Author: Jaimie Admans
Category: Humorous
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There’s something incredibly disarming about Tav. I feel like I’ve known him much longer than I have, and I lose track of time as I sit there without losing eye contact until another tear drips off my chin and lands with a cold splat on the back of my hand.
I sniffle and turn away to take another tissue out of the packet he gave me and blow my nose. I don’t know why this is making me so emotional. ‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise.’ He goes to duck into the room but misses and clonks his forehead on the doorframe.
In the middle of the sadness, it makes me laugh as he rubs it and looks accusingly at the doorframe itself. The wooden floorboards creak under his boots as he crouches down on the opposite side of the pile of letters, read and unread getting muddled where the bag has tipped on the chair and envelopes have started pouring onto the floor.
My face is still wet and I turn away and swipe the backs of my hands under my eyes. There’s not much I hate more than showing vulnerability in front of other people.
‘I know what it’s like reading those letters. You wouldn’t be human if they didn’t get to you.’ He reaches out as if he’s going to pat my knee comfortingly or something, but he pulls his hand back quickly.
Instead, he takes his red and green striped gloves off and picks up the letter opener from the floor where I’ve discarded it, takes an envelope and flicks it open with the expertise of someone who’s done it a million times.
He holds it up to show me a crayon drawing of a boy driving a big bus with a bird flying above it. ‘For Christmas, this lad wants a double-decker bus and an eagle as a pet. Whoever he is, he’s going to go far in life.’
It makes me giggle. ‘Do children really think Santa can provide that?’
‘Imagination is the limit. Nothing is impossible when you’re young. It’s growing up in this world that takes that away and makes people old and bitter.’ He opens another letter and his eyes skim over it. ‘This kid wants iPads, and iPods, and various other things with an “i” in front of them that make me glad I grew up before these things existed. Santa can’t help with that kind of request.’
He puts the letter back in the envelope and chucks it on the pile. ‘I should go. I need to check on the reindeer.’ He puts both hands on his knees and pushes himself to his feet, having to duck even at the highest point of the ceiling. He takes a couple of steps away and then turns back. ‘Do you want to come? There’s plenty of reindeer you haven’t met.’
‘I’d love to.’ I thought he was eager to get away, but the fact he’s inviting me makes me go warm all over because I didn’t want him to go yet.
And reindeer. Despite my close encounters of the antlered kind so far, it would be nice to see the reindeer sanctuary part of this place my dad talked about on the phone.
Tav holds a hand out to pull me up and I slip my hand into his without thinking. Ridiculously long fingers close around mine. His palm is hot, hotter than I thought it was possible to be in this climate, and his skin is rough, catching on mine, creating friction that feels like it could spark a fire. It’s the first time either of us haven’t been wearing gloves and the skin-on-skin contact makes me go fluttery all over.
What is wrong with me? It might’ve been a while, but a simple chivalrous gesture has never been responsible for such a wave of feeling before, and it seems like forever before he hauls me to my feet with very little assistance on my part.
I’ve been sitting on my knees for so long that pins and needles shoot through them and he keeps a strong enough grip on my hand to hold me upright, and I cling on as I stamp my feet and jiggle my legs to get rid of the numbness. He must think I’m a total muppet not to be able to get to my feet on my own, but handsome men always catch you at your most embarrassing moment, don’t they?
I can feel my palm rubbing against his, a pulsing beacon of heat as I wobble around like a magpie that’s been at the fermented fruit, not quite certain that it’s just the pins and needles causing the unsteadiness.
I have to distract myself somehow. I wave my other hand towards the photo frames on the wall. ‘I expected to see you up there. You’ve never played Santa?’
‘I’m too young. And that’s something I don’t get to say very often.’ He laughs. ‘Santa has to be genuine. That’s a hill I’ll die on. He cannot be played by a thirty-eight-year-old in a fake beard and a wig. Children know these things. No one is going to believe in Santa if they can pull his beard off.’
