The Queue

I walk forward a few paces in the line to see Santa. There are little reindeer standing on top of cotton which looks a bit like snow. I look behind me and stare at the line of other children waiting to see Santa. There’s a bored girl right behind me, and a teenager with a small girl, and another teenager with his Dad. The elves' bells are jangling so I turn back around, and they look slightly bored at first, but then they smile when they see me watching them.

“You’re next to see Santa,” says the one on the left. I look at her and she wiggles her feet, setting the bells jangling once again. I grip my Mum’s hand tightly, and she looks down at me and squeezes back.

“So what are you going to ask Santa for, Henry?” She asks me quietly.

“I can’t tell you, or it won’t happen, Mum,” I reply. She smiles but it seems sad.

I look at the child on Santa’s lap already, exclaiming loudly that she wants the new Barbie doll, and a kitten for her brother because he likes kittens. I think about what I want. Will Santa be able to help? He’s magic but Mum always says he can’t do everything you wish for. I think about what I want. It doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for. All I want is for Dad to stop hitting Mum and sometimes me when he comes home from the pub. I hate it when Dad hits us, especially when we haven’t done anything wrong. I hope Santa can help stop it, after all, he did get me the little sister I wanted last year. She’s with the baby sitter now. Her hands are really small, and she coughs a lot when Dad smokes in the same room.

I look up as the kid on Santa’s lap shouts at the present Santa has given her as it is the new Barbie. She squeals and then lists more things she wants for her, and her brother. Then, a crash from behind me rings out. I turn and see my Dad as everyone jumps, and the little girl stops talking.

“Casey, I need cash,” shouts Dad, crashing through the rope marking where the queue should be. Mum turns bright red and instantly pulls out her purse from her bag. She holds out a tenner to Dad and he reaches past the money and grabs at the purse in her shaking hand. I watch it fall to the floor. He starts to scream at her, and I realise he smells exactly the same right now as he does when he comes home from the pub. I watch my Dad slap Mum across the face. I see it all the time but there are a lot of people shouting right now. One of the elves steps in between them and starts screaming at Dad to leave. He pushes her and she crashes backward into my Mum, and they both tumble to the floor, taking me and a small Christmas tree down with them. My elbow hurts when I land.

“Sir, you’re going to have to come with us,” says a large security man to my Dad. Mum and the elf help me up and I cry as my elbow starts to bleed a little bit from a broken bauble. Mum looks at my elbow and gently moves the broken plastic out of the way. She takes a tissue out of her pocket and presses it to my elbow. The elf hands her the purse from the floor as the security guards drag Dad away. He’s still shouting loudly, and everyone is looking at him, Mum, and me. Some are shaking their heads.

“Young man, come here,” says Santa from behind me. I turn around and see that the little girl is not talking to Santa any more, and he is beckoning me over.

***

“Sarah, what is wrong with that man?” I ask as the little boy in front of me sits down on Santa’s lap. We step forward to the front of the line and Sarah looks away from her phone and then down at me.

“Well, Elizabeth, he wasn’t very nice, that’s all you need to know,” Sarah says, sounding bored.

“Well, young man,” says Santa to the little boy, “what’s your name?”

“Henry,” the boy says shakily.

I stop listening, I’ve lost interest. I play with the edge of my new dress. Father got it for me, he said it had only been one hundred pounds in the sale. I stare up at Sarah. She’s playing a game on her phone, drinking a hot chocolate and ignoring me. She’s the worst baby sitter I’ve had this year. She never pays me any attention, but Father seems to think that she’s great. She drives me everywhere and is always hanging around at our house, even when Father is home to look after me. She only loves spending time with me at the stables though. We go riding almost every day after I finish school. She uses my mother’s horse. My pony is getting a bit small for me now, so I’m going to get Santa to give me a new one. I’ve already asked Father for a new slide for the swimming pool and he said he would think about it. Which usually means yes, just so I don’t keep asking.

I tug at Sarah’s hand. She sighs heavily and looks down at me.

“What?” She snaps at me.

“I’m bored. Give me your phone to play on,” I snap right back. She’s so moody all the time. Sarah sighs, and swipes at her phone a few times, before handing it to me. There’s a game open and I play it for a minute before I get bored of the reflection of the Christmas lights shining off the screen. I chuck the phone back to Sarah and she swears as it falls through her hands and hits the floor.

“Elizabeth! You’ve broken my phone screen,” she says loudly.

“Just ask my father to buy you a new one. Tell him it was my fault and he’ll get you a better one,” I say. I don’t care about the phone. If I hadn’t left mine in the car, and Sarah hadn’t refused to go back for it then this wouldn’t have happened.

There are two girls dressed as elves watching me and muttering to each other.

“Excuse me, but when will I get to go?” I ask one of them. She looks at me, and turns around to see what Santa is doing.

