Bumper fiction: three holiday reads

How good a Father Christmas can a perpetually grumpy old guy be?

THERE must be somebody else you can ask,” I said.

Alice put her hands on her hips. “If there were anybody else, do you think I’d be asking you? You’re the grumpiest person I know.” She thrust the bag into my hands. “I’ll leave the costume with you so you can try it on. You can let me know on Monday.” “I can tell you now. My answer’s no.” But Alice didn’t reply. She just walked back to her car and drove away. The moment she’d gone I felt bad. I hadn’t meant to be rude, but really. Me as Father Christmas providing entertainment for old folk! The idea was ridiculous.

Father Christmas is fat and jolly and laughs all the time. I’m thin and as miserable as a wet weekend.

I haven’t laughed since I lost my wife four years ago. I was never this grumpy when she was alive. The hurt has started to fade. Now, when I think about the past the memories bring comfort, not pain. Ann would’ve persuaded me into that Santa suit in next to no time. She could persuade me to do pretty much anything.

I pulled the suit out of the bag and inspected it. It was at least an XL.

I wondered where the costume had come from. Steve Hodgson usually plays Santa but he’d fallen and broken not just one but both his ankles. He hires his costume from the local fancy-dress shop.

I inspected the big black boots. Size 10. They’d fit if I wore a thick pair of socks. I sighed. Being grumpy was starting to get me down but I didn’t seem able to stop myself.

I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try on the outfit.

Five minutes later I was dressed as Santa. I’d just buckled the belt to stop the pants falling down when the doorbell rang. Alice had left her cellphone on my hall table.

“Wow!” she gasped. “You look amazing.”

I was going to explain that I’d been curious to see if the costume fit and that there was no way I was ho-ho-hoing for anyone, but she didn’t give me the chance.

She flung her arms round my neck and gave me a hug. “Thank you so much. You won’t regret it. I promise. I’ll come round on Tuesday evening to alter it.” Then she grabbed her phone and was gone before I could say a word.

I was struggling to take off the boots when the phone rang. It was the local animal rescue society.

I knew what they were after. My wife was dog mad. She’d sponsored rescue dogs for years and would’ve filled the house with dogs if she could, but we’d both worked full time and it wouldn’t have been fair.

I cut the young man off mid-sentence. “Of course, I’ll sponsor another dog. Two if you like.”

“Wow, thanks! That’s great,” he replied. “We’re having a New Year Fair in January as part of a volunteer drive.” He went off into a spiel about how hard it was to find homes for older dogs, and how some were destined to spend the rest of their lives at the centre. All the time he was

talking I was trying to tell him I’d made a mistake; that I didn’t want to sponsor any more dogs.

As soon as he paused for breath I jumped in. “I’d love to come to the fair. Now I’m semi-retired, I’ve been thinking about volunteering. I’m free for dog walking at the weekends and most evenings.”

“I’m so glad I called! I’ve been having such a bad day. You’d be amazed how many people slam down the phone. My name’s Alan. I’ll look out for you. Thanks again. Bye.” And he rang off.

I stood there staring at the receiver. What on earth was going on?

AS I put down the phone I caught sight of my reflection in the hall mirror and was shocked to see a great big grin on my face. I ran upstairs, pulled off the suit and stuffed it back in the bag. I’d just got dressed when the doorbell rang again.

I could hear carol singers mumbling their way through We Wish You a Merry Christmas. As soon as I opened the door, they stopped singing and thrust out their hands for money. “Merry Christmas!” they chorused.

“Go away!” I snapped as I closed the door.

That was more like it. Back to my usual grumpy self, only for some reason it didn’t give me any satisfaction.

I was never like this when Emily was alive. She had this way, this look. I’m not exactly sure what it was but whenever I felt grumpy, it stopped me in my tracks. Now grumbling is all I seem to do.

That night I spent ages trying to think of a good reason to back out of playing Santa, but I couldn’t come up with anything believable. I’d have to make the best of it.

