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

by Joanna Bolouri

  Matt laughs and puts down his mug.

  ‘OK, fine. I don’t think Leanne will be back anyway, after seeing the state of you last night. It didn’t seem to go down well when I handed her the bra off the floor either, given that she was already wearing hers.’

  ‘So, you’ll do it?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m doing this for you, you weird, weird man.’

  ‘Yaass!’ I exclaim, punching the air. ‘You won’t regret it . . . one thing, though. Don’t be your usual shagger self . . . you know what I mean. Respect her.’

  ‘Yeah, alright, Oprah.’

  ‘Amazing! Right, I have to head into work. This is going to be so good.’

  ‘You might want to shower and Febreze the shit out of that Santa costume, mate. No offence, but you smell rank.’

  He’s right, of course, I stink, but I’m not offended. What I am is a genius. An honest-to-God, Christmas-miracle-performing genius.

  I arrive into work half an hour early, cleaned up and carrying my Santa suit which now smells ‘April Meadows Fresh’. I’m hoping Alfie’s mum is working today and if not, I’ll at least get her name from one of the other staff. I’ll grab another coffee too. Matt can’t make a decent coffee for shit.

  I walk into Belle Blend and head to the counter, trying to be as casual as possible.

  ‘Americano with cold milk, please,’ I request, scanning the room.

  ‘Sit in or takeaway?’

  ‘Takeaway, thanks.’

  I spot her. Third table near the back. She’s wearing her hair back today, but it’s definitely her. I shift from foot to foot, willing the barista to hurry up, but it looks like there’re a couple of orders before mine.

  Act natural, Nick. You might be about to change this woman’s life, but don’t be creepy about it. You were cool once. Channel your twenties.

  She begins wiping down the table to my left, but catches me staring. Dammit. I’m bad at this.

  ‘Can I help you with something?’ she asks, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘I thought it was you!’ I reply, breezily. ‘Alfie not giving you the runaround today?’

  She smiles politely. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Christ, sorry, yes! I looked a little different yesterday,’ I reply, gesturing towards the grotto. ‘White beard. Eight reindeers. Dangerously overweight.’

  She laughs loudly. ‘Of course! Sorry, the voice threw me off. Your Santa voice is much deeper and, well, slightly questionable.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m still trying to figure that out,’ I reply, my face flushing. ‘Is it really that bad?’

  ‘It reminded me of that film where the murderer asks the babysitter if she’s checked on the children. I much prefer this one.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘Americano with milk!’

  ‘Oh, that’s me, two secs.’

  I grab my coffee and return to her table, pretending like it’s not burning my hand off. I want to save the rainforest and the baby monkeys too, but I really wish they hadn’t gotten rid of those cup-holder things.

  ‘Anyway, thanks so much for yesterday,’ she continues. ‘You must think I’m mother of the fucking year. My sitter dropped him off here and he was supposed to just sit quietly for two minutes but . . .’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’m sure it happens all the time. I’m Nick, by the way.’

  She wipes her hands on her apron and holds one out. ‘Sarah. Honestly, thanks again. He was so happy on the way home, couldn’t stop talking about you! You made his day!’

  My initial rush of pride is soon diminished by a pang of guilt. She’d be horrified if she knew I’d just promised her kid something that might be impossible.

  ‘It was nothing,’ I reply. ‘Part of the job description.’

  ‘I hope he asked for a Nintendo Switch,’ she says, gesturing over to another member of staff who’s trying to get her attention. ‘I’ve been busting my ass doing extra shifts to afford that thing.’

  ‘Yup,’ I lie. ‘That’s exactly what it was.’

  Fucking hell, Nick, stop lying to this family, you moron.

  She picks up some empty cups and a half-eaten pastry. ‘Sorry, Nick, I need to go. Morning rush is crazy. Nice to see you again though!’

  Shit. I’ve been so busy chatting, I forgot why I came in here and my shift starts in five minutes.

  ‘A date!’ I blurt out. ‘How would you feel about going on a date?’

  She stops for a second and starts to blush. Good God, she’s pretty.

