I physically give myself a shake before I finish that sentence.
‘How about we use the bathroom, get some hot chocolate and then maybe we can buy Santa a card to say thanks. I bet Santa would like that. I’ll even hand-deliver it myself.’
Alfie agrees and we thankfully reach the bathroom before I have to buy him new trousers and underpants too.
I sip on my hot chocolate and watch Alfie clumsily write his thank-you card before slipping it into my back pocket, promising to deliver it tomorrow.
‘Did you get your mum something for Christmas?’ I ask, swirling around the chocolate dregs at the bottom of my cup.
‘No,’ he replies. ‘She says she only needs hugs. They’re free.’
‘Hugs are good,’ I respond, ‘but I’m pretty sure we could team up and get her something cool from you to open on Christmas morning. What do you think she’d like?’
Alfie’s eyes light up. ‘She likes sausages!’
Dammit, why are you only four? I have about a million inappropriate jokes here.I bite my tongue.
‘Hmm, they might go off by Christmas morning. Anything else?’
He thinks. ‘Mum stuff. Candles, flowers, photos of me.’
My brain immediately springs into action. There’s a passport photo booth beside the toilets and a stall where you can get photos made into key rings, mugs, T-shirts, etc. I stand up and hold out my hand.
‘You ready to make your mum the best present ever? It’s a super-secret mission though.’
‘Yeah!’
I can’t help but smile as I feel him slip his little hand into mine. I hope this works.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Being born so close to Christmas must have been a real pisser for your parents,’ I tell Matt as he pours some crisps into a bowl. ‘I mean, the sheer cost of double presents alone. Kids are so expensive.’
He snorts. ‘Listen to you, Supernanny. A few babysitting gigs and now you’re an expert?’
I laugh. ‘Well, that, and the fact that I’ve met about three hundred kids who want eighty-pound talking bears for Christmas.’
Matt checks his watch. ‘Shit, everyone’s due in twenty minutes. You sure we have enough beer? Maybe I should get more.’
Matt does this every year on his birthday: panics that there’s not enough booze for his party guests, even though everyone brings at least two bottles with them. This year he seems a little more anxious than usual. I know why.
‘We’re good,’ I reply, watching him open and close the fridge nervously. ‘You worried about everyone meeting Sarah?’
‘No more worried than you are about seeing your old colleagues. . .’
‘Fair point.’
I’mdreadingit. I’ve barely seen anyone since I was fired. There are going to be questions.Where have I been hiding? What happened with Angela? Where am I working now?
‘I swear, Matt, if you’ve told anyone that I’m Santa, you won’t live to see thirty-two.’
He puts down the mixers and holds up his hands. ‘I haven’t. I promise. I’m the only one allowed to make fun of you. Well, and Sarah.’
‘Sarah. . . shit, if she tells anyone about how she met me—’
‘We’ll say we came into her coffee shop. Bloody hell, mate, relax. I have to deal with everyone making jokes about my shady love life. I haven’t exactly been forthcoming about my past. She’s going to think I’m a player.’
The buzzer rings. Who the hell comes early to a house party? I open the door with my now sweaty hands and let the wolves in.