His dedication to making children believe in Santa is admirable, I’ll give him that. Mum and Dad took me to visit Santas in supermarket grottos when I was young, and I have absolutely no idea whether their beards were real or not. I’m pretty sure that in my Christmas-filled young eyes, I didn’t know or care either way, but it’s nice that he does. The small details seem to be Tav’s thing.
I stopped stamping my feet ages ago, but he’s still holding on to my hand, and he watches me for a moment before he lets go and stands back to let me walk out first.
I glance at the pile of letters. I want to come back here. I want to read more of them. I’ve put the one that needs a food parcel on the desk, but surely there’s something we could do for more of them. Something to help these children feel like they’re not alone.
I pull the door open and step out into falling snowflakes.
‘Snow!’ I say in delight.
Tav looks at me in confusion as he ducks out the door. ‘Were you not aware that it snows here? Quite regularly, in fact. Or did this general covering of white not give it away?’
I give him a scathing look because he knows exactly what I mean. The snow cloud is above us, but the rest of the sky is blue and the low sun is glinting over a mountain to the west, soon to sink below the horizon and into darkness. For now, the snowflakes falling from the sky are so white and fluffy that it’s like someone’s tipping a bucket of crocheted ones directly over the top of us.
I skip down the ramp and spin around with my arms out, watching the snowflakes land on the sleeves of my coat, and like any adult in the snow, I stick my tongue out and catch some. When I spin back in Tav’s direction, he’s watching me with a raised eyebrow.
‘Snow is falling,’ I say like it explains everything.
Instead of making fun of me like I expected, he sings the first line of “Merry Christmas, Everyone” by Shakin’ Stevens, complete with finger-clicking arm movement.
This was always my mum’s favourite Christmas song, and it’s a well-known fact that no one can hear it without singing along, and I wish I was brave enough to join in. I’m too self-conscious to sing in front of anyone, but he continues the song as he walks down the ramp.
I’m breathless from spinning, but I feel young and carefree for a moment. Snow always makes me feel like a child on a snow day when the schools unexpectedly close and you run outside to build a snowman or slide down a hill.
‘Thank you for the boots,’ I say, appreciating the traction they give me on the freshly fallen snow. ‘They’re the most comfortable things I’ve ever owned.’
He glances down at my feet. ‘You’re welcome.’
In my head, I do a victory punch. Who knew an adult conversation with no mention of elves would be a cause for celebration?
‘You said you live in the woods?’ I have so many questions for him that I’d make even the most hard-hitting journalist jealous, but I get the impression he doesn’t talk much and won’t answer if I don’t tread carefully.
‘In a cabin to the west. Just beyond your dad’s land border, with the reindeer I’m responsible for.’ He gestures in the general direction we’re walking, to the left of the sinking winter sun. ‘To be honest, I’ve been staying at the house for the past couple of weeks. Since the heart attack, I’ve been scared to leave Percy in case something happens, y’know? And the reindeer are all doing well at the moment. We don’t have any that require round-the-clock care right now, so I felt it was better for me to be close by for a while.’
‘Tav …’ I take a
deep breath. ‘What happened when he had the heart attack? He won’t talk about it. You were here, I take it?’
He looks at me again and I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. I have no doubt that he can hear every ounce of fear in my voice, and I can see the kindness of his eyes without looking, but I’m a fraction of a second away from tears again, and there have been more than enough tears in front of gorgeous men today.
‘I came in one morning and started making breakfast, thought it was odd that he wasn’t around, because usually you’d hear the floorboards creaking if he was upstairs getting ready, or he’d have left a note to say where he was going. You know when things feel off and you can’t put your finger on why, and you think you’re just being a doom-monger, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong? I did a quick check of the house to make sure he hadn’t overslept, then I realised there was a track of fresh footprints leaving the house, so I followed them, and found him face down in the snow.’
I can’t help the intake of breath at the thought of my dad being so … vulnerable.
