‘Again?’ added Eve with a sarcastic grin.
‘Of course.’ Jacques’ returning grin was wide and made his eyes crinkle up. ‘Maybe you’d like to ask him for a ring for Christmas.’
Oh, here we go, Eve sighed wearily.
‘He’s checking his new grotto out for comfort,’ Jacques whispered to Phoebe. Then he turned back to the stable and addressed the animals within.
‘Come on, you lot,’ he called. ‘You’ve got visitors.’
He made his own clicking noises which seemed to work much faster than Eve’s, much to her chagrin. Holly emerged to a gasp of delight from Phoebe, especially as she was tailed by her two
almost white babies. Phoebe held her carrot out with a little shaky hand. Jacques closed his hand around her arm and pulled her forward a few steps.
‘She knows my smell,’ explained Jacques. ‘So she’s more likely to come over if I’m here.’ Infuriatingly, he turned to look at Eve over his shoulder and winked
at her.
Holly edged close and Phoebe clamped her hand over her mouth to stop the squeak that almost burst out of her as the gentle reindeer dropped her head and took the carrot from Phoebe’s hand.
The little girl stared with pure fascination as the reindeer chewed and her two babies sought protection from the stranger by staying very close to mum’s side.
‘Which one is Blizzard?’ she asked Jacques.
Why didn’t she ask me?
thought Eve to herself with a humph.
‘This one,’ said Jacques. ‘He’s slightly bigger than his brother. We haven’t got a name for him yet. Don’t suppose you have any ideas?’
‘I’ve already asked Phoebe that one,’ grunted Eve. ‘Thank you.’
‘Hey, do you know there are only twenty-five letters in the alphabet at Christmas?’ said Jacques.
Eve waited for the world’s oldest punchline.
‘That’s my favourite Christmas joke,’ said Phoebe, grinning. ‘No L.’ And she pulled a piece of paper out of her Hello Kitty handbag which she proffered to Jacques.
‘And it’s my number-one favourite name for the baby reindeer.’
‘Noel,’ Jacques read down the list. ‘These are all such lovely names – Snowflake, David, Jingle. But I think you’re right, Noel is the one.’ He gave a
thumbs-up. ‘Don’t you think so, Auntie Eve?’
Eve narrowed her eyes at him. God, he really was a charmer. Standing there all blue-eyed and Dr Doolittle-like, stroking a reindeer. And weren’t animals supposed to be able to suss out
what people were really like? Had he managed to pull the wool over their eyes as well? She bet he had a trail of broken hearts behind him. Some daft women would have been mightily flattered by all
those marrying references.
However, Eve did have to agree with him that Noel was perfect for the baby reindeer.
‘Well done you, Phoebe, we have a name for our baby.’ And right on cue, the newly named Noel made a snuffly noise and fell over onto his side as if he’d had a jug of carrot
wine. Phoebe shrieked with delight.
‘I’m just about finished here,’ said Jacques. ‘Why don’t you go and see the snow ponies next door and I’ll catch you up. Then we can all go and see Santa
together.’
Eve opened her mouth to give an alternative plan, but she couldn’t beat that one because Phoebe was jumping up and down. She gave Jacques a discreet sneer and in return he gave her a smile
of triumph.
Bloody man.
Phoebe fell equally in love with the snow ponies who were greedy for polos, which they could detect in someone’s pocket from five miles away. Eve showed Phoebe how to
keep her hand flat when she presented a sweet to the ponies so she wouldn’t get her fingers nibbled. Big old Christopher didn’t use his size to push to the front of the cheeky ponies,
but stood patiently with hope in his big brown eyes. Eve wasn’t that keen on having drool all over her hand, but somehow the sensation of giving a treat to the old horse offset any yuk
factor. She could sense he was content here, which was just as well because he was a huge horse and if he did decide to go off on one, they would be in trouble. Tim the keeper had brushed him till
he almost shone. He had to do it quite a lot, apparently, because Christopher liked nothing better than to roll around on the ground.
‘Hi there,’ boomed Jacques as Eve was fishing in her handbag for tissues. Phoebe had horse drool all over her coat sleeves as far as the elbow.
‘Hello again,’ said Phoebe. Eve noticed how intently she studied him as he walked towards them. Her little eyes were travelling up and down over him as if he was a walking
Where’s Wally?
book.
‘I’ve been thinking, Eve,’ said Jacques.
‘Dangerous,’ said Eve under her breath.
