A Mapton on Sea Short Story Exclusive

Copyright Sam Maxfield 2024

When Santa Met Gina

At six, Stella knew her grandma was different than other grandmas. Firstly, she wouldn’t answer to Grandma or Gran, or Nana or any of the names her friends used for their grandmothers. Stella had to call her Gina. She knew it drove her mum mad.

‘Just let her call you Grandma,’ Ivy begged Gina. ‘It makes her sound weird calling you Gina. I don’t call you Gina, do I? I call you Mum.’

‘Being a mum’s one thing,’ Gina declared. ‘But bein’ called a granny ain’t nice at my age. I’m too young. I don’t look like a grandma, and I’m not being called one.’

‘Even by your granddaughter.’

‘’You don’t mind, d’you, Stella Star?’

Stella didn’t mind. To her, the name ‘Gina’ was synonymous with Grandma anyway, and it made her feel very grown-up calling an adult by their first name.

Gina was such fun to be with, and ever so naughty, the complete opposite to Stella’s mum, who said ‘no’ to almost everything and always seemed to be a bit harassed.

When Mummy said she was too poorly to take Stella to see Santa on the Saturday they’d planned, and Daddy was too busy, Stella had cried. She’d been excited all week and had hardly slept the night before, almost as beside herself with anticipation as though it was Christmas Eve itself. Two of her friends had already been, and they said Santa gave you a gift right then and there, but he still brought you other presents on Christmas Eve too! You had to whisper what you wanted in his ear. Incredible!

So the disappointment she felt when Mummy said she couldn’t go on that Saturday was dreadful. It was decided that she would go to Gina’s so Mummy could stay in bed and Daddy could do whatever he was doing. Daddy packed her an overnight bag, toothbrush, Rabbit Brown, and a nightie and dropped her off at Gina’s which was normally a good thing as a sleep-over at Gina’s was a rare treat, but it still wasn’t as thrilling as a planned trip to Santa would’ve been.

‘You got a face on like a bulldog chewing a wasp,’ Gina said, after her dad had dropped her off. ‘‘What’s up wi’ yer?’

‘I was supposed to see Santa today!’ Stella broke into a fresh sob. ‘Mummy and Daddy were going to take me but now Mummy’s in bed and Daddy’s too busy.’

‘Oh, stop yer sniffling,’ Gina said, handing her a tissue. ‘What, the Santa at the Co-op in town?’

Stella nodded, wiping her snotty nose.

‘Oh, that were supposed to be today, were it? Yer mum said she was going to take yer.’

Stella stared woefully into the tumbler of orange squash Gina had given her.

‘Well, why don’t we go?’ Gina said.

Stella threw back her head to stare at her grandmother, hope flooding into her.

‘Go to see Santa?’ she asked.

‘Why not?’ Gina said. ‘You and me. I don’t much like town on a Saturday near Christmas - too busy - but I’ll make an exception just this once. We can make a day out of it. Get a bit of lunch at Bird’s and go see Santa at his grotto. What d’you say?’

‘Oh Gina!’ Stella leapt up to throw her arms around her grandmother. ‘You’re the best Gina ever!’

‘I can’t say you’re wrong about that,’ Gina laughed, squeezing her back. ‘Let me get me lippy and my gladrags on and we can get to Birds before the lunch rush and then go get in that ridiculous queue they have for Santa’s grotto.’

Gina lived not far from the Lace Market where she worked, and an easy walking-distance into town, so bundled up against the cold - Gina in a fake fur coat and Stella in her red knee-length anorak and bobble hat - they made their way into the city centre.

Town was very busy, full of Christmas shoppers, bustling in and out of shops and cafes, loaded up with bags stuffed full of presents and wrapping paper.

