’t draw on her eyebrows and—’

  ‘Nick, what the hell are you talking about?’

  I excitedly move round on the couch to face him. ‘I met this woman yesterday. Total ten. And she’s nice. Like super nice. Caring and funny . . . makes Avengers jokes.’

  Maybe I’m overselling Alfie’s mum here, given that our interaction yesterday was only a few seconds long, but her son is adorable so she’s very unlikely to be Aileen Wuornos.

  Matt thinks for a moment then narrows his eyes.

  ‘If she’s so great, why don’t you ask her out? You’re single now, apparently.’

  I shake my head. ‘Ange said she wanted some space; it’ll blow over. Besides, look at me. This woman deserves someone who isn’t a complete frickin’ disaster.’

  ‘I dunno, mate . . . maybe. What’s her name?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘How can you not know her—’

  ‘Listen, I can’t explain but I have a very good feeling about this. Just say yes and I’ll do the rest. I’ll get you a name and a number and everything. Please. Look at me. I need this.’