‘How about, when we open the park on the first day, we give all the families of servicemen free entry? I think your aunt would have approved of that, seeing as we’re allied to a
military charity.’
Eve’s head swivelled slowly round to him. She wanted to laugh but thought better of it because it was a generous idea, if not entirely a shock. Was there no end to the man’s
obsession with the military? From a PR point of view, it was a beauty, of course.
‘I think that’s a very good suggestion,’ she said, unable to quite keep the twist of a smile from the corner of her lips.
‘Good, I’ll get onto the press, then, and line it up, shall I?’ said Jacques.
‘You can leave that with me. I’m used to dealing with the press,’ said Eve with calm firmness.
‘Okay, if you’re happy to do that, then it’s fine with me.’
Eve felt a tug on her coat sleeve.
‘Can we go and see Santa now, Auntie Eve, please?’ Phoebe’s voice was heavy with impatience.
‘Yeah,’ said Jacques, with all the enthusiasm of a young boy who had just been presented with a fishing rod at the side of a lake teeming with fish. ‘Let’s go, Auntie
Eve.’
Eve took Phoebe’s chilly little hand and warmed it in her own. Somehow, between getting on the train and now, she had managed to lose her fluorescent-pink gloves.
‘You know, when I was a little boy, I used to go and see Santa in a cave,’ said Jacques. ‘Boy, I just love Christmas. Isn’t it the best time of year, Phoebe?’
‘Yes,’ giggled Phoebe.
‘He once brought me a bike and the handlebars were covered in soot. Now, doesn’t that just prove that it came down the chimney?’
He actually sounds as if he believed that, thought Eve. But she held back on the sarcasm because her god-daughter was enjoying his twaddle.
Phoebe was desperate to travel on the nutter-speed train but the engineers were tweaking it again.
‘It won’t be ready in time,’ said Eve, having a sudden stab of panic. ‘It’s just madness expecting this park to be open before Christmas. It’s the last week
in November now.’
‘Chillax,
ma cherie,’
said Jacques. ‘It will be ready because Jacques Glace has said it will be ready.’
‘Captain Jacques, don’t you mean,’ said Eve under her breath again. She could imagine Alan Carr more in the role of an army captain than she could this clown in front of her,
wearing a Dr Who stripey scarf long enough to wrap around the equator.
They walked through the enchanted forest and once again Eve was reminded of her Enid Blyton Enchanted Wood. It was barely mid-morning, yet the snow was falling soft as down on them and was
bright-white as if the drops were carrying tiny specks of sparkling light. It was eerie – but nice-eerie. The machines pumping it out were totally camouflaged and the snow really did look as
if it was coming from the skies.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Eve jerked as a full-size grinning snowman appeared from behind a tree and waved at them.
‘I thought your visitor would appreciate a few personalities around,’ said Jacques, steadying her with his hand. ‘So your god-daughter can get a true feel of what a day to
Winterworld will be like when it opens.’
So far so good then, thought Eve. Almost killed on a broken train and given a heart attack by a round bloke dressed up in a cotton-wool suit. The even scarier thing was that the snowman
didn’t look as if he was wearing a costume – he looked too real for comfort.
As they approached the edge of the forest, Eve gave a small, involuntary sneer in the direction of the ridiculous wedding chapel. Effin’s men were draping the roof in what looked like a
cross between a cotton-wool sheet and thatching.
‘Permanent weatherproof snow,’ explained Jacques. ‘Looks fantastic, doesn’t it? It’s just come in from Germany.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Eve, with a smile as fake as the roofing. Phoebe was hopping up and down so much at her side, Eve was forced to ask her if she wanted to go to the loo before they
met Santa. She didn’t. Or at least if she did, she wasn’t admitting to it.
Eve hadn’t seen the inside of the grotto yet and hoped she hadn’t cocked up by allowing Jacques so much leeway. That stupid illness had kept her eye off the ball too much. But, she
supposed, if the grotto was a mess, she had enough time to step in. Just. There wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. At least in a business sense.
‘Ready to meet Santa?’ said Jacques, bending down and smiling at Phoebe with his wide mouth and sparkling blue eyes.
‘Yes,’ said Phoebe.
‘Come on then,’ said Jacques, and gestured to Phoebe that she should go through the entrance.
Once inside, well, that’s where it got weird for Eve. Because no way was the grotto so large inside if you judged it from the outside. The cabin was tantamount to a Tardis.
As if he knew what thoughts were trying to piece themselves together in Eve’s mind, Jacques whispered, ‘It’s a clever bit of
trompe l’œil
and building work.
