The Post Box at the North Pole: The perfect cosy and uplifting Christmas romance to curl up with in 2021!

by Jaimie Admans

  He pulls his own blanket over himself and spreads it out so it covers me as well, and then his arm drapes across me over the duvet, and his lips touch my shoulder through my pyjama top.

  ‘Just a little while,’ he murmurs, his voice sounding slurred and half-asleep already.

  His huge arm is across my body, his hand resting on top of the blanket on top of the duvet on my other side, and I want to pull my hand out and slide it down his arm and intertwine my fingers with his, but the idea of having a limb outside the duvet is horrific, so I fit my palm underneath where his is resting, and I can’t help the giggle as his fingers squeeze mine back through the duvet.

  I’m warmer than reasonably possible given the Arctic temperatures, and it’s the cosiest way I’ve ever fallen asleep.

  Chapter 13

  Dear Santa,

  For Christmas, can I have – a skateboard, new trainers, a Nerf water blaster, a PlayStation, and £63,567.

  From,

  Giovanni

  Even though I didn’t expect anything different, Tav’s gone when I open my eyes in the morning, but everything he said last night is still ringing in my ears. Like so many mornings lately, I’m rushing to get dressed because I can’t wait to see him, and I race down the hill in record timing, so eager that I almost consider pulling out the saucer and sledging down. But I’m not quite that brave. Yet.

  I barrel into the house and skid to a halt in the living room doorway, having forgotten to take my boots off and tracked snow through the hallway.

  ‘Good morning.’ Tav sounds bemused at my hurried appearance. He’s sitting in an armchair with both hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee, and looking far too tired for this early in the day.

  ‘Oh, good, you’re here!’ Dad looks up from his tablet, almost bouncing in his seat. ‘We’re trending on Twitter! Something about a little boy and a homeless man. One of the national newspapers back in the UK has picked up the story, and people keep commenting about how their children have got letters from us and are begging their parents to bring them here because this is where the real Santa lives. The dog looks very fetching in the coat you sent him.’

  ‘We’re not giving up on this place,’ I blurt out.

  Tav raises an eyebrow.

  ‘I understand now, Tav. This place is you and we are not going to lose it. You are in every corner, every plank of wood – it’s your love for Christmas and your attention to detail. That is what makes this place so special. I’ve noticed it from the very beginning but I only understood it last night.’

  Dad’s ears prick up at the mention of last night.

  I glance behind me at the reception desk and I can see the visitor book open and covered in Tav’s handwriting. No wonder he looks like this is the first time he’s sat down all morning.

  He notices me looking. ‘Yes, we’re busy at the moment, but interest in Santa nosedives off a cliff on December 26th.’

  ‘No it doesn’t. Kids love Santa all year round. They write to him often, not just at Christmas. This could be a destination twelve months a year. The reindeer are here all year round. People would come to see them outside of Christmas. And it’s not just that. How many months a year are the Northern Lights visible?’

  ‘September to April.’

  ‘Okay, so after Christmas, we rebrand. The North Pole Forest becomes the Northern Lights Forest. How about the summer? What’s good here then? Fishing? Hiking? Bird-watching? Any fjords nearby? How about the opposite of the near-constant darkness in the warmer months – the midnight sun? That would be a pretty amazing thing to see too. And this place embodies the idea of “getting away from it all” – people need that at any time of year. And some people love Christmas and would quite happily celebrate it all year round, so there could still be an aspect of that. This is a winter wonderland for months on end. There is so much more we can do here. You have one hill for sledging, but the place is surrounded by hills. All the snowdrifts, so deep you could literally dive into them. There’s so much space. Why aren’t we having snowman-building contests and snow slides and all the other fun stuff that kids don’t get to experience in the UK and other warmer countries? Back at home, we’re lucky if it snows once a year. This is the complete opposite of the singular day of sleet and the mud-tinged thin layer of snow we’re lucky to get at home. People would come here for so many reasons – not just to see Santa Claus.’