‘It was near the Northern Lights igloos.’ Tav turns and lifts his arm in the direction we’ve come from. ‘I made sure he was breathing, called the ambulance, and then carried him back to the house to get him warm. He didn’t regain consciousness until he was at the hospital.’
The thought of Dad being in that position makes my heart skip a beat. And the thought of what would’ve happened if Tav hadn’t found him … My breath does that shuddery thing it usually saves for after a good cry. ‘You saved his life.’
‘I did what anyone would do if they came across someone in trouble.’
‘No, I mean, you being you. Being tall and strong enough to carry a grown man. And trusting your instincts that something was wrong. If you hadn’t been here, if you hadn’t followed those footprints …’ It’s too late to stop myself crying again as tears spill down my face.
Tav steps closer and drops a heavy arm around my shoulders, tugging me loosely into his side.
‘He’s okay, Sash.’ His lovely voice is soft above my ear.
The kind, comforting gesture makes me cry harder. I’ve never been good with people being nice to me when I’m upset. I half-heartedly push at his side, but it’s as ineffective as I thought it would be. ‘Don’t, Tav. People don’t hug me.’
‘That’s convenient because I don’t hug people, but new experiences are good for us. Character building and such.’
It makes me laugh through my tears, but it’s also comforting somehow. I feel like Tav understands.
Like he can sense it too, his arm tightens and he pulls me closer as we walk, but it feels protective, not pushy. I have no doubt that if I stepped away, he’d do the same.
I’m also really glad I had the forethought to shove the packet of tissues into my pocket, and I surreptitiously wipe my face. ‘I didn’t realise how scared I was of something happening to him. He always does all these crazy things, and all my life, we’ve joked that he’s going to be eaten by a crocodile or swallowed up by a volcano or something, but it’s never seemed like something that will actually happen. The thought of him having something as ordinary as a heart attack really makes it hit home.’
‘Yeah. It shocked me. He’s so young at heart and vibrant and full of life. He makes me feel old and decrepit and I’m forty years younger than him.’
It makes me giggle again because it’s so relatable. Dad could make a five-year-old after ten tubes of Smarties look like a hibernating tortoise. ‘How is he now? He says he’s fine, but I don’t think he’d tell me if he wasn’t.’
‘I don’t know.’ Our eyes meet again. ‘If he’s affected by it, he doesn’t mention it to me. He acts like nothing happened. When the hospital discharged him, he couldn’t understand why I’d been worried. You’d think it was the equivalent of breaking a fingernail. He’s not someone who easily admits vulnerability.’
‘You really do know him well.’
He’s quiet for a moment. ‘I did try to get him to call you before, but he was adamant that he didn’t want to worry you.’
That makes me feel better somehow. I thought I was just an afterthought, that maybe if Dad hadn’t needed my help, he wouldn’t have told me at all.
‘I was surprised when he did. He hadn’t said anything about needing help. It was a surprise to see “pick Sasha up from the airport” on my jobsheet yesterday morning.’
‘That’s when you knew?’ I say in surprise. I’m clearly not the only person my dad doesn’t share things with.
Tav seems to suddenly realise his arm is around my shoulders because he jumps and yanks it away. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Percy’s told me so much about you that I feel like I know you and keep forgetting you don’t know me.’
I shake my head to clear it. ‘He has no intention of selling this place, does he?’
‘I don’t know what he intends.’ Tav’s blueish copper eyes meet mine again. ‘I know he doesn’t want to sell.’
‘It’s not about what he wants, it’s about what he needs, and he needs to live somewhere normal with a doctor’s practice nearby and ambulance access. These temperatures are stressful on the body as it is, and if you hadn’t been here that morning …’ My voice breaks again and I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths and get a grip. There are only so many times in one day you can burst into tears in front of the same gorgeous stranger and I’m quickly approaching the upper limit.
