by Karen Swan
She nodded again. Talking was clearly tiring for her.
‘What do you hope he’ll bring you?’
‘Some cat socks.’
‘Cat socks? That’s it?’ Lee wrinkled her nose. ‘I think you should be thinking a whole lot bigger than just cat socks.’
‘They’ve got pictures of my cat on them. She had to go live with my granny because her fur makes me too sick. Granny sends me videos of her, but I miss her.’
Lee’s heart broke a little. ‘Oh, well, that’s different then – socks with your cat on them would be pretty cool. What’s your cat called?’
‘Nibbles.’
She grinned. ‘Cute. Did you name her?’
Amelie nodded. ‘When she was a kitten, she would take these tiny little bites of her dinner and her nose would twitch.’
‘What a character—’ She looked up as one of the nurses came through, clapping her hands excitedly.
‘Hey kids, guess who’s come to see you all today?’
Lee looked back at Amelie with excited eyes, giving her a wink. She rose and readied her camera as the children all sat up in their beds expectantly. The doors swung open and Sinterklaas came through, carrying his signature big book of names and followed by a procession of kids in wheelchairs and on crutches, plastered limbs jutting out at right angles.
Lee immediately began clicking, not shots of the great man, but of the children as they gathered around him, touching and admiring his red velvet robe and mitred hat, his sceptre, the bushy white eyebrows and long, flowing white beard, which was matched by equally long, crimped hair. The commitment to the costume was a significant step-up from the rather feeble Father Christmas outfits she had seen growing up in England, where a pillow was stuffed under a thin red velveteen jacket and the straggly white beard was attached by elastic ear loops.
She saw the wonder in the children’s eyes as he began talking to them all, asking whether they’d been good, and she worked quickly – glad she was forgotten now, a background figure, able to get the images she wanted – capturing spontaneous laughs, eyes that shone, heads that were raised.
He went over to the boy in the first bed and sat on the edge of it, carefully holding open his large book. ‘Now then. Tomasz—’
The little boy’s mouth opened in amazement that Sinterklaas knew his name without having to ask.
‘—have you been a good boy this year?’ The bushy white eyebrows rose up questioningly.
Tomasz nodded.
‘Well, let us see.’ Sinter ran his finger down the page, stopping a third from the bottom. There was a short pause. ‘Hmm. It says here you painted your father’s car.’
‘Because it had scratches from when mama hit a bollard in the car park.’
‘I see.’ Sinter looked at Tomasz from the depths of his snowy white hair. ‘Well then, that was kind of you to try to colour it in.’
Tomasz nodded earnestly.
Sinter read some more. The eyebrows went up again. ‘And I see you let your sister’s rabbit out of its hutch.’
‘It wanted to run around the garden. It was bored.’
Lee had to suppress a bark of laughter, but she wasn’t entirely successful and Sinter’s eyes swivelled towards her briefly. She remained hidden behind her camera but she saw, through the crystalline clarity of her 35mm lens, the eyes of a man significantly younger than the plumes of white hair suggested.
‘Yes, well, again, that’s very . . . kind of you, Tomasz. I can see that you’re a caring boy. That’s why you’re on my list of Good Children.’
‘I am?’ Tomasz breathed a sigh of relief.
‘And because you’re such a good boy—’ Sinter turned the page on his ledger to a large blank sheet of paper and, with a navy felt-tip pen, drew in the space of a few brushstrokes an image of a rabbit with enormous, outsized twitchy ears. Across the bottom, he wrote: Kindness echoes. ‘That’s for you. To remember to keep being kind.’
Lee clicked away, both impressed and intrigued. She hadn’t realized Sinterklaas did party tricks! Nor that he had such sexy eyes. Who knew?
‘Oh sorry, I thought this was the ladies,’ she said, stopping in the doorway, one hand still on the door.
‘Unisex,’ the man replied, glancing at her in the mirror. He was stuffing something into a bag.
‘Oh.’
‘. . . I’m leaving anyway,’ he added, seeing how she still hesitated. He shrugged on a coat, his eyes grazing questioningly over her inert reflection, catching sight of the bag slung across her body. He turned suddenly, looking at her more closely, as though she had just come into focus. ‘Wait – aren’t you the photographer?’
Her gaze fell in turn to the large bag on the floor beside him. A tuft of snowy-white hair was tickling out the top. ‘You’re Sinter?’ she gasped.
The man stopped moving and looked guilty, as though he’d been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t. ‘Don’t tell me you still believe?’ he asked slowly.
Lee laughed at his joke, walking in and letting the door close slowly behind her. ‘I’m English, I only believe in Santa Claus!’ she quipped. ‘I just can’t believe you’re Sinter. You’re like . . . a baby!’ He couldn’t be more than . . . thirty-ish?