Stella and Gina stopped to admire the Christmas tree inside the Exchange Arcade of the Council House which looked truly magical to Stella rising towards the frescoed ceiling like an elegant guardian bejewelled with lights. After that they managed to squeeze into the last table for two in Birds for hot sausage rolls and their famous deep jam tarts, lemon curd for Gina and raspberry jam for Stella, and thus fortified, they made their way to the far end of town to the Co-op Department store on Lower Parliament Street.

The building, Cooperative House, was a stunning structure, clad in decorative terracotta tiles and built in a grand Renaissance Revival style in 1916. Of course at six, Stella had no awareness or, indeed, interest in the historical significance of the store, but was overawed by the sheer beauty and glamour of it.

Gina sniffed. ‘Well, it still looks good from the outside,’ she said, ‘but I hear it ain’t a patch on what it once was inside. It used to have a ballroom, yer know, and a silver service restaurant.’

‘What’s that?’ Stella asked.

‘Silver Service? Posh,’ Gina said. ‘Proper waiters and cutlery and everything nice, like. Not that I came much, but it were still good value, yer know being the Co-op, even though it were a bit posher. Mind you, that was years and years ago when you could get a decent bit o’ service in every Lyon’s Coffee House. Not like now where you have to queue up and point at a bit of shrivelled something behind plastic and take it to the till yerself. Ah well, talkin’ of queuing up, let’s see how long the line is for Santa.’

During the nineteen-twenties, a magnificent, sweeping Art Deco twin staircase had been added in the central hall, the flanking walls tiled in black glass.

‘I always imagine Fred and Ginger dancing down these stairs.’ Gina sighed.

Stella knew all about Fred and Ginger from the old movies she watched with Gina. She could imagine herself twirling down these stairs in a white silk gown just like Ginger Rogers.

Right now, though, one of the staircases was home to a long queue of children, chattering, fidgeting, hopping up and down the steps until a parent told them off or bribed them to stand still with a sweet; clutching hands, or in the case of the very little ones being hoisted into arms to allay the boredom of waiting and tired little feet. Systematically the children and adults at the top of the stairs were ushered on by an elf and disappeared into the magical world of the toy department where Santa’s grotto awaited them. Then the entire queue would shuffle up one step and a murmur of excitement would ripple through the line.

‘Bleedin’ Nora,’ Gina declared. ‘Are you sure you want to see Santa? I mean, he’ll be coming to your house on Christmas Eve, won’t he? That’s not many sleeps away.’

‘It’s ten,’ Stella said. To her mind ten sleeps might as well have been two million. Christmas Eve was AGES away. Beside the enormous queue snaking up the curving staircase must be proof that meeting Santa would be amazing. Why would anyone wait for something that wasn’t amazing?

She tugged Gina’s hand. ‘I really really really want to.’

Gina sighed. ‘C’mon on then. In for a penny, in for a pound.’

Stella didn’t know what that meant exactly but she got the gist. It meant ‘yes’.

Quivering with excitement Stella pulled Gina to the back of the queue - not even at the base of the staircase yet - and they began the slow stop-start shuffle that would take them to the top floor where Santa had temporarily taken up residence.

Half an hour later they were half-way up the staircase and Gina was sweltering in her fur coat. On the step below them, a disgruntled-looking man carried a sleeping tot, while three more kids ranged behind him, taking up two more steps. His kids kept arguing; he’d already had to yank one back from sliding down the bannister and given him a smack round the head, while the youngest girl had dropped her lollypop and started to cry. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he snapped, ‘I’m the one who should be crying, the way you lot are behaving. You’re not seeing Santa if you carry on like this.’

On the step ahead, a young mother clutched the hand of a boy about five years old. She looked tired, dark rings under her eyes, and Gina bet she was a single mum, just as she had been.

‘Hold me bag,’ Gina said, thrusting her handbag at Stella. ‘I’m sweatin’ like a pig in a blanket.’ Wrestling out of her coat, she managed to knock the man below with her elbow.

‘Watch it,’ he snarled. ‘You almost had me off this step.’

‘Sorry duck,’ Gina said. ‘I’m roastin’. She folded the coat over her arm and faced forward again.

