Page 49 of The Village Christmas Party

‘I hope he does. But if he doesn’t you can still talk on the phone, can’t you? My uncle lives in Canada and my mum speaks to him a lot.’

‘Yes, I do, of course.’ She smiles. ‘And we video call so I can see his face.’

‘That’s good then. My mum does that too.’

He retrieves the elephant from the glass and dries it with a napkin before handing it to her.

‘You can have this if you like,’ he says and he might as well have handed her a gold nugget, such is the joy on her face. ‘Elephants never forget. Even if you don’t see your son you will never forget each other,’ he says, before sliding off his chair and running back to the party table.

I watch Elsie close her eyes and clutch the elephant in her hand like a prized gift.

A while later, I chat to the retired headteacher of the local primary school and ask her if she knows the current headteacher. When she tells me she does, I have an idea.

I glance at my watch and realise it’s almost time for Santa’s visit, so manage to get everyone inside.

My dad usually does the honours dressing as Santa, but I had to find a replacement this year, in the form of my neighbour Martin, who kindly dashed out and bought a load of selection boxes to dispense to the children when I learned we would be sharing the hall.

‘Boys, girls and grown-ups alike. We have a special visitor arriving any minute now,’ I announce, after Sue has switched the music off. ‘If you listen carefully, you might be able to hear the sound of bells somewhere.’ I cup my hand to my ear.

Right on cue, there is a tinkling of bells, courtesy of Spotify being piped through the speakers.

‘Is that the reindeer bells!’ says an excited Bella.

‘I think it might be,’ I say and she jumps up and down with excitement.

A few seconds later, a burly bloke bursts through the door with a ho ho ho! And quickly begins handing out selection boxes to the children.

‘Are you the real Santa?’ asks an excited girl in a sparkly party dress.

‘Yes, yes, I am,’ says Martin, doing his best to disguise his voice. Not that any of the children here would know him, I’m sure. Kian is standing next to me, grinning.

‘Because I know there are fake ones in the grotto in the town square,’ says the little girl. ‘Well, my brother says so anyway. Because the real one lives in Lapland.’

‘Ho ho ho. Yes, I have come from Lapland,’ he says, edging away as politely as possible as the children move in, circling him like vultures.

‘Then where are your reindeer?’ a boy demands. When he tells him they are resting for a busy evening later, and that he took an EasyJet flight, I struggle to keep a straight face.

‘You organised this then?’ says Kian, nodding to Santa, who is surrounded by children and looks completely out of his comfort zone. ‘You really did think of everything, didn’t you?’

He looks at me with open admiration, and I can’t help feeling thrilled.

‘I tried. And although it wasn’t quite what I was expecting, I have to say that so far today has been a success, despite my initial reservations,’ I admit.

‘I’d have to agree.’ He takes the empty glass from me, asking if I would like a refill and when our hands brush together, it takes all my composure to answer him.

‘Bella and her friends are having the best time. And I’ve enjoyed your company,’ says Kian. ‘Actually, I was wondering if…’

‘Yes?’ I can feel my heart beating that little bit faster.

Before he has a chance to answer, I hear an almighty crash coming from the kitchen followed by a cry.

Kian and I race to the scene to find Mum lying on the floor.

‘I slipped on some fat that must have dripped from a roasting tray,’ she says, rubbing at her hip and grimacing in pain. ‘Sorry to spoil the party, but I think I might have broken something.’

TWENTY-SEVEN

‘Sorry, love, fancy landing you with this on Christmas Eve,’ says Mum as she is strapped onto a stretcher and wheeled into an ambulance to be checked out at hospital. She is putting on a brave face, but every now and then I see her wince in pain.

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