SOON it was Tuesday and Alice was due to come round to fit the suit. She’d be expecting biscuits at the very least, but when I checked my cupboards all I had were a few tea biscuits and they were soft. I trudged down to the corner shop where I found some homemade ones.

When I went to pay for them, Mrs Abrahams smiled. “Ah. Expecting company, are we?”

“That’s none of your business,” I told her as I snatched the biscuits and left the shop.

Rather than having to get changed in front of Alice, I put the Santa costume on a few minutes before she was due to arrive.

As I changed I muttered under my breath. “I might not be able to get out of doing this but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.” But once I’d done up the buttons, my bad mood evaporated.

When Alice arrived, I ushered her in with a smile. “What’s in the bag?”

“Foam rubber pads. To give you a belly,” she said.

I wanted to say, “If you think I’m going to let you stuff foam rubber inside my clothes, think again.” But the words wouldn’t come out. “Good idea,” I said instead.

Ten minutes later I looked like a red marshmallow on legs. Alice took a step backwards. “That’s much better. Go on, give us a twirl.” Amazingly, that’s exactly what I did. Over tea and biscuits we got chatting and the time simply flew past. “I’d better be going,” Alice said after an hour or so. “I’m starving.”

“Why don’t we order a pizza?” I heard myself say.

I hadn’t had a takeaway since Emily died. We used to have one every week. We’d trawl through all the leaflets we found in the letterbox and try to order something different each time. She called it our pig-out Thursday. I let Alice do the ordering. We ended up with two enormous pizzas that easily could’ve fed four people. I was amazed at how much we ate.

I wanted to take the suit off while we ate, but Alice insisted I kept it on. “If you’re going to play Santa, you need to feel comfortable in the costume.”

The moment she’d gone I clambered out of the suit, shedding foam rubber and grumbling as I did so. “There, that’s better,” I complained. “I was getting awfully hot in there.”

I wondered why I hadn’t said anything about that when Alice was there.

And now I came to think about it, why hadn’t I said no to the man from the rescue centre?

As I stuffed the trousers back into the bag, a crazy idea struck me. Did my mood have something to do with the suit?

I had been grumpy with the carol singers, but they’d called after I’d changed back into my own clothes.

I pushed the thought away. The old folks party was on 15 December. After that, the costume would go back to where it came from.

In the end, my appearance as Santa went down a storm. In fact, two people came up to me afterwards and asked me to play Santa at their parties too.

I couldn’t say no. Once people found out I was taking over while Steve was laid up, I ended up with loads more bookings at clubs, homes and hospitals, even the local shopping centre.

AFTER Christmas, Alice arranged to come round to collect the suit. I could see she had something on her mind so I asked her what it was. “I was wondering, seeing as you were such a hit as Santa-” She paused. “Yes?” I prompted. “Say no if you want to but my family are coming over for Christmas next year from Canada. Would you play Santa for my grandchildren?”

“I’d love to,” I replied. Then I laughed, a great big belly laugh that Father Christmas himself would’ve been proud of.

“What’s so funny?” asked Alice. She looked so puzzled I laughed even more. “I don’t feel grumpy anymore,” I giggled. “That’s good, isn’t it?” Yes. It’s great,” I said as I wiped away a tear. “Tell me something, Alice. Wherever did you find that costume?”

She smiled. “It belonged to my uncle. He was a grumbler, complained about everything from the food to what was on TV, but the moment he put on that suit he became a different man – sweet, kind, funny. His wife joked he should stay dressed as Santa all the time.”

She paused and looked me in the eye. “Uncle Jim said it was the suit that made him cheerful but that’s insane. Obviously a costume can’t change somebody’s personality. Don’t you agree?”

That’s when the penny finally dropped. “So that’s why you . . .”

She cut me off. “I simply asked a grumpy old man to wear a Santa suit, hoping that a little bit of Christmas spirit would rub off on him.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the cheek.

“See? The old you never would’ve let me do that. Now go and put the kettle on, then we can talk about our future.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. “Yes, dear,” I said with a grin.