From behind her, the man said sourly: ‘‘You shouldn’t have worn a stupid fur coat then.’

Both Gina and Stella turned to look at him, Stella automatically slipping her hand into Gina’s.

‘It ain’t me coat, duck,’ Gina snapped. ‘It’s me age. Not that bein’ a man you’ll have to worry about that, will yer?’

He pulled a derisive face but said nothing more.

Gina turned back and the young mum above said: ‘It is really hot in here, isn’t it? You need your layers on outside but you forget what the shops are like.’

‘It is but it could be below zero in here and I’d still have a tropical moment. You think it will never happen to you, but it will. One moment you’ll be standing there feeling fine, the next you’ll be firing up like a furnace. On off, on off. I expect your pelvic floor’s already a mess given the size of your boy’s head, but trust me by the time you’re my age you won’t be able to sneeze without peeing yerself.’

The woman looked a bit shocked, but was distracted by her little boy, who, with one finger jammed up his left nostril, began to hop from foot to foot in a little jig.

‘Mum!’ he suddenly piped up. ‘I need to go wee-wee.’

‘What! We’re almost at the top of the stairs,’ his mother said.

‘I really need to gooooo,’ the boy wailed.

‘I asked you before we started to queue if you needed to go,’ his mother said. ‘You’re not going. We’ll lose our place.’

‘It hurts!’

‘Oh go on, take him,’ Gina said. ‘We’ll save yer place, won’t we Stella?’

Stella nodded.

The young mum looked at her disbelievingly. ‘Will you?’

‘Yeah, o’ course, duck. If the kiddie needs to go he needs to go.’

‘Thank you,’ the woman said, looking unsure.

‘It’s Christmas, ain’t it. Don’t worry, unless this queue has a sudden burst of speed you can still make it there and back in time.’

Flinging another thanks, the woman took her boy’s hand, everyone below having to rearrange themselves to make room as they pushed past.

‘That was very nice of you, Gina,’ Stella said, squeezing her grandmother’s hand.

Gina puffed up. ‘It is Christmas.’

‘You dropped this,’ Stella said, spotting a white envelope on the step.

‘Oh, I forgot it were in me coat pocket,’ Gina said, taking it and stuffing it back in the pocket of the coat draped over her arm.

‘Is it a Christmas card?’

Nah, duck. It’s a gas bill. I took it to the bank wi’ me the other day to pay.’

‘That boy was picking his nose. I hate that.’

‘Me too,’ Gina said. ‘He was digging so deep you’d ‘ve thought he was mining for diamonds like one of the dwarves in Snow White!’

‘Ha ha ha ha!’ Stella’s laugh was pure delight. ‘You’re so funny.’

‘I know,’ Gina chuckled.

#

The minutes ticked past, and as the elves at the top of the stairs routinely let another group past the velvet rope, and they all shuffled up another step, Stella looked anxiously down at the shop floor, searching for the boy and his mother.

‘Where are they?’ she asked. ‘They’ll miss their turn!’ Having admired Gina for promising to save their place in the queue, it had become important to Stella that they do so, but what if they reached the top of the stairs before they came back and went beyond the mysterious curtain to Santa’s grotto, and the boy missed his turn? He was a grotty little boy who picked his nose, but boys were grotty, and they still deserved to see Santa.

Also, wouldn’t Santa know if they broke their promise? Would he put her on his naughty list?

‘Maybe she changed her mind,’ Gina said.

The family ahead of them got the signal to enter the magic realm beyond the curtain, and now it was Stella and Gina’s turn to wait on the top step.

‘This should be their step,’ Stella said. ‘We promised, Gina. We can’t go next.’

Stella scoured the distant shop floor, which was crowded with shoppers, hoping to catch sight of the boy’s blue duffle coat and his mum’s plum anorak.

