Читать книгу The Silver Bells Christmas Pantomime: The perfect feel-good Christmas romance! - Lynsey James - Страница 10

Chapter One

Being an out-of-work actress is never easy.

You don’t know where the next role is coming from, if you’ll ever get your “big break” that’ll catapult you to stardom or even if your agent will ever call you again.

It’s even harder though, when you have to take the job from hell to make ends meet.

For me, that came in the form of dressing in a gaudy green and red outfit, wearing huge pointed ears and saying ‘welcome to Santa’s grotto’ fifty times a day. As someone who hates Christmas and has committed to never celebrating it again, pretending to live and breathe the festive spirit was my idea of hell.

But an out-of-work actress had to do what an out-of-work actress had to do.

I leaned against the wobbly cardboard structure that passed for Santa’s grotto, wondering how it had all come to this. I’d gone from the bright lights of Broadway to wearing massive shoes with bells on in the town I grew up in.

Then I remembered exactly what had happened for me to come home again. The salty tang of tears stung the backs of my eyes and I took a deep breath, pushing the burgeoning memories to the back of my mind. Now wasn’t the time for a trip into the past. As long as I didn’t think, everything would be OK.

A hand on my shoulder startled me. I turned round to see Frank, the scruffy, pot-bellied store Santa Claus standing next to me. His fluffy white beard had slipped slightly and the acrid odour of stale sweat and beer wafted my way.

‘Do me a favour and stick the costume on for a bit, will you? I’m not feeling too clever.’

My eyes widened in alarm. ‘Me?! No, no, no, I’m an elf! I-I can’t play Santa, for God’s sake!’

Frank lurched forward, bringing his questionable odour further into my personal space. I noticed his skin had turned an odd shade of grey and his eyes were bloodshot. This, I guessed, wasn’t a man to be messed with.

‘Listen, unless you want me to turn this place into a disaster area, stick the beard and red coat on and listen to what the little brats want for Christmas. It’s not rocket science.’

‘But I—’

Frank didn’t give me the chance to argue further. He slipped off his costume, thrust it into my hands and stalked off in the direction of the staff area.

Oh shit.

I looked down at the grubby red velvet coat and greying beard I was holding and realised I didn’t have any choice: I was going to have to play the man himself. I craned my neck to see Frank’s retreating figure sloping away from the shop floor and his responsibilities. There was nothing else for it, I decided. I sneaked into the grotto, pulled the beard over my head and slipped the coat on. It smelled like roadkill, but if the store manager came and found the grotto unmanned, there’d be trouble.

I took a seat on the large comfy armchair and took a sharp breath inwards, instantly regretting my decision as eau de Frank stung my nostrils. All I had to do was listen to some kids telling me what they wanted for Christmas.

Easy right?

Wrong.

I had very specific reasons for hating the festive season; spending my days dressed up as an elf was bad enough, but playing the big man himself and pretending to grant dozens of children’s Christmas wishes was quite another.

It’s OK, I said to myself, the store’s pretty quiet; you can do this. You can let the world in, even for the briefest moment.

Switching from my fairly anonymous role of elf, where all I had to do was welcome children to the grotto to actually engaging with people was going to be quite a challenge. I kept people at arm’s length and rarely struck up conversations with anyone besides my family. My world was small and insular, just the way I liked it. Pretending to be happy and jolly and gregarious would be a stretch, even for an actress such as myself.

I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts. A little boy of around six was dragging his mum towards the grotto, pulling her hand with all his might. With no elf outside to welcome him, he let go and ran right in, skidding to a halt at my feet.

I cleared my throat and let out my best ‘Ho ho ho, merry Christmas’, making him giggle. His mum caught up with him, flashed me a quick smile and lifted him onto my lap.

‘Go on, Harry.’ She was a little bit breathless from trying to keep up with her son and flicked some dark blonde hair out of her face. ‘Tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas.’

The little boy looked up at me with huge blue eyes filled with hopes and dreams. It was as though all his festive wishes hinged on me and me alone.

Yikes, don’t mess this up, Alice!

‘What can I get you for Christmas this year, Harry?’ I said in my deepest, jolliest voice.

He thought for a moment, his face twisting into different expressions of deep thought. Once he’d finally reached a decision, he clapped his hands.

‘I want a new bike, a pair of roller-skates and…’ He trailed off, hiding his face behind his chubby little hands.

His mum crouched down and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, darling, you can tell Santa Claus.’

‘Is it an extra-special present?’ I asked. ‘I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll add it to my list. In fact, I’ll put it right to the top!’

His mum gently prised the little boy’s hands away from his face and kissed his head. This seemed to convince him to open up again; he turned his attentions back to me with a flicker of a smile.

‘I…I want my daddy to come home.’

All at once, the mood in the grotto turned very sombre. Harry’s mum took in a sharp breath and pursed her lips, letting out a small hollow chuckle.

‘That’s a big ask for Santa, Harry. A-are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose something else?’

He shook his head, sending his blond hair flying in all directions. ‘No, Mummy, that’s what I want for Christmas. A bike, a pair of roller-skates and Daddy to come home.’

She nodded and her mouth twitched into something like a smile. ‘Well I’m sure Santa will do his best, but remember Daddy lives in Florida with Maureen now. You remember Maureen – she used to help out in your class.’

