Author: Jaimie Admans
Category: Humorous
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I let one of my hands trail up his arm, stroking across his shoulder, my fingertips skimming the back of his neck over the edge of his coat collar. I don’t want to make it obvious I saw those scars last night, and a shiver goes through him but he doesn’t pull away. He holds tighter, curls further around me, folds me in closer, and all my worries melt away in his arms. His stubble scratches against the side of my neck where he tucks his head into my shoulder, his soft hair tangling with mine, and I finally give in and let my other hand come up to blindly brush it back, and instead of doing that once and letting go, my fingers curl into the strands and grip it to hold him in place.
His breath is against my neck as he lets out a long, slow sigh, and his shoulders sag so much that he nearly stumbles and has to plant his feet firmer on the ground to keep us both upright.
I should probably pull away, definitely pull away, but everything is so peaceful that I can’t bring myself to move. All I can hear is the steady thrum of my own heartbeat, overexcited by this closeness, Tav’s breathing, and the chirrup of birds in the trees around us.
It starts snowing again, and it’s so quiet that I’m sure I can hear the sound of the snow itself drifting down. A snowflake lands on the back of my neck and makes me shiver, and Tav goes to pull away but I make a noise of disappointment and every part of me clings on tighter, and I feel his lips shift into a smile against my neck and he holds me closer again.
I don’t know what’s got into me. I’ve never thought I was a particularly huggy person, let alone the kind of person who doesn’t want a hug to end, but I can’t persuade myself to pull away, not even after we’ve stood there for an abnormal length of time.
I don’t think there’s ever been a better hug in the history of the world.
Eventually, he groans like he’s waking up from sleep and slowly starts unfurling himself from my body finger by finger, and then one limb at a time, and I find myself shivering at the coldness seeping in after the body contact had blocked it out.
I laugh at the sight of the snowflakes that have settled in his dark hair, especially when he goes to shake them out, the long front of his hair pulled forward and whipping side to side, and without thinking, I reach up to brush them out and he bends to let me, even though it’s coming down so fast that more have already settled.
Eventually he pushes it back, pulls a Nordic-patterned knit hat out of his pocket and jams it onto his head.
‘See you later?’ He takes what I convince myself is a reluctant step away.
I garble out something that bears no resemblance to the calm, dignified, ‘Yes, that will be lovely, see you later too,’ that I hear in my head.
His grin says he didn’t hear what I heard either. ‘May you have a downward road all the way to your door.’
‘Have you recently escaped from a Christmas cracker with your motivational sayings and bad jokes?’ I call after him and his laughter echoes back to me as he walks away.
I shake my head to clear it and have to blink a few times to remind myself of where I am and what I’m doing.
If you’ve ever imagined hugging a mountain, that’s probably what it would be like. If the mountain was gorgeous, funny, kind, and really, really warm. I’ve never known anyone who hugs like Tav does.
***
It’s cosy in the post office and I’m still reading through the impossible backlog of letters when Freya knocks with over 6000 more.
‘Never seen Tav with such a spring in his step,’ she comments, peering in the door at the newly cleared post office. ‘You happen to look like the Arctic air is agreeing with you too, Sasha.’
I feel different too. I hadn’t realised it before, but something about this place is agreeing with me. I thought I’d hate it, I thought it would be freezing and scary and uninhabitable, but it’s the opposite of all those things. Apart from when you hear a rustling in the trees late at night.
On cue, my dad “ho ho ho”s his way past with a group of children in tow. He waves when he sees us, and the children all turn in our direction, and my dad tells them we’re the post box elves.
‘I just met Tav bringing the reindeer out,’ Freya says. ‘Kids get more excited about them than Santa sometimes.’
‘One of yesterday’s letters was from a little boy wanting to know everything about them. What they like to eat, what they do when they’re not flying, how long it takes them to learn to fly and if they have reindeer runways and need a licence like pilots do … It’s so sweet. I never knew this whole Christmas thing mattered so much to kids. I thought it was all just circling things in the Argos catalogue for the parents to get … Well, I suppose it would be adding things to an Amazon wish list nowadays, wouldn’t it?’
