Author: Jaimie Admans
Category: Humorous
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Tav looks like he only understands fifteen per cent of that sentence. ‘He’s not on his own.’
He’s stopped at the edge of the path to wait for me again and I wait until I reach him to speak. ‘You’re only one person, Tav.’
‘I’ve got it under control. I don’t like people implying that I haven’t.’ His tetchiness intrigues me because he doesn’t sound annoyed – it sounds more like an explanation.
‘It evidently needs more than two people. For him to even think this is a sensible thing for a man of his age to take on … Between you and me, I’m seriously wondering if he’s starting to lose his marbles.’
‘Marbles?’ Tav looks even more confused. He looks at the ground like someone’s genuinely dropped some marbles. ‘I don’t understand. We don’t have any marbles here.’
His non-understanding of my British slang is so adorable that it makes me burst out laughing. ‘Believe me, I can see that.’
He looks yet more confused.
‘It means … Oh, you know what, maybe I should just stop talking entirely.’
‘I think that would be a very reasonable plan.’ That teasing tone is in his voice again.
Another clearing has sprung up amongst the trees, and we come to a wooden three-slat fence with a wide path around it. A reindeer is trotting across the paddock towards us.
‘Welcome to the North Pole Forest reindeer sanctuary.’ Tav goes to the fence and pulls a handful of greenery out of his pocket and offers it to the approaching reindeer.
‘Do you always have some form of plant life in your pockets?’
He laughs. ‘As I said – all eventualities. You never know when you might need to win over a reindeer.’
‘No antlers?’ I ask as I watch the reindeer gobbling the plant from Tav’s hand.
‘Males drop them by this time of year and the females keep them until May to protect their calves. Factually, all of Santa’s reindeer would be female to still have antlers on Christmas Eve.’
‘I can honestly say I’ve never thought of Santa’s reindeer and the term factually in the same sentence before.’
When Tav’s hand is empty, he brushes them together and leaves the reindeer chewing as we walk along the path towards a wooden cabin. It’s exactly what you’d dream of for a log cabin in the forest. There’s a low fence with strings of glowing white lights strung through the posts, a wooden gate and a snow-covered path up to the door, and a small potted Christmas tree on either side. It’s so different to the loud and colourful decorations of Santa’s House. This is understated and classy, and it reminds me of the cabins on the hillside. ‘You live here?’
‘Yeah. This has been home for many years. It was just the cabin at first; I added the stables and paddock later.’
‘Don’t you get lonely?’ It feels like we’ve walked about a mile, maybe more. My voice is swallowed up by the seclusion of the trees. The only movement is a few of the reindeer making their way towards us.
‘Lonely?’ His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. ‘I’ve got twenty-three reindeer.’
‘And you don’t like people and can’t rely on anybody?’
‘Exactly.’ The smile he gives me doesn’t look genuine as he opens a heavy gate and lets us into the reindeer pen.
‘They’re amazing. When I was little, I didn’t think they were real animals.’
‘A lot of people have never seen one in real life before, and the astonishment on children’s faces is magical to behold.’ His eyes light up when he talks about it, and it’s clear in every millimetre of his body language that he loves this job.
I’m so distracted by watching him that I have to duck out of the way fast when a reindeer mooches up and nearly takes my eye out with an antler.
Tav laughs. ‘That’s Vixen One. They won’t hurt you, but keep an eye out for errant antlers. Here.’ He pulls out another handful of plant life and offers it to me. ‘The way to a reindeer’s heart is most definitely through their stomachs.’
‘What is it?’
‘Cladonia lichen. It grows all over the northern forests. On trees and under the snow. I grab handfuls when I see it.’
Quite a few reindeer are heading towards me, and I hold the lichen out to Vixen One who’s coming closer to sniff out my pockets, but most of them change direction and follow Tav where he’s gone into a storeroom behind the cabin and comes back out with a bag full of the stuff.
