Page 32 of Big Nick Energy
‘Was it SlimFast?’ she says sweetly. ‘My mummy went on that to get ready for Lanzarote.’
‘Lila, I told you not to run ahead…’ her mum says following her in, a rucksack on her back and a small Tupperware of carrots in her hand, her hair scraped back into a messy bun. She trots in and sees Santa and then looks to me. ‘Who on earth…?’
‘Mummy, it’s Santa,’ Lila says.
‘Hello, Lila’s mummy. I know you…’ Nick says, and Lila’s mummy gives him a look which says if that were true, she would have remembered. I’m also interested to see where this is going. He turns back to Lila. ‘Did you know your mummy keeps meinformed to see if you should be on my good list? She tells me you likeLilo & Stitchand carrots which is good if you’re a reindeer… they help you see in the dark.’ Lila giggles sweetly. ‘You ready for story time, little missy?’
‘Yeah,’ she says. Nick puts his hand out for her to fist bump but before she can, he opens his palm to reveal a little chocolate coin.
‘Thank you, Santa!’ she says, before running off. Lila’s mum looks at him curiously before following her daughter to the children’s section.
Helen, Olga and I stand there staring at him.
‘How did you know she likedLilo & Stitch?’ I ask.
‘She had a Stitch rucksack,’ he says, as if it wasn’t plainly obvious to the rest of us. ‘I assume I’m headed through there then. What am I reading today?’
‘We’re starting withMog’s Christmas,’ I say.
‘Classic. OK then. You coming?’ he asks.
‘I think I already did,’ Helen mumbles under her breath, and I giggle.
‘Yeah,’ I say, flipping the countertop up and turning to Helen and Olga before I accompany Santa to the waiting kids. Those two need to stop grinning like absolute buffoons. I scoop up a pile of carefully selected children’s Christmas tales. Christmas Tree Farm Nick is here. This is a very strange example of worlds colliding. I don’t think many would agree to do this, so why is he here? What has Lucy told him? Why does he smell so nice? That’s not pine.
‘Thank you for doing this, it’s very kind of you,’ I say.
‘I thought it might be an interesting diversion from carting trees around all day,’ he says, looking around the library. ‘All your trees in here are fake.’ There’s a hint of disapproval in his voice.
‘It’s a money thing. Fake means we can cart them out every Christmas and not have to spend precious council budgets.’
‘I can hook you up. Free of charge, in the interests of community spirit,’ he says.
I smile. ‘That would be amazing. We could mention it on our social media, give out flyers for the farm on the desk if you want?’
He nods. He turns a corner into the kids’ section, and compared to the usual bedlam that accompanies Lucy’s arrival, the crowd go quiet. A mum at the back dribbles a bit of cappuccino out of her mouth.
‘What the…’ another mum mumbles.
‘HI, SANTA!’ Lila screams.
‘Hello, Lila! So… my very good friend, Lucy, sent me today to read you stories? Who wants to hear a story?’
Yet another mum puts her hand in the air. I look at how he has complete command of that room and all of the people in it.
‘Ho-ho-ho,’ he bellows, and all the kids laugh. I stare at him strangely. You were right, Nick. The ho-ho-ho-ing needs some serious work.
FIFTEEN
This is going to get confusing, isn’t it? Two Nicks. Should I number them? Or perhaps I should call them by their surnames: Coles and North. That sounds like they should sell organic fruit and veg boxes and deliver them to your door. Nick A and Nick B? Old Nick or New Nick? This is a very seasonal dilemma, in any case.
Either way, I’m currently walking through the nearby street market with Santa Nick, on an enforced lunch break that Helen demanded I take even though I have a cheese sandwich in the work fridge.
‘The man has come all this way, Kay,’ she said. ‘The least you can do is feed him.’
‘I could give him half of my sandwich,’ I told her. But by that point, she had my lip gloss out of my handbag and was applying it for me.
I do love this street market around the corner from the library, bustling with noise and life. In a sea of half-empty high streets and identikit shops, I enjoy walking past fruit stalls where men in fingerless gloves and bobbled woolly hats are trying to sell me boxes of mangoes and hocks of ham. As Christmas approaches, the stalls are decorated with tinsel andlights, the bakery stall sells boxes of freshly made mince pies and that man with the roast chestnuts sits on the corner, waiting. I swear he’s following me around. Santa Nick walks next to me in jeans, a checked shirt, brown boots, a navy reefer coat and a grey woollen hat. The ladies who sell the artisan cheese boxes and chutneys elbow-nudge each other as he walks past, but he remains completely oblivious.