‘Exactly why handwritten letters are so important. Any to go out today?’
‘Plenty!’ I drag today’s delivery inside and return with yesterday’s bags full of outgoing mail – letters I’ve replied to, and packages of little gifts, something from Santa’s village to make children smile.
As Freya leaves, I notice she’s looking around like she’s searching for someone – probably the man Tav mentioned. That brief encounter must’ve meant so much to her to still hold out hope even so many months later. We’d need a Christmas miracle and an overflowing vat of Christmas magic to find him again.
Back inside, I finish off my reply to a young girl who’s having trouble sleeping and is worried Santa will see she’s awake and not come, and then I make a start on today’s bags.
The first few letters are lists of presents so I drop them into the box for things we can’t help with, but then the next one is from a ten-year-old boy.
Dear Santa, we have everything we need this Christmas, and my mummy and daddy always get us lots of presents, so don’t worry about us, but for my Christmas present this year, could you please keep the homeless man and his dog who live under the bridge by my house warm, safe, and healthy?
It makes tears prickle my eyes again. I never knew children could be so thoughtful and so observant of the world around them. At first I file it as a letter I can’t do anything about, but then an idea dawns on me.
The boy has put a return address on the envelope, and I open Tav’s laptop and put the postcode into Google Maps, locate the house, and then virtually walk around until I find the bridge near it. It’s the only bridge in the vicinity. It’s got to be the right one.
Delivering to a bridge can’t be the strangest request a courier’s ever received, can it?
There’s a website Tav uses to send care packages that require more than we’ve got in the village, so I log onto that and fill my virtual shopping cart with food that will store, blankets and pillows, and throw in some dog treats, a toy, and a large-sized coat because I have no idea what kind of dog it is, but the boy has drawn a picture and it looks like it might be quite big. I add a gift note that says this is a friend’s Christmas wish and that I hope some of this stuff will be useful, and then add delivery instructions asking the courier to deliver to the homeless man with a dog under the bridge and hope it will get there safely.
I write back to the boy to tell him Santa has sent his friend a care package and thank him for his kindness.
It isn’t much. I don’t know what the man might actually need, but all I can do is take a stab in the dark and hope it will make both the boy, the man, and the dog smile.
It feels good. It’s the first request I’ve solved that’s required any detective work, and the feeling of doing something good is addictive. It makes you realise how lucky you are to have the basic things in life that are so easy to take for granted.
I get lost in more and more letters, full of the exuberant joy that always pours out of Santa letters, along with glitter, sparkly confetti, and drawings of reindeer. They remind me of all the Christmases I’ve looked at the night sky and wished to see Santa zipping past on his sleigh. All the times I’ve struggled to pay bills and wished that life was like it was when I was young, when Christmas was magical and not the stre
ss-filled rush it is nowadays with the annual panics that my Christmas cards will be late or a gift I wanted to give is out of stock. When I’ve looked at glittering Santas on Christmas cards telling me all my Christmas wishes would come true and wished I still believed. Don’t we all, at some point, wish we believed in magic again?
As if the letters can hear my thoughts, I read one that simply says she doesn’t believe in Santa, and I write a simple reply. But I believe in you, Nicole. I sign it from Santa. Maybe it’ll give her a smile when she opens it. I drop it into the outgoing mail bag and carry on opening envelopes.
There’s a crunch of hooves from outside, and I get up and walk across to the window. The cold air nips, but the sun is shining down, reflecting on the snow and making it sparkle.
‘What are you doing out there?’ I say to the reindeer who’s walking past. It’s Rudolph-slash-Clive again. I never thought I’d be able to recognise any of them, but his singular antler gives him away.
‘Running away from me,’ Tav’s voice calls, unseen from the forest.