While Vixen One is chewing, Tav shows me where to rub her nose and I let my fingers trail over her coarse hair. ‘This is a real sanctuary for them?’
‘Yes. Reindeer are and always were my main priority. A way of combining my passions. Helping reindeer and helping children believe in the magic of Christmas.’
‘The tourists must love them. Do you take people on sleigh rides?’
‘No.’ He seems offended by the suggestion. ‘They are not here for entertainment purposes. Some of them are recovering from injury and trauma. I let them be part of the North Pole Forest because they love to meet people and socialising is good for them, but I don’t agree with using animals for entertainment. If they’re fit and healthy, I walk them so tourists can stop and chat and feed them, but I don’t allow unsupervised visits, and their paddock is out of the way because I don’t want tourists wandering off and finding it.’
There are signs all along the fence saying “Do NOT feed the reindeer”, and an explanation saying that reindeer can die from being given the wrong food, written in many different languages.
‘Some of them are working animals. They pull sleds that I take to go down into the village and collect supplies, and they take me on journeys whenever I need to go elsewhere.’
Another one comes over and pushes his big, furry nose into my hand and I let him have a bit of lichen and stroke across the thick beige fur at his shoulder.
‘Donner Four,’ Tav says.
I’m impressed he can recognise them. They all look so alike.
‘When you want to go into the village, the reindeer sleighs are kept in the stable. I’ll show you the ropes the first time, but it’s very simple.’
The idea of going somewhere by reindeer-drawn sleigh is so absurd that it makes me laugh a mildly demented cackle. He can’t be serious. ‘Can’t I walk?’
‘If you want to carry heavy shopping for three kilometres in thick snow and anything from minus-ten to minus-twenty-degree temperatures.’
‘So, let me get this straight … so far, for modes of transportation, you recommend dog sled and reindeer-drawn sleigh. There’s a truck outside Dad’s house – can’t we use that?’
He does something that’s not a laugh at all, more like a scoff. ‘I don’t drive.’
‘Me neither.’ It’s unusual to meet someone else who doesn’t, especially a man. ‘Never learned?’
‘I just don’t.’
There’s something defensive in his voice, and I can’t help noticing the tension that’s squaring his shoulders and the finality in the tone of his terse answers. ‘My mum died in a car accident when I was younger,’ I say as an explanation.
‘I know.’
Dad must’ve told him then. I’m surprised because Dad has never talked to me about the accident they were in. ‘Are people ever disappointed that they don’t actually fly? Or that Rudolph doesn’t have a red nose?’
He looks over at me like he understands the change of subject for what it is and his lips curve upwards. ‘They only fly on Christmas Eve. And Rudolph’s nose only glows in the fog. Everyone knows that.’
I laugh, but it makes me smile too because he switches from serious to children’s entertainer at the drop of a hat, but you can hear the joy in his voice when he talks about Christmas magic.
I bite my lip to stop myself smiling. ‘This really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s something that was sorely missing from my childhood. My parents are very sensible people, always too serious to let me and my brother and sister believe in anything as whimsical as Santa Clau
s, and when I was older, I saw how other families bolstered this belief and how magical it must be for a child to grow up believing in the impossible, and I wanted to be part of that.’
‘So that’s why you do it? That’s why you’re so dedicated? Making up for lost time?’
‘No. I just like seeing people happy, and I think children should grow up thinking there’s something wonderful in the world.’ He meets my eyes. ‘And it’s never too late for adults who have lost that sense of wonder to get it back. Santa is a symbol of hope, a sign that things will always get better. Christmas is something to look forward to. A joyous end to the year – a celebration of a good year or good riddance to a bad year, but always a moment to measure your life by, whether adult or child.’
His eyes are burning into me and I can’t look away. I’m so distracted that I’m still holding a piece of lichen in mid-air and I jump when another reindeer comes over and helps himself from between my fingers.
‘What about you? I can’t imagine Percy raised you to not believe in Santa.’