  ‘I know how Hotel Magenta must’ve felt when you came on board,’ Dad says.

  I force myself to ignore that. ‘I don’t think you realise how much of a world away this is from the UK. The only thing we need to do is get people to know about it.’

  Dad taps his tablet. ‘I can’t keep up with my notifications. I’m perpetually five hours behind my mentions on Twitter and I haven’t been brave enough to open my Facebook page yet.’

  ‘Exactly. People are talking about the North Pole Forest. A lot of people who didn’t previously know it existed. Those letters were never meant to go viral, but now we have to make the most of it and engage our followers in other things. Naming the reindeer, for instance. I’ve read so many letters asking about the reindeer. We could run a competition on social media to name them. We could take photos and post facts about them. We could take pictures of the cabins and offer a prize for correctly guessing the theme to each one. We can keep interest going after Christmas and showcase this place for how beautiful it is. You’ve already got bookings for next year. Holidays like this aren’t booked on the spur of the moment; they’re planned months in advance. We have to offer more stuff, because all we’ve got at the moment is Santa and some reindeer. You’ve mentioned Mrs Claus’s cooking lessons and elf workshops – we have to get those restarted because they’re so unique. And there’s that outdoor pursuits place over there.’ I point in a vague direction that’s probably nowhere near where the outdoor pursuits place actually is. ‘They offer the husky dog sledding, snowshoeing expeditions, hiking trails …’

  ‘Skiing, ice fishing, snowboarding,’ Dad interjects.

  ‘Us and them are the only two places around here – I’m sure we could get into some sort of cooperation with them. We could be a stop-off on their trips, a destination to get to, stop at for a hot chocolate and a homemade mince pie, and in return, we advertise their expeditions to our tourists, and vice versa. It would benefit both places, and you borrow their dogs so you must get on with the owners; surely they’d be up for a discussion? There is so much more we can do here. The ice cream parlour, the hot chocolate bar, Mrs Claus’s diner and bakery need to be reopened.

  ‘And I was thinking about those coupons in the bottom of the gift baskets. You make the nearby village sound like a little craft market with people making and selling homemade goods. They already support us by offering our guests discounts, but what if they got more involved? What if we repaired those unused cabins and asked local crafters if they’d like to sell their bits and pieces here? Visitors love a gift shop and we haven’t got one, and there’s no on-site bakery anymore, nowhere to get a cuppa, but if we could add something like that, it would make it like a year-round Christmas market and add non-seasonal interest.’

  I realise it’s been a while since I stopped talking, but instead of saying anything, Tav looks out the window and sips his coffee.

  ‘Why aren’t you excited?’ I try to quell my enthusiasm as I take a step towards him. ‘You’ve got the most can-do attitude of anyone I’ve ever met, but you seem to have given up on this place entirely. Make me understand, Tav.’

  ‘I’ve seen it fail once.’ He looks me directly in the eyes. ‘I’ve failed it once. I had this many ideas when I started. I had this much energy. It didn’t do any good in the end. You’re right – this place means so much to me, and I can’t see it fail again.’

  ‘It won’t. Not while I’m around.’ I give him my best grin, feeling confident because I’m more excited about this than I have been about anything in a really long time. From the moment I set foot here, something
clicked into place, and what I thought would be an awful experience has been magical from start to not-yet-finish. ‘This is a passion project for you, but you have no expertise in marketing. You’re amazing at building, decorating, and boosting the Christmas spirit, but you have no experience of the holiday industry and what tourists would be drawn to.’

  ‘Neither do you!’

  Dad looks between us curiously and Tav backpedals. ‘I mean, you didn’t, before the hotel …’

  I smile at him for still trying to protect my lies even when he’s annoyed at me. ‘What I mean is, you’re seeing this place as a Norwegian. Snow for six months a year is normal to you. It’s not normal to me – it’s exceptional. You advertise as a Santa Claus village rather than a winter destination. There’s so much untapped potential here, and you can’t see it because you’re too close to it, but I have an outsider’s perspective. Plus, staff, Tav. A huge part of why this place is on its last legs is because you cannot do everything yourself and your insistence on trying leads to you sounding as burnt out as you sound right now.’