Gina turned to look too, but all she could see, wedged as she was against the railing, was the scowl of the grumpy father below. ‘Get a move on,’ the man growled, jutting his chin towards the curtain. ‘That bloody elf’s beckoning yer.’

‘Don’t bleedin’ swear in front of my granddaughter,’ Gina retorted, but she turned to see a teenage girl dressed as an elf motioning for them to step forwards.

At the same time, Stella suddenly shouted, ‘Gina, they’re there. They’re coming!’

The woman was bustling the boy as fast as she could through the shoppers. Looking up she spotted Stella frantically waving at her from the top step, and tried to usher her child up the stairs. Of course people didn’t want to let her come through. Most of them had forgotten, or not noticed her earlier exit, or even if they had noticed, considered it bad form for her to try to reclaim her spot.

Gina swapped places with Stella so she could lean out and shout: ‘’Ey, let her through. She were here before us but her kiddie had to go to the loo. I said I’d keep her place so she ain’t pushing in. Let her through.’

‘Will you just bloody go in,’ the man behind her growled. ‘We all got kiddies and none of us left this queue, so get a move on, or get out of the way and let us go in.’

Gina held up her fur coat like a barrier and said. ‘It ain’t your turn, and it ain’t my turn. It’s her turn so just you remember your Christmas spirit and be nice and let her through.’

‘You don't get to make the rules,’ the man said. ‘You leave the queue you lose your place. C'mon kids, we’re going up. We’re not letting someone push in.’ But as he made to move forward, Gina swatted at him with her coat and the toddler snoozing in his arms woke up and began to wail.

‘Now look what you did!’ the man said.

‘For God’s sake man,’ a tough-looking blonde cried. ‘Just let her through. We all know what it’s like when a kid needs the loo. And she’s on her own, Come on love,’ she called down as the young mum clambered up the stairs, squeezing past everyone, saying thank you, and sorry, and excuse me, as she steered her little lad up the stairs.

‘Yeah,’ another man shouted. ‘Stop being a pillock.’

Now, instead of grumbling and hindering, people started to give them a helping hand upwards., until finally, the small red-cheeked boy and his mum reached the top step.

‘Thank you!’ the woman said, tired eyes glistening. ‘It was more than a wee. I didn’t think we’d make it in time. I couldn’t face starting again.’

‘You’re here now,’ Gina said, handing her through to the waiting elf, a teenage girl who’d come to the top of the stairs to see what the hold up was. ‘You go see Santa,’ she said to the little boy. ‘And mind you don’t pick your nose when you’re on his knee.’

She turned to skewer the grumpy dad with a triumphant look.

He glowered back at her.

#

During the wait, Gina had watched previous visitors to Santa’s grotto come out of the adjacent exit from the toy department to descend down the opposite staircase to theirs. All of the children clutched a little red paper bag in their hands, and many of them also carried a larger bag, or their parents did, which Gina assumed was the toy they’d asked Santa for.

Stella was hopping from foot to foot. ‘Do I tell Santa everything I want for Christmas?’

‘Yes, Gina said. ‘And I think you get to choose a present for today too.’ Probably one of them toys they got there.’

An alluring arrangement of toys was stacked into a pyramid between the entrance to the grotto and the exit from the toy department so that the children waiting could gaze longingly at them and think about what they’d like most.

‘Yes!’ Stella cried. ‘Gina, Gina, they’re ready, we can go in, c’mon, c’mon.’

The elves flanking the red velvet curtain to the grotto were indeed beckoning and it was time to enter.

‘That’ll be five pounds,’ the boy-elf said, acne dotting his face.

‘Five bloody pounds!’

‘Yeah,’ the boy-elf shrugged. ‘That’s how much it is.’

‘There weren’t any signs saying so,’ Gina said.

‘There is one,’ the girl-elf said. ‘Where you start to queue.’

‘It must be the size of a postage stamp, then,’ Gina said. ‘Cuz I didn’t see it. I remember when it was five bob, not five pounds.’