‘No. My mum and dad always made Christmas special and went to great lengths to stoke my belief in Santa. There were always snowy footprints leading from the fireplace to the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, mince pie crumbs and an emptied glass of milk and half-chewed carrots on the plate by the fire, glittery hoofprints in the garden, noises from the roof on Christmas Eve, bells jingling from above.’
I don’t realise I’m smiling at the memories until Tav points at my face. ‘See that? That smile right there? That is why children should grow up believing in Santa. Because when they’re old and cynical, they can still look back and recall a time when they believed in magic.’
Again, it’s a nice sentiment, but my childhood Christmases make very little difference to my adult life.
‘Are you a vet?’ I ask to change the subject, because it feels so peaceful out here, and being around animals has always been calming for me. These creatures are truly majestic in the middle of this gorgeously natural forest, and it makes me want to breathe deeper and be still for a moment.
‘No, I’m self-taught.’ There’s a hesitancy in his voice that says he clearly expects ridicule. ‘Through experience and through courses I took for the knowledge, not the qualifications. I work with a vet down in the village because, obviously, there are things I can’t do and problems I don’t always know how to fix, but I’ve been looking after reindeer for nearly twenty years now.’ There are three around him as he talks and he expertly dodges antlers and gives them all a handful of lichen and a bit of a fuss. ‘Injured reindeer come here for rehabilitation. I get a lot of orphaned reindeer calves. Then there are wild animal attacks, traps, hunters, people who chase them for sport.’
‘You’re so good with them.’
‘Better than I am with people.’
‘You know where you stand with animals. I miss the dogs I used to work with. People are unpredictable, but a dog never is. They always want a walk and a belly rub, no matter what’s going on in the world.’
‘Dogs? Is this before or after the fancy hotelier job?’
I freeze mid-reindeer-stroke. What is wrong with me? I’ve barely known this man a day and I forget myself completely in front of him. I am the worst at keeping secrets.
‘It’s all right,’ Tav says. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that too.’
I give him a grateful smile, and feel even more grateful when he doesn’t push for more info even though he must have worked it out by now.
Instead, he looks out across the paddock. ‘Rudolph Number Three is missing again.’ He glances at me. ‘Or Clive, as he’ll now be known.’
It shouldn’t make me laugh as hard as it does. ‘Clive was in the forest earlier with another reindeer, a small one with big antlers.’
He does a headcount. ‘That’s odd. We don’t have another reindeer. You definitely saw two? And it wasn’t one of this lot?’
I look over the animals in front of me. Am I really supposed to recognise them?
Tav must clock the look on my face because he laughs. ‘It seems impossible now, but they all have different antlers, markings, and personalities. You’ll get to know them in time.’
‘Not with all the numbers after their names, I won’t. You can’t seriously expect anyone to remember those. You could use the time you spend memorising numbers to think up actual names for them. Right, this one.’ I nod to the non-antlered chap who’s now snuffling across my palm in search of more lichen and Tav holds the bag out for me to take some. ‘From now on, he’s Mr Bean.’
‘Why?’
‘It was my favourite TV show growing up.’
‘No, I mean …’
‘The least you can do is give them the honour of having their own name, not another reindeer’s recycled name with a different number. And for God’s sake, haven’t you heard of creativity? There isn’t a reindeer in the world not known as Rudolph. Think outside the box. Look, those two, Ant and Dec. Those two, Richard and Judy.’ I point at two pairs of reindeer on the opposite side of the clearing. ‘Holly and Phil. Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood. And that one, look, he bears a striking resemblance to Martin Clunes. That one with orangey-brown fur has got David Dickinson written all over him. Look at the messy fur on that one’s head – it’s definitely Boris Johnson.’ I keep pointing to individual reindeer. ‘This one, Richard Madden. That one, Oscar Isaac, and look, there’s Pedro Pascal.’