  ‘A date? Like, a date-date? I’m not sure I—’

  ‘Just dinner, maybe some drinks. I swear you’ll have a great time! Say yes!’

  ‘Um . . . OK. Yes. Why not. I could use a night off.’

  ‘Amazing!’ I reply delightedly, pulling out my phone. ‘Let me get your number.’

  Grinning, she begins typing her number into my phone. I’m so happy right now I could kiss her. I want to call Alfie and tell him that phase one of the plan is now underway.

  ‘So just send me a text or—’

  ‘I’ll get Matt to call you!’ I reply. ‘You won’t regret it!’

  ‘Wait . . . Matt? Who is—’

  ‘Shit, I need to run . . .’ I give her a slightly (very) awkward hug, bolting for the exit before she can change her mind. I’m already halfway to the grotto, practically skipping through the mall towards the staffroom when I hear:

  ‘You are late again.’

  I hold up my coffee cup at Izzy in response, mouthing the word ‘sorry’ and ignoring her loud tut as she passes me in full elf costume. Being a few minutes late is worth it. Everything is going to plan and for the first time in months, I’m starting to like myself again. As I remove my jumper, I can faintly smell Sarah’s perfume on the neckband and smile. Matt’s a lucky man.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Jesus, mate . . . smile much? I take it things went well then?’

  Matt has been home from his date with Sarah for approximately seven minutes and that smug grin hasn’t left his face for one second. I watch him grab some leftover chicken from the fridge before joining me on the couch. I feel like his mum, waiting up on a Saturday night to see how his first date went. At least he didn’t drunkenly bring Sarah home with him. I’m very proud.

  ‘Yeah . . . it was good,’ he replies, inspecting a very dry-looking chicken wing. ‘I took her for tapas though so I’m still starving. How long have these been in the fridge?’

  ‘No idea,’ I reply indifferently, trying to keep him on topic. ‘So, it was just good? Really? Not fantastic? Your face says it was at least great.’

  He bashfully rubs the back of his neck. ‘It was pretty fantastic actually, really good fun. To be honest, she was not at all what I was expecting.’

  Now I’m smug. I knew he’d like her. How could he not? She’s delightful. ‘Do you honestly think I’d set you up with a troll? Oh, ye of little faith.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘Bethany Andrews?’

  ‘Apart from her . . . and everyone pees in the shower.’

  ‘Yeah, but usually the shower is on.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  He kicks off his shoes and stretches his legs. For someone six foot three, his legs look surprisingly short. I sit up a little straighter as I try to judge if he has an abnormally long torso. ‘It’s weird. I just didn’t expect Sarah to be so . . .’

  ‘Lovely?’

  ‘Exactly,’ he responds, finally braving the chicken wing. ‘She’s stunning. She’s really grounded as well . . . and smart and funny. Offered to pay half the bill . . . it’s been a while since anyone I’ve dated offered to pay for anything.’

  ‘You just haven’t been dating the right women,’ I reply, quickly realising the parallel between our lives as Matt continues filling me in on the date. I’m no better at relationships than he is. T
he only thing Angela ever paid for in our relationship was her Uber ride home after she ended it. Sarah sounds like she is one of those women who don’t rely on anyone to take care of them. My mum was like that . . . maybe it’s a single-parent thing.

  He nods. ‘You were right about me dating someone different. I’ve never met anyone like her. I might be getting ahead of myself, but I think she could be . . . well, you know . . .’

  ‘Worthy of a second date?’

  ‘Quite possibly, mate,’ he announces, throwing the chicken bone on the plate. ‘I know it sounds crazy but there’s just something about her. Her smile, maybe . . . Do we have any hot sauce? This chicken is bland as fuck.’

  As he traipses back to the kitchen in search of condiments, my mind flashes back to Sarah smiling at me in the grotto and I feel a slight pang in my chest. It’s so strange – I hardly know the woman, but somehow, it’s now become my mission in life to make her happy. Matt’s a great guy; she could be happy with him. I’m doing a good thing here.