‘I like Maureen,’ he said, ‘she made up funny songs and smelled nice. Daddy said he’d take me to meet Nemo and Dory. Can he come home after that?’

His mum decided Harry had had enough face time with Santa and lifted him down from my lap. It was all I could do to stifle a chuckle; I hadn’t expected such an intriguing story to unravel.

‘Sorry,’ she said with an embarrassed smile, ‘Daddy ran off to America with Harry’s teaching assistant last year and he’s been missing him ever since!’

‘Oh don’t worry about it.’ I kept up my deep voice as much as I could. ‘Harry’s still top of Santa’s nice list!’

She grabbed his hand and started towards the grotto’s entrance, flashing a grateful smile over her shoulder. ‘Come on, you, we’d better get going.’

Harry stopped in his tracks for a moment and turned to face me. ‘What do you want for Christmas, Santa?’

His mum’s mouth dropped open. ‘Harry! You can’t ask Santa that; it’s top secret!’

I opened my mouth to answer, but found the words stuck in my throat. What I really wanted, you see, couldn’t be found in any department store. The one thing I wanted to find under the tree was the one thing in the world I couldn’t have.

‘Some milk and biscuits will do just fine for me,’ I replied. ‘Plus some carrots for my reindeer.’

*

The rest of the day went relatively smoothly, although being stuck in a thick red suit for hours on end was no picnic. By the time I was finished, I was glad to peel it off; it was like a blast furnace in there. The constant swarm of people had been quite overwhelming too; as someone who purposefully stays under the radar, it wasn’t easy having the spotlight on me all day. I never went anywhere or spoke to anyone; I lived a simple, solitary existence, just the way I liked it.

As I made my way through the vast expanses of Fox’s department store, I couldn’t help but feel the urge to have a nose around. Although I was dead set against celebrating Christmas for a variety of reasons, it was difficult not to notice the festive magic buzzing around the place. There was a special section of the shop just for Christmas gifts; it had everything from delicate crystal ornaments shaped like any animal you could think of, to sumptuous boxes of Belgian chocolates for the chocoholic in the family. Pairs of huge glass bottles containing olive oil and sea salt lined the back wall, along with hobby craft kits, luxury food hampers and fancy bath sets. There was something for everyone in the store’s little festive nook.

I averted my gaze and hurried towards the door. What I wanted wouldn’t be nestled on any of the deep cavernous shelves. I bundled my coat around me in preparation for the wintry early November chill outside, put my head down and quickened my pace. I was no more than a few feet from the exit when a little object to my right caught my eye, stopping me in my tracks. I bent down to pick it up and a sad smile formed on my lips.

Maybe there was something I wanted in Fox’s department store after all.

*

My little cottage in Luna Bay was perhaps the village’s only designated Christmas-free zone. It had been mine for about two years; I’d been able to buy it outright from the sale of my New York apartment. I hadn’t bought it right away though; I’d lived with my mum for a year after what had happened in New York. I loved my cottage; up until recently, I’d been able to run it on my savings from my Broadway days and it provided the perfect escape from the festive season.

There was no Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the living room window, no decorations to festoon the rest of the house with and certainly no gaudy ornaments on the front lawn. My cottage stuck out like a sore thumb; even though it was seven weeks until Christmas, a lot of my neighbours had already got into the festive spirit. I breathed a sigh of relief as I caught sight of it when I stepped off the bus; it was my own little corner of the world where I could shut everyone out and keep myself to myself.

‘Home sweet home,’ I murmured to myself. I couldn’t wait to get inside, pour myself a mug of hot chocolate and settle down with a good book.

Just then, a clamour of music and raised voices caught my attention. It was coming from the Silver Bells Theatre, Luna Bay’s one-stop shop for stage entertainment. The opening bars of a jaunty show tune blasted out onto the quiet street, only to be cut abruptly short and followed by: ‘NO, NO, NO! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, IT’S STEP TWO THREE FOUR, NOT TURN TWO THREE FOUR!’

I walked up the gravel path to the open door, lingering outside for a moment as I suppressed a smile. Given the time of year, the local theatre club was probably rehearsing for its annual pantomime. It was something of a laughing stock in the village because nothing ever went according to plan. The sets wobbled, actors fluffed their lines and the time they’d used live animals for Snow White and the Seven Dwarves had gone down in Luna Bay history. A spark of curiosity ignited within me as I wondered which classic pantomime would be messed up this time. Mother Goose perhaps, or maybe Aladdin? I shuddered to think how they’d pull off the genie and the flying carpet.

More raised voices from inside the theatre made me turn back towards home. Knowing my luck, if I hung around any longer, the theatre club’s slightly terrifying director, Christabel Grant, would try to conscript me into joining her ranks. Her voice suddenly erupted, piercing the velvet darkness.

‘Sandra, I won’t tell you again! Love is All Around comes in the second act, not the first. Keep this up and you’ll be the back end of a horse!’

I let out a little giggle as I reached the top of the hill. Christabel ruled the theatre club with an iron fist and everybody was too terrified to stand up to her. It made me breathe a sigh of relief that I’d so far managed to thwart all her attempts to sign me up to one of her productions.

There was no way I was ever going to set foot on a stage again; not after what happened in New York.

The sight of my little cottage looming before me made my grin stretch even further. Once I stepped over the threshold, I could kick my shoes off and keep the rest of the world at arm’s length.

Bliss.