It was late in a dark winter afternoon. Elvira had almost finished her Christmas shopping and was feeling mellow and festive when she noticed a big sign advertising Father Christmas’s Grotto. It brought back warm childhood memories, and she paused and peered down the narrow decorated corridor which led to it. To one side was the exit, from which issued excited children, bounding, skipping, shouting and waving their gifts.
Elvira felt nostalgic: it was time to grottify again. By the entrance there was a ticket machine, thus sparing her the explanation of why she had no child in tow. She slid her coins in the slot, pressed the button and was issued with a numbered ticket as happens on a deli counter. This felt a bit prosaic for something supposed to be magical, but she reasoned (not unreasonably) that excited offspring would be oblivious to the practicalities.
She ducked under the archway, draped in greenery (very well-hung, of which she approved) and walked along the fake snowy surface. At each side were little reindeer made of glittery wire with red bulbs for eyes. One, of course, had a shiny red nose too. There were models of toadstools and squirrels, all sprinkled with fake snow. It was every bit both as magical and as rubbish as she had remembered. Eventually the corridor opened out into a big space with a profusion of glitter, lights flashing and even more reindeer and woodland animals rendered in various sparkly forms.
At the far side sat Father Christmas, and Elvira was thrilled to see that he was Father Christmas, not Santa. He was wearing a hooded cloak held with a belt over his huge belly. Beside him were a number of big brown sacks. He was adjusting his position in the big chair, as a mother and small son were leaving. The boy was wide-eyed and the mother grateful and relieved.
Father Christmas did not notice her at first. He wearily rubbed his arm across his face, dislodging the facial hair. Behind her, unnoticed, a member of staff hung the “closed” sign across the entrance.
Father Christmas suddenly saw her and straightened his beardulars. He gathered himself (it had been a long shift) for a final HO HO HO and some enforced jollificating, and then looked around for the child who would be coming to sit on the little stool near him. (Laps being no longer acceptable) There was no child, just Elvira, standing in the middle of the grotto, wearing the sort of skirt which looked as though it might preclude sitting altogether, and a jumper which was having similar problems with her chestoids.
“HO HO HO” he offered, ever the professional.
“Hello” Elvira replied
There was a pause, during which FC was growing increasingly puzzled, and hungry, and wondering when he could get out of his heavy cloak.
“I’m on my own” explained Elvira
“Oh. I’m not sure I have anything suitable for you” he said, even as he was starting to doubt that.
She smiled “It’s OK. I’m not expecting anything. I just came for the nostalgia”
“FC smiled behind his bristles “That’s free!”
Elvira took a little wander around the grotto, admiring the lengths to which its constructors had gone: every nook was crowded with cute animals, toadstools, stars and little model elves, and every one was sufficiently sparkly to have made a satisfactory substitute glitterball at a disco.
As she wandered, bending down to look at the child-height exhibits, she was oblivious to FC’s eyes following her festive buttoculars around the room. The grotto had become tediously familiar, and to have it now hosting a pneumatic redhead with generously sized pumpkins was a great pleasure. A pleasure indeed which made FC glad for the massive cloak and fake belly which meant he could enjoy the spectacle without fear of discovery.
Suddenly Elvira looked at her watch, and glanced at FC. “Oh! I’d no idea it was so late! You should have closed by now!” she exclaimed, turning towards the exit. Father Christmas sprang from his seat with an urgency which, despite cloak and belly, was a tad risky.
“Don’t worry! Yes, we have closed now, but it’s fine for you to have a look around”
As she continued to do so, he added
“Is it OK if I get my beard off? It’s really itchy.” Elvira nodded. “I hope it doesn’t break the spell!” he added, smiled an invisible smile.
Elvira laughed: “It’s fine. My mum always used to say that of course it’s not the REAL Father Christmas, because he lives in Lapland, and he’s FAR too busy at this time of the year”
They both laughed, and by now FC was cleanshaven and his laugh was visible. He turned out to be a lot younger than Elvira had expected, and behind the facial bristlication had a proper chiselled jawline. His eyes were big and dark, and slightly spoiled at first by the massive white eyebrows, like miniature trained arctic foxes, which were stuck on above them.
Elvira couldn’t help laughing at them, just a little.
He offered his palms to her, explaining that they were very tough to remove. Elvira moved closer to him, gesturing her willingness to help. He stood still, savouring the moment as she came close to him, lifting her arms to deftly peel the bushy brows away from his own. The action lifted her chestage directly in front of his lowered gaze, and as she wiggled the fake brows, her bosoomsters wobbled like the platter of goodies which they were. Finally she finished, and stepped back, holding the furry beasts in her hand. “That’s better!”
FC disagreed, and, gazing into her lovely face he said
“So….have you been a good girl?”
Elvira giggled beguilingly. She rather liked the look of this smooth-cheeked festive fellow. After a moment she smiled conspiratorially and said quietly “Very good. I’m very good”
Father Christmas adjusted his fake belly, which was becoming uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I get rid of this?” he asked, pointing to it. Elvira shook her head, and moments later his cloak was undone and he had removed the fake belly. Elvira couldn’t help noticing how the increased definition created by the bellyectomy led her eye to his slightly distorted trouserage.
She smiled again, and glancing around the large grotto, asked mischievously “Have you got a big staff?”
Father Christmas did indeed, though he claimed he just had an elf.
Elvira walked over to the big chair
“Let’s do this properly” she said.
The barefaced and slimmer Father Christmas sat down in his big chair. Elvira lowered herself onto his lap, wriggling her tight skirt up a little to allow this. FC did not object, despite it being contrary to the usual rules. She nestled into a comfortable position, over his now-resplendent Yule Log.
“It’s a pity I haven’t got anything for you” he said
“On the contrary” she assured him, “my stocking is already filled”
FC’s own personal eyebrows shot up sharply. “Really?” he exclaimed. Elvira nodded
“I was going to offer you something from my sack” he said
“That sounds perfect!” Elvira replied, musing on her fondness for baubles.
It was perfect, indeed. All festive traditions were maintained; Father Christmas opened his cloak to reveal all manner of goodies for Elvira’s delight. He found that she had already got a stocking in place for him (two, in fact) and he took great delight in checking their contents. As for Elvira, she wassailed down onto his yule log, complementing his joy with her own – more an OH OH OH than a HO HO HO, but the general air of happiness prevailed.
Elvira got to pull a cracker, and found it had a really good bang