The grotto goes under the false hillside.’ And he touched his nose, secret-wise.
‘Hello there,’ said one of the elves, appearing from their left with a tray full of red-and-white striped candy canes. ‘Miss Phoebe, would you like a sweet? I made them
myself.’
Phoebe gasped. ‘How did he know my name?’ she asked Eve with breathless delight.
‘Well, he’s magic, of course,’ butted in Jacques.
‘You’re at the top of the nice list,’ said the elf. ‘I recognized you.’
He was a funny little man, thought Eve. Like one of those actors in an American Christmas film, who had obviously been chosen because he really did look like an elf. And his ears didn’t
look plastic either. Eve half wanted to reach out and touch the left one, which was nearest to her. It had a ghost of a thin purple vein on it. God is in the detail, she thought, which had been a
steadfast mantra of hers in the Eve’s Events years.
Phoebe took a candy cane. They were all slightly different shapes, giving the impression that they really had been handmade. She didn’t unwrap it but placed it in her Hello Kitty bag to
take home for her mum.
‘Are you coming to see our workshop afterwards and help us make a toy?’ asked the elf. He had a name badge on, Eve then noticed. ‘Derek’. Derek the elf. She
wouldn’t have thought that was a suitable name for an elf, but it suited him, strangely enough.
‘May I?’ asked Phoebe, once again asking permission from Eve.
‘Yes, of course.’ Eve’s eyes were roving all over the inside of the grotto. It really was impressive. There was a window to the right which afforded a 3D view of snowy hills
and a blue lake and lots of grazing reindeer. It must be a film screen, thought Eve. She was very impressed. There were presents everywhere from every era – teddies and stylo-phones, wind-up
toys, board games, the Sindy doll that Eve remembered coveting as a child poking out of the top of one of the huge hessian sacks. There was even a faint smell in the air of sweet plastic, which she
recalled as being the scent of old toyshops she used to go in. And as they turned a corner, four more elves were wrapping up presents and beautifully so, with thick paper and wide ribbon, and the
smell of hot chocolate hit her and made her stomach groan with want.
Phoebe
mmm
-ed. Eve didn’t blame her. Then there was a knotty wooden door and at the side of it a smiling elf with ‘real’ ears and a tiny face, dressed in what could only
be described as a green military elf costume. The sort of garb that fairy-folk would wear if they had their own armed forces.
Quel surprise,
thought Eve, looking at the elf’s medals
pinned on his breast. She might have guessed that if Jacques were involved, there would be uniforms. She half expected the door to open and to see Santa dressed as an Admiral.
‘Ready to meet Santa, young lady?’ asked the ‘guard’.
‘Oh yes, yes, please,’ said Phoebe, nearly wetting herself with excitement.
‘Okay then,’ said the guard, and slowly opened the door. Following Phoebe, Eve walked into a room which could have been projected out of her own memory store: a room like the old,
oak-panelled library in Higher Hoppleton Hall. A room which could not possibly have been built in the last few weeks because it was old and aged and smelled of the same beeswax polish as the room
in her head. And even more odd, the Santa who sat huge and smiling in the old chair with his half-moon glasses on his head and his great white beard hanging down was the same Santa Claus who had
restored her faith all those years ago.
Don’t be stupid, Eve.
He held his arms out to Phoebe who went rushing towards him and plonked herself on his knee, and Eve could so easily have been watching herself that fateful Christmas because that’s
exactly what she had done. She came over light-headed and put her hand on the wall to steady herself.
‘You okay?’ asked Jacques.
‘Where did you find him?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Jacques. ‘Your Aunt Evelyn did.’ He raised his fingers to his lips and said, ‘Just watch him at work. He’s absolutely
brilliant.’
‘Where are your gloves?’ Santa was saying. Then he pulled a pair of pink gloves bundled together out of his pocket. ‘Ah, here they are.’
‘You found them,’ Eve said to Jacques. ‘You might have said.’
‘I didn’t find anything,’ said Jacques, standing with his arms crossed, smiling. ‘Santa knows.’
‘It’s all very well keeping the faith alive in little girls, but I’m not a little girl and you don’t have to treat me like one,’ growled Eve, as quietly as she
could.
‘You are a little girl,’ said Jacques, turning the full intensity of his warm sea-blue eyes onto her. ‘Beneath that hard, stubborn shell, you’re a little girl who wants
to be cuddled and loved and believe in some magic’