The reindeer’s big furry snout twitches in my direction, and he takes a few steps towards me.
‘Hello, darling,’ I say as he comes over and I pull the window fully up and lean out until I can stroke his downy nose.
‘Aww, hello, sweetheart,’ Tav quips as he appears from the woods. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
‘Not you, you wally,’ I say fondly. I know he’s joking as much as he knows I meant the reindeer. He pulls lichen out of his pocket and holds it up to me, wordlessly asking if I want to feed Rudolph Number Three-slash-Clive, and I nod and hold out the hand that’s not rubbing over the reindeer’s fur.
Tav approaches carefully from the side, like the reindeer is liable to run away at any moment, and deposits the plant life in my outstretched hand, his fingers brushing over my palm.
‘You’re like a walking greenhouse – do you know that?’
He laughs so hard that tears form at the corners of his eyes. ‘I can honestly say no one’s ever complimented me like you do before.’
While the reindeer is eating, Tav inches closer until he can gather up the loose ends of Rudolph’s halter and wrap it twice around his palm.
With me in the post office and him outside, I’m taller than him. ‘Never seen you from this angle before.’
He leans against the building and smiles up at me, and my heart thuds harder in my chest because his smile is so easy-going and laid-back, and if I just leant out a bit further, I’d be able to pull him to me and …
No.
‘He likes you,’ Tav says, jolting me out of the daydream of kissing him.
‘He likes lichen.’
‘Nah. From that first night in the forest, he’s been different around you. More relaxed.’ He pushes his hair back and rolls his head until he’s facing the sky. ‘Same could be said of me if last night’s anything to go by.’
It makes that fluttering start in my chest and I have to distract myself. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Apart from trying to catch rogue reindeer?’ He turns back to me. ‘This guy had been good today so I brought him out to meet one of your dad’s tour groups and he outfoxed me and got away again.’ He points in the direction he’s come from. ‘There’s an unsafe fence that belongs to the outdoor pursuits place. I keep asking them to fix it, and they keep saying they will, but it never gets done. Don’t want any reindeer getting tangled up in it.’
I don’t know if it’s the reflection of the sunlight or the glare from the snow, but when he looks up at me again, he’s got a twinkle in his eyes that makes my knees feel weak. He leans on his shoulder against the building and crosses one boot over the other. Taking my eyes off him shouldn’t be this difficult, and I have to force myself to concentrate on the reindeer instead.
‘How come Rudolph-slash-Clive has only got one antler?’ I rub his head as he carries on chewing. ‘I thought you said males lost them by this time of year.’
‘He’d been in an accident when he came here. I think he was hit by a car, probably head-on – that’s why his antlers are in bad shape. One doesn’t grow; one doesn’t drop. He’s long since recovered now, but his antler burrs are damaged for life.’
‘You’re amazing with them. Amazing to do what you do.’
Judging by his red cheeks, I’ve embarrassed him, and he tightens Rudolph’s lead and pushes himself upright. He goes to walk away, but then stops. ‘Do you want some help?’
‘Haven’t you got enough to do?’
‘Yes. Yes, I have.’ He takes another step and then turns back. ‘But I can’t tear myself away from this place. The letters were the most important part for me and that’s got lost over the years. I can spare a few minutes.’
‘In that case, I’d love some help.’
The winter sun is nowhere near as bright as the boyish grin that lights up his face. All the stress lines and pinched frown lines that sometimes play around his forehead disappear and he looks years younger. ‘Let me take this chap back and I’ll be there.’ He jogs away and the reindeer runs alongside him, like a giant dog walking to heel.
I sit back down and continue going through the letters, but Tav makes it back in record timing. He knocks as he comes in, carrying two mugs of steaming hot chocolate and sits down cross-legged on the opposite side of today’s post bag. He makes the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had. There’s something in it, a touch of cinnamon or nutmeg or some other spice that warms you from the inside out.