“Sorry, sweetie, but it shouldn’t be too much longer. I think Santa is nearly done talking to the little boy with him now. It’ll be your turn soon.” As soon as she finishes talking, the little boy climbs off Santa’s lap and walks over to the crying lady who is wiping at her eyes. She’s probably embarrassed about the scene the rude man made earlier.

“Okay, you can go up now,” says the elf.

“About time,” Sarah mutters as she pushes me forward.

***

I stare at the little girl in front of me. She was so demanding of everyone, and thought nothing of it. I shake my head. I feel a small tug at my sleeve and look down at Lissy. She’s sucking her thumb as well as a candy cane and dribbling slightly on both.

“When do we get to see Santa?” She asks around her thumb and candy cane. I ruffle her hair.

“Soon, we’re going to be next after this little girl is finished,” I say to my little sister. Our Mum was off doing some very last minute shopping, considering it was Christmas Eve, so it was up to me to make sure Lissy got to see Santa. The shopping centre was starting to empty, and it was going to start shutting soon. People want to get home to their families. I feel another pull at my sleeve.

“Jason, my feet hurt,” Lissy says, her big eyes tearing up. I pick up my little sister and she nestles into my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You’re welcome,” I respond, and I kiss the top of Lissy’s head. Out of the seven kids, Lissy is the youngest, and is the only one who wants to see Santa. I am the only one who has been at home helping with wrapping presents. Our two older sisters went out with their school friends, and our three older brothers are out working. It was up to me to look after Lissy most of the time. I know our Mum appreciates it, even if she never says so out loud. She’s always very busy at this time of year. That was what she says to the others, the older kids.

A man is sweeping up the fallen Christmas tree and the lights on it are flickering randomly.

He is whistling along to the music on the speakers; “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day.” I think about how stressed Mum gets and I’m grateful that it isn’t Christmas every day. Lissy sputters into my ear and I feel her spit going all over the side of my face.

“Sorry,” Lissy says, “I had to cough.” I grimace to myself and then pull a wad of tissues out of my jacket pocket, specifically there for this exact situation. I pass one to Lissy and she wipes her mouth before trying to hand it back.

“Oh no, missy Lissy, you coughed all over me too! Clean up that spit,” I say, tickling Lissy gently. She squeals with laughter and then wipes at my face with the damp tissue. She then hands it back to me.

“Did you get all of it?” I ask.

“Yes,” giggles Lissy, as she wipes at my face with her sleeve.

“Make sure you get all of it,” I say, knowing full well that she won’t, and I’ll have to get it all off when she’s talking to Santa.

“What are you going to ask for, Lissy?” I ask, suddenly realising I don’t have a clue what my sister wants. Mum usually writes everyone’s names on the presents, except for Derek, Sam, and Jack because they work and have money to buy presents for everyone.

“This year I’m going to tell Santa that I don’t want the others to call me a baby and say that I’ll understand when I’m older,” Lissy says proudly.

“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.

“I’m not a baby and I don’t want to be called one,” Lissy says matter of factly. I look at my sister and feel sad.

“Aren’t there any toys you want?” I ask her.

“None that I want more than to not be called a baby anymore,” Lissy says, and she’s beginning to sound defensive.

“Then I guess you should ask to not be called a baby anymore,” I say. Lissy hugs me and grins.

“You only call me little, and I am little so it’s okay, but I’m not a baby and the others always call me a baby and I’m not one,” Lissy says.

“Okay, it’s your turn to see Santa now,” says one of the elves. I walk forwards with Lissy, and put her down gently, and she runs up and sits on Santa’s lap. I move to the side and notice our mum walking over.

“Hi,” I say as I take a few of her shopping bags out of her hands.

“Hi, love,” she says, blowing her hair away from her face. “Has she only just gone up?” Mum asks.

“Yeah, and Santa can’t give her what she wants this year,” I say sadly.

“What is she asking for? A puppy or something?” Mum asks sarcastically.

“No Mum, she wants the others not to call her a baby. She’s not a baby, she’s just little.”

Mum looks up at Lissy grinning on Santa’s lap, and pulls out her phone and starts texting.

“She will get what she wants this year, if I’ve got anything to do with it,” Mum says fiercely.

***

Nanna looks at me and smiles. It’s nearly my turn to see Santa. There’s only one person behind me and the shops are starting to shut. I look up at the nice elves in front of me. They’re talking to each other and they seem quite excited. I can’t hear them properly but Nanna always says that it’s rude to listen in on other people’s conversations so I try really hard not to be rude.

“Are you alright?” asks Nanna.

“Yes, Nanna, why?” I ask back.

“Your face was all screwed up, like you were concentrating really really hard,” Nanna says, looking worried.

“I’m trying not to listen to what the elves are saying, you said it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations,” I screw up my face more and poke out my tongue. Nanna laughs and then taps my arm.

