26

Sitting in the car I press the damp cloth to his eye and listen sympathetically to everything he’s saying as I try not to laugh.

“They’re diabolical,” he says for the third time. “When I told that little boy he couldn’t have a gun he leant up and deliberately, deliberately , poked me in the eye with his hard little finger. The tiny asshole’s lucky I didn’t put him across my knee and thrash him.”

“That’s why you have the naughty list,” I bite my lip to stop laughing. “You did well, Chris, considering the tough crowd.”

“Tough crowd alright. Where did all these little monsters come from?”

I take the cloth from his bloodshot eye and put my hands on either side of his face, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

“It’s not always going to be like this. You met many sweet children too, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t bite any of them.”

I laugh.

“You know what I mean. And you have to understand, this was the only Santa show in town, and it was free. You were bound to get a cross-section of society bringing their kids down. One year when I brought Katie and Roger here there was an all-out brawl when Santa ran out of candy before he could see half the kids. Another year we had a female Santa because no one else was available, and almost every child pinched or punched her and announced she ‘wasn’t the real Santa’ — she left crying. It was horrific to watch. So, on a scale of one to ten I’m telling you that you were easily an eight.”

“Merri,” he sighs. “There must be some mistake. Surely a real Santa would love little people, have a beard, be fat, and enjoy the cold. I’m none of those things.”

I shake my head and wave at a woman passing by. She looks sad, and I roll my window down as she walks past, two cat boxes in her mittened hands. I recognise her as the woman who runs the local animal shelter. I usually donate each year, but in all the chaos with the separation, I’d forgotten this Christmas.

“Cindy.”

“Merri,” she smiles over her shoulder, opening the back of her van and sliding the boxes in among a whole swathe of others, before turning to walk towards us.

“Merry Christmas.”

“And to you,” she sighs, leaning into my window, her eyes widening when she sees Chris.

“Ah, this is Chris. Chris this is Cindy. She runs the local cat shelter.”

“Hi, Chris.”

“Hi,” Chris smiles his dazzling smile, the pain in his eye forgotten. “May I?”

He points towards the van.

“Sure, take a look,” Cindy smiles, unable to resist his infectious grin.

“How’s it going with the shelter?” I ask as Chris gets out and makes his way to the van. “I just realised I didn’t donate this year. Will you take some cash now?”

“Ah, oh that would be wonderful, Merri. I’ve just spent the morning staffing the shelter’s stall. You know every year we try to convince people not to buy kittens and puppies for presents. We ask them to rehome an orphaned animal if they’re thinking of a pet as a gift. I really try to bring a selection available for adoption to entice them.”

“And it didn’t go so well, huh?”

“You could say that,” she sighs, gesturing to her van full of cat boxes, as Chris croons to the occupants. “I just don’t know what to do. We’ve got a shelter full of cats, and many are facing their last days. It’s like people just don’t care.”

“Last days?” Chris interjects. “They don’t look old. Most of these are kittens.”

I sigh.

“She means they’re going to get put down, Chris. The shelter can only keep cats and dogs for seven days, then they have to make way for new ones.”

“Put down?”

“Yeah,” Cindy sighs. “The green dream.”

“Green dream?”

“Killed,” I say gently.

“Anyway,” Cindy shrugs, “I’d better get going, they’ll feel the cold soon.”

“We’ll take them all,” Chris says, turning to me. “Won’t we, Merri?”

“No,” I shake my head. “The county only allows two cats per household. And I’m not ready for any more responsibility just yet.”

“But we can’t allow them to be killed,” Chris says quietly, reminding me so much of the children he professes to loathe.

“Now isn’t the best time, Chris…”

I don’t bother adding that I might very well be homeless in a matter of weeks.

“Just one?”

He holds up a box containing a tiny white kitten. I imagine it would blend with the snow perfectly if he shook it out and let it run away. It’s so white, it reminds me of his wings.

I take in his hopeful expression and, sighing, give in. I’ve always been a sucker for animals, and I’ve wanted cats for a long time but couldn’t have them because James is allergic.

“You’ve twisted my rubber arm,” I shake my head and smile at Chris as he grins and reaches towards the back of the van to retrieve another box.

“We’ll take four,” he beams at Cindy. “Thank you.”

“What? Wait, Chris!”

“Two each,” he laughs as he loads the boxes into the back of the car. “That’s the law.”

“That’s the limit,” I splutter incredulously. “It doesn’t mean we have to have that many.”

Chris laughs and gets into his seat.

“You have a wonderful Christmas,” Cindy says to us as I start my car, still shaking my head as we turn for home.