  I might only be a lowly shopping-centre Santa, but I, Saint Nick, am well on the way to changing two and a half lives. Maybe I should be focusing on my own, given that it is such a mess, but I’m channelling my inner Santa and the Christmas Spirit and all that shit. Who knows, Alfie’s Christmas wish might just come true.

  Tuesday in the grotto is thankfully much quieter than the outrageously busy weekend Izzy and I were subjected to. On Saturday alone we had three vomit incidents, nineteen criers and countless tantrums from both parents and children alike. I’ve never heard an elf threaten to murder someone in Spanish, but as it turns out, it’s rather endearing. Over the past few days we’ve developed a much more harmonious working relationship which involves me bringing her doughnuts and her not setting fire to my beard.

  I beckon for the next child and watch him run to me, followed by a teenager covered in piercings.

  ‘Hello. Merry Christmas!’ I say, helping him up on to my knee. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Ryan,’ he says, bashfully. He’s cute; no Alfie, but cute all the same.

  ‘And what would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?’

  ‘Scalextric! With the rally cars.’

  ‘Good choice!’ I say. ‘I’ll let the elves know.’

  I hear the surly teenager exhale loudly as if life itself is boring him to death, rather than him just being expected to tolerate the slight inconvenience of having to take his brother to see Santa.

  ‘He said you weren’t real,’ Ryan announces, crossly. ‘That only babies believe in Santa.’

  Surly snorts behind his brother and goes back to his phone.

  ‘You know something,’ I say, doing my best not to throat-punch this pincushion. ‘I remember when your brother was about your age.’

  He gasps. ‘Gary?’

  Bewildered, Gary stops clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth.

  ‘Mm-hmm,’ I confirm. ‘I remember Gary asked me for a little brother who would love him and look up to him. A brother just like you.’

  ‘Me?’

  I nod. ‘Yes, you.’

  As Ryan smiles at his brother in delight, I see Gary’s cheeks begin to burn, before he slowly realises that he’s been a bit of a prick.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ Gary responds, sheepishly. ‘Must have forgotten. Thanks, Santa.’

  ‘Excellent,’ I say, reaching down to get the gifts. ‘I think you both deserve something.’

  I hand Ryan his gift first. He thanks me and climbs down from my knee, enthusiastically picking at the wrapping paper.

  ‘I take it even edgelords like chocolate?’ I ask, holding out a box to Gary. He looks embarrassed but thanks me, scurrying off to lick his wounds. I see Izzy briefly clap in approval before letting the next child through.

  At 4.45pm, Geraldine appears, jangling a bunch of keys like a Shawshank prison guard. I see Izzy immediately tense up. She’s not a fan of Geraldine either.

  ‘Quick word, Santa,’ she insists, moving past the last sour-faced kid who wanted a MacBook. Even I don’t have a MacBook; he can fuck off.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  She nods. ‘I’ve dealt with the day-one complaints. I think you’re on track now. I did, however, notice that there have been more gifts given than tickets sold. Any reason for this?’

  I shake my head, trying not to glance at Izzy, my partner in selection-box thievery. Apart from giving out extras, we’ve also been dipping into Santa’s sack regularly. Neither of us will have to buy chocolate again for a year.

  ‘Sorry, Geraldine,’ I reply. ‘We put them in the staffroom after yesterday’s shift. Maybe the night staff?’

  She narrows her eyes and makes an unconvinced ‘hmm’ sound before turning on her heel and jangling away towards customer service. She absolutely knows it’s us but the likelihood of us confessing is the same as her being able to hire another non-alcoholic, DBS-checked Santa this close to Christmas.

  ‘I don’t like her,’ Izzy states, propping up the tiny penguin which has fallen over for the fifteenth time today. ‘Never trust a woman with the bob hair, you remember this.’

  I’m not even sure what that means, but I agree anyway. With no one else in line, I take a seat for the last two minutes of my shift to man the grotto, while Izzy starts moving the penguins and polar bears into the staffroom.

  ‘Do people from the North Pole drink gingerbread lattes?’