The boy looked at her sourly. ‘D’you want to go in or not?’

Stella looked up at Gina pleadingly.

‘Fine,’ Gina said, digging her purse out of her robust handbag. ‘I suppose it pays for the toy, don’t it?’

‘Yes!’ the girl-elf said brightly. ‘I thought it was very nice of you to save a place for the lady who’s just gone through.’

Gina, mollified, handed over the five pound note. ‘It’s Christmas.’

Once beyond the curtain, they found themselves in a short, dark tunnel, guided by another elf with a lantern who stopped at a rope right at the entrance to the actual grotto.

Stella drew in a great gasp as she quivered on the cusp of entry. What she beheld was dimly lit, as though by flickering candle light, so that the santa’s animatronic helpers, happily beavering away in Santa’s workshop looked much more real, as they tapped with little hammers, bent to wrapping presents and passed parcels to a sleigh harnessed to nodding animatronic reindeer.

Gina admitted it was well-done, and to Stella’s six-year old eyes it appeared absolutely magical. Towards the back of the workshop, Santa sat on a huge throne and to reach him they would have to walk over a little bridge that spanned a bubbling brook of actual water. Placed all over the workshop were toys, new ones unpackaged and then to the side of Santa’s throne a massive pyramid of the same toys glistened in their boxes, ready to go. Dolls and Furbys and Teenage Mutant Turtles, remote control cars, teddies and every kind of cuddly, board games, Nintendos, Beanie Babies, Polly Pockets - most of which Gina had never heard of - and a multitude of other toys.

Santa was currently busy with the little boy who’d needed a wee. His mother spotted them waiting and waved, smiling, as Santa settled the boy on his knee.

‘Have you made up your mind what you want?’ Gina asked.

Stella nodded. She pointed to an artcase which had been propped up and opened to better display a rainbow of crayons and felt tips and a little paint pallet with a paint brush and pad of paper attached to an easel that folded out of the case.

‘I thought you’d want a dolly,’ Gina said.

‘I want that,’ Stella said, emphatically.

‘You better tell Santa then.’

‘I will,’ Stella said.

They watched as the boy hopped off Santa’s knee, a finger drifting up towards a nostril again, but thwarted by one of the elves handing him a red paper bag.

‘He must’ve asked for somethin’ small,’ Gina said.

The mum turned to give them a last smile before another elf showed her the exit.

The girl-elf waiting with them at the entrance unhooked the little rope barring their way. ‘Santa will see you now,’ she beamed at Stella. ‘What’s your name?’

Stella didn’t rush forward but tip-toed through the grotto, taking her time to soak in the wonder.

‘Gerra move on, ducky, think of all them other little kids still waiting.’

‘Ho ho ho, come to me, little one,’ Santa called from his throne. ‘Come tell me what you want for Christmas.’

Stella picked up into a skip that took her over the bridge and up to Santa’s knee where a much burlier elf took her under the armpits to lift her onto Santa’s lap.

Suddenly Stella turned shy, unable to look into Santa’s face, focusing instead on her own knees.

‘What’s your name?’

Stella’s whisper was barely discernible.

‘Speak up, no need to be shy. Santa can’t hear you.’

‘Stella.’ It came out like a mouse’s squeak.

‘Stella,’ Gina repeated loudly.

‘Have you been a good girl this year, Stella?’

Stella nodded, keeping her eyes firmly on her knees.

‘Ho ho ho. Of course you have Stella, I know that already. You’re on my nice list. Now, tell me what you’d like for Christmas.’

Stella tried to speak, but, after all her anticipation and excitement she was overcome and it barely came out.

‘C’mon duck,’ Gina said. ‘Tell Santa what you want’.

Stella half-mumbled, half-whispered an unintelligible request, and Santa, who was, after all, a man wearing a thick false-beard and a hat and already struggling to hear, not to mention being very hot, looked to Gina for help.