  ‘People stopped coming, Sash. Christmas doesn’t mean what it used to anymore. People are frazzled and stressed out. Most parents can’t wait for Christmas to be over. They don’t want to add a Christmas-themed holiday to their already frantic lives. To most adults, Christmas is an inconvenience, something they have to put up with to please their kids.’

  ‘Then we need to do something that shows the true meaning of Christmas. To the kids who write those letters, Christmas hasn’t lost its meaning; it’s the old and jaded adults who need to believe in it more than anyone. Like me – you’ve made me believe anything’s possible at Christmas. No, I don’t believe that a mince pie addict in a red suit is going to pop down my chimney on Christmas Eve and leave presents under the tree, but you have made me see Christmas in a whole different light. It can change people’s lives. It can make a bad year better. It can give you something to smile about all year through … What?’ I trail off when I realise they’re both grinning at me.

  ‘I wish your hotel didn’t need you back, Sasha,’ Dad says. ‘You’re exactly what we need around here.’

  ‘Maybe I could wrangle a few extra weeks …’ I know I should tell him, but what if he’s only listening to my ideas because of the respect he has for my job? He thinks I’m talking with this wealth of expertise behind me, and things will change if he knows I’m not.

  ‘It’d be worth it just to see that smile on his face.’ Dad nods to Tav. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that, mate.’

  Tav blushes and springs to his feet so fast he nearly spills what’s left of his coffee. ‘C’mon, we’ve got work to do.’ He disappears into the hallway and the front door clatters shut behind him, and all that’s left is the echo of the clonk as he banged his head on the doorframe.

  ‘When you built this place, you really could’ve sized the doors better,’ I shout after him.

  I’m debating whether I should stay with Dad or go after Tav when Dad holds his tablet up. ‘Sash, can you have a look at this? I’ve got a message from a mum who says her son is on the verge of not believing and can we do something special for him? She thinks it’ll be his last year and she wants him to remember the magic. Can you do something about that?’

  I nod as I take a photo of the screen so I’ve got all the info, and in my head, I’m already composing the letter I could write to him.

  ‘I’m really glad I came here, Dad,’ I say as he closes the cover on his tablet and gets up.

  ‘So am I. I knew you’d love it.’ He comes over and gives me a hug. ‘You and Tav are doing something that money can’t buy with those letters. You talk about doing something to show the true meaning of Christmas but you’ve already started without even realising it.’ He steps back and his watery grey eyes meet mine. ‘I know I haven’t been the father you wanted at Christmas, but this season meant so much to your mum that it was impossible without her. I’m glad you and I have had this chance to reconnect. She’d be happy if she’s looking down on us.’ He blinks for a moment and I’m not sure which one of us is going to cry first, but then he exclaims, ‘Beard curls!’ and grabs his tongs from the mantelpiece and “ho ho ho”s his way out to the mirror in the hallway.

  I stare after him, surprised by his hasty departure and by the mention of Mum. That’s the most he’s ever spoken about her. And that’s still all there is. Even after all these years, that’s still the best explanation he’s willing to give. Yes, Christmases were hard without Mum, but he still won’t look me in the eye and tell me why he thought they’d be easier to cope with alone rather than together.

  Same old Dad, and not in a good way. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve felt like we might be getting somewhere, but we’re clearly not. I call a goodbye over my shoulder as I go outside and scream in fright when Tav pushes himself off the wall of the house where he was leaning.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, trying not to laugh at how much I jumped. ‘I was going to stomp off down the road and then I realised I’d rather talk to you instead.’

  It makes me smile and a warmth settles over me, soothing the unease of Dad’s abrupt exit. Even standing next to Tav is like being wrapped in a snuggly blanket. Him being close warms some part of me from the inside out.