  I turn to see Sarah standing to my left, holding a grey takeaway cup. She can’t tell I’m smiling under my beard, but I am.

  ‘All the time,’ I reply, climbing down from my throne. ‘Though the reindeers make fun of us.’

  ‘Reindeers are assholes.’

  ‘Agreed. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good. Great, in fact. I just wanted to say thanks for introducing me to Matt,’ she says, handing me my drink. ‘I had a terrific time; we’re going out again soon. He’s very sweet. And very tall.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard it went well,’ I reply, suddenly self-conscious about being a mere five foot eleven. ‘He was like a Disney princess when he got home.’

  She laughs. ‘Excellent. I’ll be sure to bring him a glass slipper next time then. By the way, you’ve made quite the impression on Alfie. He still hasn’t shut up about you.’

  ‘I have that effect on people. Children and elves especially.’

  We look over to Izzy who’s about to lose her shit with a family trying to buy grotto tickets after closing. Her head whips around like she’d somehow heard me mention elves.

  ‘Well, most of them.’

  Sarah grins. ‘I should get back to work; I’m on ’til eight tonight. Enjoy the coffee!’

  ‘No worries,’ I reply. ‘I’ll tell the reindeers you said hi.’

  She bites her lip and grins, slowly backing away towards the coffee shop, while I take a swig of my first ever gingerbread latte. Jesus Christ, people actually drink this shit?

  As we close the grotto, Izzy takes off her hat and runs her hands through her hair. I find myself fascinated by the sheer volume of curls she has. How the hell does she hide all that under her hat?

  ‘Your girlfriend over there,’ she snaps. ‘She knows you stare at other women, yes? What is wrong with you?’

  My gaze breaks and I can’t help but blush in surprise. ‘What? No, I’ve just never seen your hair down before! It looks nice, that’s all.’

  She pauses and shrugs. ‘OK, I accept that.’

  ‘And she’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Well, she looks at you like she is,’ Izzy replies, continuing to mess with her mop. She stops suddenly, a smile creeping over her face. ‘And I think you do too.’

  ‘What . . . that’s ridiculous. You need your eyes checked.’

  ‘She has the little boy, yes? You be kind to her.’

  Izzy waves her hand dismissive
ly and heads off with the credit card machine and a small selection box hidden inside her hat. That bloody hat is magical.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘You should go out tonight, Nick. Honestly, I know you’re not flush yet, but I’ll slip you a few quid. Crap, I’m out of aftershave, can I borrow some?’

  Matt’s seriously making the effort for his third date. He even trimmed his nose hair. I nod and gesture towards my room. ‘Knock yourself out . . . and thanks for the offer but I’ve faced those kids with a hangover once already. Never again.’

  ‘You don’t have to get pissed. Just blow off some steam – or better yet, let some hot woman blow the steam off for you.’

  ‘Your puns are terrible, mate.’

  Before he can protest, his phone starts ringing in his bedroom and I unmute the television again. He’s probably right, I haven’t had sex since I lost my job months ago – according to Angela, unemployment just wasn’t sexy – but they’re showing a Die Hard marathon on Sky later and I have a Domino’s voucher.

  A few moments later, Matt returns to the living room and flicks on the main lights.

  ‘Change of plan, dude. Get this place tidied.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Sarah’s sitter has cancelled last minute, so she’s coming here with the wee man,’ he replies, frantically moving all of our shit from one side of the room to the other. ‘We’ll just order pizza.’

  I reluctantly start helping. ‘So, what? A romantic dinner, just the three of you? That’s kind of intense . . .’

  ‘It is,’ he replies, pulling his wet socks off the radiator. ‘That’s why you’re also having dinner with us.’

  ‘Um, I’m not sure that—’

  ‘Please, Nick, for me? I really like this girl, but I have no idea how to act around Alfie. You’ve met the kid, he knows you!’

  ‘As Santa! He doesn’t know me from Adam!’

  ‘Well, Sarah knows you and it was her idea that you join us. We’ll work it out. She’ll be here in half an hour. I’d change if I were you – those jogging trousers smell like baked beans.’