‘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?’