  ‘Which bruise did you add to this time?’ I incline my head so he ducks down and I reach up to let my fingers stroke gently at the side of his forehead.

  ‘All of them,’ he murmurs, his eyes drifting closed and his head growing heavier in my hand. ‘Although if this is the response, I might have to start deliberately walking into doorframes.’

  While I could stand there tucking his hair back all day, eventually Tav stands back up to full height and my hand falls away. He offers me his arm as we step off the porch and start walking down the road.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, just …’ I sigh. ‘Just Dad. He seems to be limited to one sentence about Mum before he overloads and rushes off. I thought we were reconnecting and moving forward since I’ve been here, but he still acts like he’s the only one who lost her. I’ve spoken about her more to you than I’ve spoken to my own father.’

  He squeezes my arm against his ribs. ‘An honour I’ll never forget.’

  I roll my eyes, but it makes me smile when what I really want to do is shake Dad and beg him to tell me something real.

  I can hear noise in the distance, a vague chatter-like sound. ‘What’s that?’

  He takes his phone out and pulls up the Wi-Fi link to the security cameras. ‘The car park’s full.’ He holds it out to show me the live image on screen. ‘That is the noise of about fifty families lining up to see Santa and the reindeer.’

  ‘And it’s not even nine o’clock.’ I nudge my shoulder into his arm. ‘This is going to work, Tav.’

  ‘It’s been years since I saw the car park like that.’

  ‘And that’s just people who live within driving distance. Others will come too. You’ll see.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He squeezes the arm that’s slotted through his and holds it tighter against his side. ‘I don’t mean to sound so negative, because I really appreciate your help, but I got my hopes up last year with your dad. He had so many plans. He had the money to invest in what we needed. And obviously I know his health is far more important and the fact he hasn’t been well enough isn’t his fault, but that elation of selling it to someone who loved it as much as I did, and then the soul-crushing crash of realising it wasn’t to be … This place means so much to me – too much, probably – and I’ve spent the past few months coming to terms with letting it go, and now I can feel your excitement building in me too, and I don’t want to go through that again.’ He looks down at me and looks away as soon as our eyes meet. ‘And what about you? You’re leaving. Are you still going to force your dad to sell up?’

  My fingers curl tighter into his forearm through his coat sleeve. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, because I honestly don’t. Seeing how happy
he is does change things, but the facts remain that he’ll be eighty in a couple of months and he’s had a heart attack. It’s only minus-ten at the moment – pretty balmy for a December day here. It can’t be sensible for him to stay.

  He makes a noise of approval, and while I’m sure he’s itching to push the matter, he doesn’t. ‘And you’re really going to stay a bit longer?’

  A lump springs to my throat because the thought of delaying my departure brings to mind the thought of leaving and somehow having to go back to normal life in the UK and carry on like I don’t know the North Pole Forest exists. Or Tav. I glance up at him. I can’t imagine carrying on with life like I haven’t met him.

  Even without an answer, he smiles but keeps his eyes on the road ahead. ‘Good. Because I’m starting to wonder what the hell I’m going to do without you.’

  I hold his arm so tightly that he’d probably have bruising if it weren’t for the protective padding of his coat. I’m about to choke out some garbled response when I catch sight of two people walking towards us looking very … bright. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘That’s Anja and Nils. They’re a married couple who used to work here. They used to run the workshop, but after what you said about staff last night, I asked if they’d come in to help out until Christmas. Because I’m not a complete idiot and I know we can’t manage on our own.’

  ‘That’s good, right? I mean, if you realise you can’t do something alone, things must be going well.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ he says sarcastically, except when I meet his eyes, there’s a softness in them that makes me want to pull him to a halt and forcibly hug him.

  Thankfully we reach the pair coming up the road before I have a chance to do anything stupid. They’re both dressed in red and green striped trousers under their red coats, with matching plastic points on their ear tips and stripy hats on their heads with bells jingling from the tip. Tav introduces us and we all shake hands and they quickly go to warm up with a cuppa before the gates open.