‘She wants a bike for Christmas day, and one of them art sets today,’ Gina said, pointing to a sealed art box in the pyramid to the side of Santa’s throne.

Santa squinted at her. ‘Ah, a new bike you say. And an art set. Very good, very good. I’ll see what I can do young lady.’

The burly elf lifted Stella off Santa’s lap and plopped her down on her trembling feet, then reached behind the throne and drew out a familiar red paper bag and handed it to Santa who then put it into Stella’s hands.

The exit elf came forward to usher them out, but Gina, puzzled by the size of the bag, which was a great deal smaller than the art set she could see in the toy stack, stayed by Santa’s throne and took the little sack off Stella. Peering inside she saw a little box of crayons, a bag of jelly sweets and a pencil.’

‘That’s not a bleedin’ art set,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s that one she wants.’

‘Well, yes, you can purchase that in the toy department,’ the elf said. ‘That’s where you go next.’

‘I’ve already purchased it,’ Gina said. ‘I paid me five pounds.’

‘That’s just the price of seeing Santa,’ the elf explained. She was a grown woman and looked like she very much didn’t want to be an elf. She put her hands on her hips. ‘You can buy the art set from the toy department. You got your free gift so you need to leave now.’

‘Gina,’ Stella tugged on her sleeve. She looked frightened. ‘I thought Santa would give me my presents. If you have to buy the art set it doesn’t come from Santa at all!’

Gina glared at the elf. ‘O’ course it comes from Santa,’ she said. ‘There’s been some mistake that’s all, hasn’t there, Miss Elf?’

‘Santa doesn’t make mistakes,’ Miss Elf said. ‘Your little girl will just have to wait until Christmas to get what she’s asked for. That’s how it works.’

‘Look,’ Santa said, rising from his throne. ‘There are people waiting. You’ve had your turn and your free gift so leave.’ By his side, the burly elf looked more sympathetic.

‘You all keep saying ‘free gift’,’ Gina said, not about to be booted out by a man making his living by dressing up in a silly red suit. ‘But it weren’t free and it’s not worth fifty pence, never mind five pounds.’

‘That art set is more than five pounds,’ the elf-woman said.’You can’t just expect us to give you stuff worth more than your entrance fee. The store’d go bust. This is a business, not a charity.’

‘I seen people coming away from seeing Santa with bigger red bags than this one,’ Gina told her.

‘You have not,’ the woman said. She had a definite air of authority about her despite her pointy ears and curly-toed slippers.

‘I have. I saw them coming down the other stairs while we were queuing.’

‘They’d bought presents from the toy department,’ the elf-woman said. ‘That’s how it works. The kids see what they want, they tell Santa, the parents hear it, they buy it in the store and they leave. Everyone’s happy.’

‘That’s exploitation, that is,’ Gina said. ‘You’re guilt-trippin those parents into buying and charging them for the privilege. That’s shockin’!’

‘That’s business,’ the Miss Elf said, bells jingling as she shook her head. ‘That’s Christmas.’

‘Oy,’ a male voice shouted from the far end of the grotto. ‘You again. I’ve had enough of you making my family wait. What you doin’ now?’ It was the dad who’d made a fuss on the stairs. He looked grumpier than ever. Clearly, having to spend an hour queuing in a crowded shop listening to his kids argue and an endless loop of Christmas songs had not made him a happy man.

‘Just a moment sir,’ the elf-woman called. ‘Santa will see you soon. This lady’s just going.’

‘I’m not!’ Gina raised her voice. ‘Not til yer give my Stella what’s hers.’

‘We’re not waiting any longer, the man shouted, yanking the rope out of the girl-elf’s hand and striding into the grotto. Like a herd of wild-horses pent up too long in a pen, his four children surged into the magical workshop, running amok among the animatronic figures. The oldest boy, about eight, who’d attempted the daring bannister slide, scrambled up on a reindeer, while one of his brothers leapt into the stream.

