‘It’s seasonal work but would be ideal for you.’
‘OK, perfect, what—’
‘No travel expenses, no stress, you’ve already had background checks done—’
‘Background checks? Why—’
‘And of course, you’re very personable. Kids love you!’
‘Greta, what on earth are you talking about? What’s the position?’
‘Santa,’ she replies, grinning at me. ‘I think you’d make a perfect Santa.’
Chapter Four
Present Day
Santa’s grotto at Southview Shopping Centre is less of a cosy, festive cavern filled with gifts, and more of an open-plan, penned-off Christmas area with an impressive, surprisingly tastefully decorated tree, some fake snow and, of course, a huge throne for Santa to sit on. A red carpet covers the floor from throne to entrance, where the queue is already winding around the nearby juice bar.
You can do this, Nick, I reassure myself, waving to the eager children.You’re employed and spreading Christmas cheer, what’s not to like?
‘Vamos! You’re late!’
Startled, I whip around to see a woman in her thirties, no taller than five foot, dressed like an elf and obviously as enthusiastic to be here as I am.
‘You are Nick?’
‘Yes.’
‘Izzy.’
‘Nice to meet—’
‘Look, I wear this costume, but I not your servant, OK?’ she informs me. ‘Don’t ask me to help. Last year I have this one crying and that one crying and that’s no my job, OK?’
I wish she was as charming as her Spanish accent.
‘Um, sure. OK.’
‘You deal withlos niños, I have the money, OK?’
She waves her little point-of-sale credit card machine at my face, while I nod in agreement. I feel like I’m involved in some sort of heist.
I sit on my ridiculous throne as Izzy allows the first child and her mother through, nervously telling myself that this will be a piece of cake.
You’ve been in a boardroom with Deborah Meaden, for Christ’s sake. They’re just kids. Get it together.
I smile and wave to the approaching child. She takes a step back and clings to her mum’s leg. Excellent start, Nick.
‘Keep it under a minute for each child,’ Geraldine had advised at my induction, ‘Name, age, what they want, let the parents take a picture, give them a gift from the sack, then on to the next. I need you smiling and swift. Any questions?’
‘Are there boy-gifts and girl-gifts?’
‘No,’ she’d snapped back. ‘Gender neutral. New guidelines. Also, lap-sitting is entirely at the parent’s discretion, but the younger kids enjoy it.’
The small child currently trying to flee from my knee makes me believe otherwise.
‘Polly, it’s OK, darling, just look over here! Smile for Mummy!’
