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 thatless than impressed with my new jobwas 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.
