Page 1 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

1

‘Santa Claus is eating Paddington Bear!’ my colleague bellows into her walkie-talkie to alert the other department teams. ‘This is not a drill! Santa is eating Paddington in the front window!’

They’re not the ideal words to hear first thing on a Friday morning, especially when I am the person responsible for putting Santa Claus and Paddington in the front window in the first place.

‘What’s going on?’ I dodge around customers to grab Anna’s shoulder before she disappears into the crowd of shoppers.

‘Lula!’ She whirls around. ‘There you are! What were you thinking with that window display? It’s abhorrent! Children are going to be scarred for life! Do you have any idea how much of a warpath Patricia’s on? Everyone has been given strict instructions to tell you that she wants to see you in her office the minute you arrive!’

Patricia. My boss at Calloways department store. The kind of put-together woman whose mere presence is so intimidating that it makes my knees knock. I spend my entire working life trying not to get on her bad side. ‘I don’t understa⁠—’

‘Do you have any idea how many complaints we’ve had to fend off and it’s only half past nine! Children are crying, Lula! You’ve murdered Paddington Bear!’

‘I have not! Paddington was sitting happily on Santa’s shoulder when I left last night!’

‘Well, he’s not now, and he never will be again!’ Anna snaps as a crackly voice speaks on her walkie-talkie and she makes a dismissive gesture towards me. ‘Go and see Patricia now!’

I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate universe as she hurries away through the throngs of customers. It’s only 27 November, but with Christmas approaching, we’re exceptionally busy for a Friday morning.

Oh, God, the crowd outside. I’m ridiculously late this morning and rushed in via the front door rather than the staff entrance, and I noticed the crowd gathered around the window. I thought they were admiring the display I was here all night creating, but something must have gone horribly wrong with the wholesome festive scene that I put the finishing touches to in the early hours of the morning.

I make my way back outside and edge my way into the crowd. Right on cue, a small child starts wailing. There’s a man in a suit howling with laughter, and the noise of a hundred shutter clicks as everyone snaps photos on their phones.

What I left in the Calloways window display last night was a charming ‘teddy bears’ picnic’ scene. There are artificial trees in the background and piles of sparkly fake snow, and in the centre is a large table, loaded with teacups and teapots and plates of mince pies and festive cupcakes, with teddy bears sitting all around it. An animatronic Santa was sitting at the head of the table, with the very recognisable Paddington Bear on his shoulder to oversee matters.

This was a huge deal to me. My team manager is off this week and as the deputy manager, I was in charge of implementing the big Christmas window at our flagship London shop. I sent the rest of my team home after a couple of hours of late-night work, but I stayed to make sure everything was perfect for the grand unveiling this morning. The first showing of a Calloways Christmas window on Oxford Street is a big deal, and this is the first one I’ve been solely responsible for.

However, it was also my responsibility to arrive at 8.30 a.m. and double-check everything was perfect before the shutters went up at opening time, but after not leaving until 4 a.m., I managed to sleep through my alarm clock, and now I’m late. My plan of sneaking in without anyone noticing my absence is clearly not going to work either.

A gap in the crowd lets me edge closer to the window and get the first peek at what everyone’s looking at… and I immediately wish I hadn’t.

Oh, no. I’d hoped Anna was exaggerating, but it’s worse than I thought. Much worse.

I have, indeed, murdered one of Britain’s most beloved characters.

The animatronic Santa, who was happily chanting ‘ho ho ho’ last night, now sounds like his gears are grinding together and what’s coming out of his ever-smiling mouth is the slowed-down strains of the creepiest laugh I’ve ever heard.

The teddy bears are all still in place around the table, but Paddington hasn’t fared so well. Santa’s animated waving hand has obviously malfunctioned and latched onto the bear; however, I pinned Paddington’s hat in place to make sure he stayed in position, and the moving animatronic hand has gradually detached Paddington’s head from his body, and the machine I’d set up to blow fake snow around has scattered his stuffing liberally around the display. Unfortunately, Paddington was wearing a red scarf, which has shredded into a million little pieces and liberally covered the scene in what looks like drops of Paddington’s blood.

As festive windows go, it’s more like something advertising a horror movie and would not have been out of place for our Halloween window in October.

Another young boy starts wailing and his mother quickly covers his eyes and hurries him away, surely destined to have nightmares for months. This is so severe that strangers are actually talking to one another in London. I can hear whispers all around me. What were they thinking? This can’t have been intentional, can it? Total nightmare. I wouldn’t want to be the person who’s got to answer for this.

No. Neither would I.

The shutters have started to come down, but paused three-quarters of the way up the window, ensuring the view remains unobscured, and judging by the member of my team huddled at the side, frantically jabbing at the control panel, I’m guessing they’re jammed again, and someone will have sent for an engineer, but it’s too late to hide this disaster from the world and the soon-to-be traumatised children who love Paddington and never expected to see a crazed Santa ripping his head off and ‘ho-ho-ho-ing’ as his faulty waving hand brings piece after piece of stuffing up to his mouth in an unfortunately cannibalistic manner.

My stomach twists into uncomfortable knots that gnaw at me from the inside out.

There is no way Patricia isn’t going to fire me.

* * *

‘There’s no way I’m not going to fire you!’ Patricia Calloway bellows at me in her office, so loudly that I’m unsure why she bothered closing the door to give us privacy. There’s also no way that every colleague in the building isn’t gathered outside to eavesdrop. Patricia’s sackings are always legendary, but I’ve never been on the receiving end of one before.

‘I’ve already had to appease an irate mother whose little girl has the same bear at home and thinks Santa has broken in to her house, stolen her bear, and taken him to Oxford Street for breakfast! Children don’t want Santa to come on Christmas Eve because they think he’s going to brutally murder their favourite teddies, Lula, because of you!’

‘It wasn’t intentional. You know that. It was an accident. Santa malfunctio⁠—’