“Stop pulling faces, Ricky,” she says, trying not to laugh again. I pull another face and Nanna stops laughing and looks at me the way she does when I’m being naughty. I stop pulling the face.

“Sorry Nanna, I thought you’d find that one funny too,” I look down at my feet as I talk. Nanna squeezes my shoulder and I hug her. I like Nanna. She looks after me a lot before school and after school because Mummy and Daddy are usually at work all the time.

“What do you want from Father Christmas this year?” Nanna asks me.

“I want Mummy and Daddy to spend Christmas with us and not at work like usually,” I say.

“Like they usually are, Ricky,” Nanna tells me.

“I want Mummy and Daddy to spend Christmas at home and not at work like they usually are,” I say. Nanna looks really sad so I hug her again.

“Don’t worry Nanna, I want you there too. I’ve been a good boy this year so Santa will make sure we’re all there,” I say happily. I know I’ve been a good boy, because if I’m naughty Nanna tells me off and I don’t do it again. I’m on the nice list this year and Santa will let me have this present because he’s on the nice list too.

***

I don’t understand why he’s asked to see Santa. He hasn’t for the last two years since Jess and I told him the truth. He didn’t believe us at first, but when we proved it he was heartbroken. Yet he was ten years old and we felt it was time he knew.

“Why do you want to see Santa?” I ask my son.

“Because he can make sure I get what I want for Christmas,” Cal says with a lot of determination.

“Cal, you know he’s just an actor,” I say gently and very quietly so the child on his lap doesn’t hear me. We’re at the front of the line, and the last people in it.

“I don’t care, he can help,” Cal says, sounding close to tears.

“Okay, son, okay,” I grip his shoulder for a couple of seconds. “What is it you’re asking for?” I ask, intrigued by Cal’s extreme reaction. He stares at his feet for a while, for so long I think that he didn’t hear me.

“I want Mum home for Christmas,” Cal says, not looking up and I can hear his voice catching. Because he is staring at his feet, he doesn’t see my giant grin and I hug him tightly. He hasn’t accepted a hug in a long time, he’s too old for that now. But this time he hugs me back just as tightly. I step backwards and he looks up at me, so I rapidly cover my grin.

“Your Mum is very important. Being a soldier isn’t a bad thing, Cal,” I say.

“I know, but I miss her,” Cal says, sniffing and wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve. My phone goes off and I see a text from Jess saying that she’s close. Just then, Santa calls out and the elves beckon us forward.

***

I watch the boy approach; he can’t be much younger than twelve, rather old to be coming to see Santa at the shopping centre. His father moves off to the side, the family resemblance is clear. I look at the boy’s face, tear tracks on his cheeks, and wonder why I do this job. In the last half an hour I’ve had a boy asking for his father not to abuse his mum, a girl wanting to be recognised as a child and not a baby by the people who should already know that, and just now, a boy wanting to spend Christmas with his parents because he’s not sure if they’ll want to see him instead of work.

I plaster a grin on my face as the boy shuffles in front of me. I let out a jolly laugh. Time to be prepared to have another impossible wish asked.

“I’m not going to sit on your lap. I know Santa isn’t real,” the boy says.

“Of course I’m real,” I say. He gives me a knowing look, but says nothing more.

“What’s your name?” I ask, wondering what this boy is trying to get up the courage to say.

“I’m Cal, and that’s my dad over there,” the boy gestures to where the man is standing. The father looks incredibly happy, despite the fact he must be able to see his son is sobbing. I have to calm down. There’s a reason for this behaviour.

“Well, Cal, what is it that you want for Christmas this year?” I ask, voice quieter now. Forget the booming act, I have to make this kid feel better about his Christmas. The boy looks at his feet and mumbles something that’s covered by the sound of jingle bells over the speakers. I stand up and move over to him.

“I’m sorry, lad, but I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” I ask. He looks at me.

“I want my mum home from Iraq for Christmas. It wasn’t a real Christmas without her last year. And she was away on her birthday so I couldn’t give her the present I bought.”

I listen as the boy recalls all of the special occasions his soldier mum has missed this year. I look at his grinning father, who is now also crying, and pointing at a woman approaching. She’s wearing camo gear and carrying a large rucksack over one shoulder.

I kneel down in front of Cal. Turn him around and point.

He runs away from me and towards his mother. She drops the bag and he jumps into her arms. The few people left in the shopping centre start clapping a cheering and the boy is sobbing into his mother’s shoulder. Her husband is doing the same against the other.

I walk away from the grotto area and go to the changing room. I sit heavily on the bench and avert my eyes when the elves walk in. Not that the girls really care. I can’t help it any longer and I let the tears slide out. I know what I just witnessed will be a part of me for the rest of my life. My wife will cry when she hears it, but that’s just because of the pregnancy hormones she will say.

I change into my normal clothes and wish the security guards a Merry Christmas on my way out, as they watch the shouting drunk from earlier being shoved into the back of a police car.