Laura’s voice snaps me out of my momentary trance, and I notice her wandering eyes are now fixed firmly on me. She really wants that cocktail, I guess.
I push my way to the bar, but get stuck behind at least seven people for what feels like forever. With only fifteen minutes until Christmas Day, everyone is in high spirits, but I don’t feel quite so merry. Laura has been a great distraction, but it hasn’t stopped Sarah drifting in and out of my mind. It’s like a miserable sense of longing and I need to snap out of it, but not here. I need to go home, get a reasonably early night before the drive to Matt’s parents’ house in the morning. Giving up on ever getting a drink before midnight, I about-turn and make my way back to Laura.
‘No one is getting served anytime soon,’ I tell her. ‘I think I’m just going to call it a night.’
‘Great idea,’ she replies. ‘My place or yours?’
I’m genuinely surprised when she says this and choke on the dregs of my beer. ‘Oh! No, I meant—’
She prises herself off the wall and tries to pull on her coat, missing the arm several times before she successfully slips it on. Even if I wanted to take her home, she’s far too wasted. I take out my phone and open the Uber app.
‘What’s your address? Maybe we can share?’
She presses herself up against me and giggles.
‘Santa, baby. . .’
Oh fuck, she’s singing. I glance around, hoping that this moment isn’t being shared by anyone else. ‘OOOOK. . . I just need—’
‘Put a stable under the tree. . .’
‘I think it’sslip a sable, but whatever, I just need your address. . .’
‘And hurry round the chimney tonight. . . be doo be doop.’
OH, DEAR GOD, this is horrible. People are starting to stare. I take her arm and try to guide her towards the door but instead she holds on to my jacket and plants her mouth firmly on mine. I briefly consider keeping it there, so she won’t be able to sing again, but in the end I gently pull away and step back.
‘Laura, you’re a great girl but I’m just not looking for anything. . .’
‘Santa babbbbyyy. . .’
‘Laura, are you hearing me? I’m going home. Alone.’
The smile on her face suddenly drops. ‘Seriously? It’s Christmas!’
‘I’m sorry. . . Look, it’s late, I’ve just ordered an Uber, let me drop you—’
She starts to cackle. ‘Did I just get turned down by a shopping-mall Santa? That’s a new fucking low. God, why are men such dicks?’
‘Wow, OK,’ I reply. ‘So, I’m going to go. . .’
‘Good. Shove your Uber up your arse, I live at the end of the road above the chippy, not that you’ll ever know.’
‘You literally just told me.’
I hear her announce that Iprobably have a knob like a cocktail sausage anywayin front of the whole pub as I slink away, confused and slightly wounded by her drunken outburst. My knob is at least a bockwurst.
Stepping outside, I check my phone and see that no one has accepted my Uber request yet. This is just perfect. It’s minus three and I’m going to have to walk home.
Sticking my hands in my pockets, I begin my journey, my boots crunching into the newly formed ice on the pavement. This time last year I was a corporate lawyer, kissing my beautiful girlfriend Angela at a party in Kensington with a free bar. Now I’m an out-of-work Santa Claus who’s going home alone to an empty flat.
As I quicken my pace, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Merry Christmas, Nick! Love, Sarah and Alfie xx
My internal yelp of delight at receiving her text is quickly replaced by a very audible yelp of surprise as I slip and fall flat on my back. Jesus Christ, ice, why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?
‘You alright, fella?’ I hear a voice ask from across the street. I give them a thumbs up as they walk on, but the pain radiating from my arse makes me suspect otherwise. I lie there momentarily, wondering how tonight could get any worse, as the faint sound of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ drifts out from a nearby flat and into the night air.