I make a clicking noise with my tongue to attract the attention of the three reindeer who are pawing at a bale of hay. ‘Come on, Oscar Isaac. Come and have some lichen. Oh, look, Oscar Isaac seems quite interested in Richard Madden’s back end … Oh, now Oscar and Pedro are having a playfight over who gets to stand nearest to Richard Madden. And … they’re back to comparing antler sizes. Honestly, men are all the same.’
Tav is laughing so hard he can barely breathe. ‘I don’t know who any of those people are, but Reindeer Namer has just become your job. Even after you leave, I’ll send you photos of new arrivals and you can send me names back. It’s your job for life now.’
I swallow hard. I’ve been here a day and I don’t even like Christmas, but the thought of Tav sending me photos of reindeer while I’m at home in miserable Britain makes a rock settle in my stomach. The thought of being back there with Dad, of having made him miserable too … And what if Tav’s right about the property developers? What would someone want to build here? Some state-of-the-art outdoor sports centre? An Arctic Circle novelty ice hotel? A luxury spa? All sharp angles and concrete and stone and glass? What if they want to bulldoze it completely and put in a ski resort? He’ll be trying to run a reindeer sanctuary on the edge of a building site, looking after reindeer recovering from injuries or poor orphaned calves being lost without their mums, and all around them are pneumatic drills and excavators and trees being felled.
I don’t realise my eyes have welled up again until Tav asks if I’m okay.
‘Cold air,’ I mutter, turning away to take some deep breaths.
Mr Bean follows me and pushes his furry nose right into my face and it distracts me from the sudden and overwhelming sadness at the thought of this forest being spoilt.
I give Mr Bean a head rub and distract him with another mouthful of lichen and look over at Tav, who’s watching me with intense eyes.
‘You’re different than I thought you’d be,’ he says eventually. ‘I expected posh and pristine. All business and not wanting to get involved. But I can tell you like it here, and you’ve made me laugh more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last month put together.’
I blush because he makes me feel like laughing too. There’s an honesty about him, a sense of ease and candour, the kind of guy who makes it okay for me to be myself without judgement. ‘Well, everyone needs more laughter in their lives.’
‘Maybe some people need more magic in their lives too.’
He’s not wrong there, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. The
re’s a sense of joy here that pervades the whole forest. It’s the kind of place that makes you happy.
Chapter 7
Dear Santa,
Can you bring me a penguin for Christmas?
From,
Matteo
After dreams of reindeer surrounded by diggers and their hooves click-clacking across concrete jungles and endless car parks, I wake up early the next morning. Usually I’d lie in bed, obstinately refusing to get up a second before the alarm goes off, but I’m excited to see what the day brings.
It’s still dark outside as I shower and change into another pair of jeans, a thermal T-shirt Dad gave me, a normal T-shirt, a black jumper, and pull my coat on over the top. There. That should do it. I pull my hair into a side plait and go out the door. It feels much earlier than it is when I start walking down the steps towards Santa’s House, hoping Dad and Tav won’t have left yet. The thought of Tav makes my pace quicken and there’s a little fizzle inside me.
It’s only for the pancakes, I tell myself as I knock and let myself in.
‘Hello?’ I call, disappointed not to walk in on a rendition of a Christmas song this morning.
‘In the kitchen, Sash,’ Dad calls back.
The underfloor heating is on so I step out of my boots and leave my hat, scarf, and gloves by the door as I walk through the living room and into the big kitchen. I can’t help smiling at the sight that greets me. The air is heavy with the scent of cinnamon, ginger, and butter. Dad is sitting on a stool at the island in full Santa regalia, and Tav’s at the stove again.
‘Good morning.’
Dad’s jumped down before I can stop him and he comes over to envelop me in a hug. He squeezes approximately three-quarters of the life out of me, and doesn’t release me until I’m moments away from suffocation.
‘You’re early – you must’ve been eager to see one of us.’ He chortles a perfect “ho ho ho” as he climbs back onto the stool and carries on with his breakfast.
I go red even though there’s no reason to.