Miss Elf abandoned Gina, taking the burly elf with her. ‘Just a minute sir,’ she barked. ‘You cannot let your children touch the models or play in the water.’

‘Don’t tell me what my kids can and can’t do,’ the man shouted. ‘We’ve been waiting to see Santa for hours so my kids are gonna get their fill of this grotto and Santa’s gonna get back on that throne and give ‘em what they want.’

‘We’ve been going as fast as we can sir. Saturday is our busiest day. You, get off that reindeer!’ She started for the kid on the reindeer who had just snapped off an antler. The father went to intercept her, but was intercepted himself by the burly elf, who in his usual job was a club bouncer by night and store security in the day. Placing a beefy hand on his chest he said, ‘Careful sir, don’t make any trouble.’

‘Those kids are disgraceful,’ Gina said to Stella. ‘I’m glad you’re not like that.’

Stella looked over the scene, stunned. Next to them Santa gazed at it too. The tot was banging a toy drum like she was giving it a damned good thrashing, the older girl was sliding around having a water fight in the stream with her twin brother, both of them flinging water around in perilous abandonment , ignorant of any electrical wiring, and the older boy was whacking the managerial woman elf over the head with the the broken antler as she tugged at his leg. Meanwhile the dad and the burly elf seemed locked into an eyeballing standoff.

‘You know what,’ said Santa. ‘‘I only had two more hours of this bloody job to get through before I could bugger off to the pub. My knees feel like hell, half the kids have colds so I know I’ll catch one for Christmas, and my girlfriend left me for the bloke playing Frosty the Snowman at Jessops. Sod it, you know what, you can have that art set.’

Marching over to the pyramid of box-fresh toys he pulled the packaged art-case out of the wall, where it had held a strategic place in the structure. The wall collapsed, and toys crashed every which way, startling everyone (except for Santa) into sudden stillness.

‘There you go,’ Santa said, placing the case into Stella’s hands. ‘Merry Christmas to all,’ he bowed, ‘and to all a good night.’ With that he whipped off his beard and hat and made a sharp exit.

‘Hey, you, Santa, come back,’ roared the enraged father. ‘My kids haven't seen you yet.’

‘I don’t think that was Santa,’ Stella whispered to Gina, who was eyeing the furious dad warily. He was ready to spring.

‘You!’ he roared again, pointing at her. This is your fault.’ He launched forward, and Gina, ready to run, grabbed the art case out of Stella’s hand and hurled it at him as she propelled Stella out of the exit.

They heard his yell as the case hit him, and then they were fleeing through the crowded toy department, Gina pulling Stella along, knocking aside protesting shoppers, as behind them a furious dad came chasing after them.

Ahead they could see the flash of Santa’s crimson suit as he dashed for the stairs, leaving behind him a wake of bewildered shoppers.

They didn’t see the young mother with her son as they raced past, or notice the gas bill flutter once again out of Gina’s pocket, they only saw the exit to the toy department and ran towards it. Neither did they hear a sudden grunt and crash as the muscular elf rugby tackled the angry dad to the floor behind them, making the startled onlookers gasp.

If Gina and Stella had looked back they would have seen a very perplexed-looking woman staring down at her husband pinned beneath a burly elf.

‘What’s going on? Where are the kids?’ she said.

The kids had been rounded up by the Miss Elf and brought out blinking into the light of the toy department where their mother stared at them in horror. Her oldest son clutched an antler in his hand, looking wild. The twins were dripping wet. The tot dragged a broken drum behind her and her nappy was definitely full.

‘All I asked was for you to take care of them for a couple of hours while I bought the presents,’ she said. ‘They look like something out of Lord of the Flies ‘

‘I told you my hangover was terrible,’ her husband said, clutching his head, as the elf let go of him. ‘It was the cheap wine at the work meal. I’ve never felt so out of sorts.’

‘Why didn’t you stay home with them then?’

‘Because I wanted to see Santa,’ the man wailed.