‘Any interesting ones today?’ He pulls an envelope out of the bag and splits it open with practised ease.
I’m beaming with pride as I tell him about the homeless man, and Tav’s smiling even wider than I am. The letter is still unread in his hand because he hasn’t taken his eyes off me. ‘Think you might’ve found that Christmas spirit after all.’
‘Nah.’ I tap the letter in my hand. ‘This kid wants a huge list of things that mainly begin with the letter “i”, and who knew they even made this many versions of Xboxes and PlayStations? And he’s included a checklist for Santa to tick off and send back to him, and if Santa doesn’t comply with his wishes, he’s going to tell all his friends Santa’s a fraud and leave sharp pokers in the fireplace. Nice lad.’
I put it back in the envelope and aim it for the box, but it flies away like a paper aeroplane and Tav catches it.
‘Doesn’t that bother you?’ I say when he reads his own letter and deposits it in the same box for letters to ignore.
‘People view Santa in different ways. Some see him as nothing more than a toy vending machine, and some really care about him and see him as a grandfatherly figure who’s a big part of their lives. When you get a bad one, you’ll always find a good one to balance it out. It’s the law of the universe. Something good always follows something not-so-good.’
As if by karma’s hand or Tav’s words, the next letter I pull out is from a little girl asking how Santa is. She wants to know if he’s had a good year and if he’s in good health, and how Mrs Claus and the reindeer are, and says she keeps hearing about global warming and worries about them living so far north. She includes a picture she’s drawn of Santa feeding his reindeer, and doesn’t ask for anything at all. I hold the letter up. ‘Okay, how did you do that?’
That grin again. A wide, unprotected, open smile that changes his face from severe to joyful. I can’t help watching thick dark eyelashes as he looks down, a strong, pointed nose with a cleft in the tip, reading letters much faster than I do and filing them into the labelled boxes.
‘Nothing surprises me working here,’ he says without looking up. ‘There’s magic in the air. Sometimes things happen that you can’t logically explain.’
‘Everything can be logically explained.’
This time, he looks up and meets my eyes. ‘Can it?’
It’s more of a challenge than a question, and I want to find an answer, but he looks back down at the letter he’s reading and I can’t bring myself to say anything. ‘W
hat can’t be logically explained is how you have time for this.’
‘You’re worth making time for.’
My breath catches for a different reason and he looks up at the choked-off sound I make. It’s just a sentence, but those are words I’ve always wished someone would say to me. Always wanted someone to feel about me. I’m on the periphery of most people’s vision – there but unimportant. Tav makes me feel like his number-one priority, and it’s a good thing I’m already sitting down because it makes my knees weak and my chest all quivery.
He’s looking at me curiously and I realise I’m staring blankly into space and he probably thinks I’m staring at him. I flap the letter in my hand around. ‘Sad one.’
He accepts that and goes back to flicking open letters and I get so caught up in watching his long fingers easily split envelopes that when I come back to myself, he’s humming Christmas songs and I hadn’t even noticed.
The deepness of his voice is even evident in his gentle humming to the soft tune of “Silver Bells”.
‘You can sing if you want. It’s highly encouraged at the North Pole.’
I don’t bother trying to argue that this isn’t the North Pole. ‘Nah. The nearest hospital’s too far away when both your eardrums burst.’
He laughs. ‘Christmastime is made for singing.’
I shake my head, even though I always used to sing with Mum when I was little, especially when it came to Christmas carols, but as a self-conscious adult, Christmas is only made for singing when you have a voice like Tav’s, not mine.
‘Hum along then.’ He shrugs one shoulder. ‘No one can go wrong with humming.’
Debateable, but there’s something about Tav that makes me want to be young and carefree again, and I wish I could forget myself and go back to being full of childlike wonder and believe in magic again.
Even so, as I read the letter I’m holding from a little boy asking for a robot dog and saying that he and his mum are going to bake cookies on Christmas Eve especially for Santa, I realise I’m humming along anyway.