I try a different approach. ‘What happens to it for the rest of the year? What do you both do in the months when he’s not being Santa? How does it earn money?’
‘It doesn’t – that’s the problem.’ He looks at me for a long moment and seems to decide he trusts me. ‘We need a buyer who wants to restore it, but that’s never going to happen, is it? It’s got to the point of needing too much work. As soon as you fix one thing, four more things fall apart. Whoever you force him to sell to will be a developer. They’ve sniffed around before and been sent swiftly on their way, but this time, I don’t see another way out …’
I glance up at Tav. He is gorgeous. I’m still wearing my bobble hat but snowflakes are settling in his hair, which is pushed back and the sun reflects off a couple of blond strands mixed in with the light and darker brown.
‘Unless you have any suggestions with your hotel expertise …’
There’s a faint tone of mockery that makes me wonder if he suspects the truth about my job, but I’m so distracted by the way his longish hair tickles the back of his neck and how I’m almost positive I can make out the silvery marks of scars on the skin there that it takes me a while to realise what he’s said.
‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ I stutter eventually. I feel like I have to prove myself somehow. God knows why. I’m not the manager of a fancy hotel, and the last thing I want is to convince him I am.
‘Everything has to come to an end eventually, and if I’m brutally honest with myself, things have been a struggle lately. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye.’ He’s unable to hide the depth of gloom in his voice.
We pass Santa’s House and crunch down the curve of the main road, and then Tav takes the same narrow path through the trees that he took when he led Rudolph back the other night.
Was that really only last night? It feels like I’ve been here for weeks, but it’s barely twenty-four hours.
‘Have you worked here long?’ I rush to catch up with him. He’s not intentionally hurrying, he just doesn’t realise my legs sink into the snow a lot deeper than his do.
‘Since time began. Since the year dot. Since cavemen roamed the earth and Alexander the Great rode through on Bucephalus.’ He turns back to grin at me, and when he realises I’m lagging behind, he stops to wait. ‘Or about fifteen years, give or take.’
‘How long’s it been going?’
He tilts his head side to side. ‘About fifteen years, give or take.’
‘You’ve been here from the very beginning?’ I say, surprised aga
in.
‘Well, it turned up on the doorstep of my reindeer sanctuary. What else could I do?’
‘Oh, so you ran a reindeer sanctuary before the North Pole Forest was built here?’
‘Something like that,’ he says with the familiar tone of not wanting to talk about it, and I can’t work out what it is that he doesn’t want to talk about. ‘When your dad took over last year, he let me keep my job, and now he puts jobsheets through my door every Monday morning that I ignore and get on with my own work.’
‘It’s like someone bought up the forest and pulled bits of it out to put cabins in.’
‘That’s exactly what someone did.’
‘Really? Who?’
‘Santa, of course.’
Here we go again. ‘Yeah, but who built it? Who put it here?’
‘Santa.’
‘Right. Of course he did. Because I was thinking more along the lines of a construction company seeing as Santa isn’t particularly known for his DIY skills, and I can’t imagine his team of reindeer being particularly good with hammers and nails.’
‘You’d have to ask him that.’
Of course I would. ‘And I suppose it was Santa who gave you the job here?’
‘Obviously,’ he says, but there’s a teasing tone in his voice, like he wants me to know he’s winding me up now.
‘Well, whoever sold this place to my dad really saw him coming.’ We’ve been walking for ages and we still haven’t reached the property line. This place is unimaginably huge.
‘Saw him coming?’ Tav glances back at me with a confused expression. ‘Because he’s colourful when he wears his Santa suit?’
‘No, because he’s a vulnerable old man and whoever owned this place clearly knew that and set out to take advantage.’
‘What do you mean? He wanted to buy the North Pole Forest. He wanted to restore it. It was his idea, not the old owner’s.’
‘Yeah, but an almost-eighty-year-old man can’t cope with all this on his own. They clearly knew that and shafted it off on him anyway.’