‘Up you get, sir,’ the burly elf said. ‘We need to take this to the office and assess the damage.’

‘Damage?’ his wife said, alarmed.

‘Damage,’ Miss Elf said grimly.

‘It wasn’t just me,’ the dad protested. ‘What about that woman? And Santa?’

#

That woman, Stella, and Santa made it out, Santa disappearing up the street in one direction, and Gina with Stella taking the opposite way. They didn’t stop running until they reached Market Square, where the Christmas lights had begun to sparkle as the late afternoon light bled into dusk.

Gina was right out of puff, but she couldn’t help letting out a great peal of laughter as she bent over, hands on knees to regain her breath. It wasn’t until she straightened that she noticed Stella was crying.

‘Oh ducky, don’t cry. I know yer didn’t get yer art set but we got out alright didn’t we, and we had a bit of fun.’

Stella didn’t think it was fun. ‘Santa won’t bring me anything,’ she gulped. ‘Santa will hate me.’

‘Oh, that weren’t the real Santa, lovey. He was just pretendin’. The real Santa knows what you want.’

‘I know,’ Stella sobbed. ‘I know he wasn’t the real Santa, but the real Santa will know that I’ve been naughty and not bring me anything but coal. And I’ll never get a bike or an art set.’

‘You haven’t been naughty,’ Gina said. ‘It were that man who was naughty. And Santa. And the store for not giving you what they should’ve. Don’t you worry now. Gina will have a word with the real Santa and make sure he knows how it was. Now let’s go home and make some eggs yolka polka and some trifle for us tea. Yeah?’

Stella nodded. They set off for home.

‘Gina,’ Stella said after a while. ‘Maybe you should let mummy talk to Santa.’

#

Gina knew that Stella was already getting a bike for Christmas from her parents, and she was determined to get her the art-case. She just hoped she could find the same one elsewhere. She didn’t think she could go back to the Coop just yet.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to. There was a knock on the door on Sunday morning.

‘Your dad must be early,’ she said to Stella who was eating Coco Pops (forbidden at home) at the kitchen table.

She was surprised to see, instead, the young mum from the queue, minus her little boy, but holding a large, red carrier bag.

‘’Ello?’ Gina said. ‘How’d you know where I live?’

‘You dropped this in the shop,’ the young woman said. ‘As you ran out of the toy department.’

It was the gas bill Gina had stuffed back in her pocket.

‘It has your address on. I didn’t read it - just the address on the front. I wanted to bring you this,’ she said, holding out the bag. ‘For your granddaughter. I know she wanted it.’

Gina took the bag and peered inside. It was the art-case.

‘Oh, you shouldn’t have,’ she said, but her smile was wide.

‘I was very grateful to you for holding our place. Mikey, that’s my boy, had his heart set on seeing Santa but I don’t think I could’ve started at the beginning of that queue again. My name’s Susan, by the way.’’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Gina said. ‘Stella will be so thrilled. How did you know, though? You’d already gone when she asked for it.’

‘We were still in the toy department, when, you know, you got chased out of the grotto. After everything settled down I asked one of the elves - you know the male one who put the kids on Santa’s knee?’

‘The brawny one,’ Gina nodded.

‘Yes,’ Susan blushed. ‘He told me what happened. I, erm, I’m meeting up with him for a drink next week.’

‘Are you now?’ Gina said. ‘You just be careful, them men are all after one thing, but I guess you know that, already, don’t yer? Do yer want to come in for a bit, have a cup of tea? You can tell me what happened after we got out. Do you know? What about that horrible bloke?’

‘Oh,’ Susan smiled. ‘That’s a funny story. Thanks, yes I won’t stop long, as my mum has Mikey, but a cuppa would be lovely.’

‘Come in then,’ Gina said. ‘You can give this to Stella, but do me a favour, tell her the real Santa sent it. My name’s Gina by the way.’

And they went into the house for a good strong cuppa and a mince pie.

The End