‘They’re what do it.’ He waggled his eyebrows, even though they were no longer white. He watched her scrutinize him, trying to marry the image of the dark-haired, dark-eyed man in here with the hirsute septuagenarian from the children’s ward. The scarlet robes had been swapped for dark jeans and boots; he had artfully scruffy, loosely curly chestnut-brown hair, with exceptionally round and dark eyes. His skin was olive, but pale at this time of year, a prickle of stubble along his jaw. Nonetheless, there was a certain porcelain-like quality to him, a generous Renaissance beauty in his features. He would be able to walk out of here, through a crowd of the very children he had just delighted and enchanted, and not one of them would be able to guess his alter ego. ‘I’m Sam, by the way.’
‘Hi, Lee.’ They shook hands and she felt an instant spark of attraction leap between them.
He smiled. ‘I’m amazed I recognized you. You may not have been in costume but you practically wore that camera like a mask.’
‘Just how I like it,’ she conceded. ‘It’s like my very own invisibility cloak.’
‘You didn’t lower the camera once, from what I saw.’
‘Got to be ready. Can’t miss the shot.’ She shrugged.
‘Do you do this regularly then?’
‘Photographing the kids?’ She stuck her hands in her pockets. ‘Not really, just at this time of year. I offer my services in the run-up to St Nicholas’ Day. It’s nice to try and get some happy photos of the kids, you know? For them and their families. It must be so hard for them being in a place like this at this time of year.’
‘That’s really kind of you.’
There was a pause as they both remembered Tomasz. They grinned. ‘Are you going to draw a rabbit for me too?’ she chuckled.
‘If you’d like.’ His eyes shone with amusement as he watched her and she felt the spark ignite into a small flame.
She ran her hands through her hair. ‘. . . So are you an artist then?’
He nodded. ‘Full-time artist. Very occasional Sinter.’
‘Do you do Santa Claus too?’
‘Actually I do,’ he grinned. ‘But not the Easter Bunny. Every self-respecting man’s got to draw the line somewhere.’
‘Of course. The Easter Bunny’s the line, everyone knows that,’ she said, aware she was grinning madly too. She needed to stop grinning.
But his smile had crept into his eyes and curled his mouth into a curve so that for a few moments more they stood there, two strangers grinning inanely in the toilets.
She heard a silence start up as their smiles lingered and she realized the conversation would now have to turn into something more consciously sustained than just passing chit-chat, or dwindle out altogether.
‘Well, I . . . I’ll leave you in peace,�
� he said reluctantly, gauging the same dilemma. He lifted the bag and walked around her. ‘It was nice meeting you, Lee.’
‘Yeah—’ She was scanning her brain, trying to think of something to say, something to keep him from leaving, something that didn’t sound completely desperate. But he was at the door already. ‘Hey, Sam.’
He turned.
‘You don’t do . . . house visits, do you?’ She smiled, knowing her cheeks were flaming.
‘House visits?’ He looked confused but definitely interested, the spark still flickering between them.
‘Yeah. Uh, my little boy is five—’
‘Oh.’ She saw the fire die in his eyes.
She swallowed hard again, wanting to tell him right here, right now, that he had nothing to worry about, that she was not looking for a father for her kid. But she couldn’t tell him yet what she was looking for either. That would be premature, precocious, and they were, after all, still just two strangers making small talk in a unisex hospital toilet. ‘I’m a . . . single mum, so he never really has anyone to do the Sinter thing with. His godfather has dressed up a few times, but the costumes are so bad I worry he’ll stop him believing!’
Sam watched her for a moment, digesting the information she’d just given him. Mother. But single. The ball was in his court . . . ‘Well, the costume’s borrowed,’ he said after a moment. ‘But I reckon I could get them to let me hold onto it for a bit longer.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, although I’m not looking forward to having to rip those eyebrows off again. I feel like I waxed myself.’ He checked his eyebrows’ appearance in the mirror quickly, dabbing them gently. They were still slightly red.
Lee chuckled. ‘That would be amazing. I can’t tell you how much he’d love it.’
‘He’s five, you said?’
‘Yes, his name’s Jasper.’
He walked back towards her and put the bag down, taking out his phone. ‘Well, if you can write a short list of some of the good and naughty things he’s done this year, and give it to me when I turn up, I’ll put it in the book of shame . . .’ he said in a funny Halloween voice, looking up at her from beneath his lowered lashes and making her stomach somersault.
‘Okay,’ she grinned, feeling girlish. She never felt girlish. ‘We’ve got a potted bay tree on the top step. What if I put it in there for you so you’ve already got it before we come to the door?’
‘You’ve done this before, I can tell,’ he teased, standing close enough that she could smell his scent. ‘So . . . what’s your address?’
Their eyes caught as she gave it to him and a tiny, distant voice was telling her she was crazy to be giving her home address to a complete stranger. This was not the sort of thing she did. But he was a stranger who dressed up as Sinter for the kids in hospital. And he was an artist. Artists never turned out to be axe murderers.
‘. . . Bloemgracht’s great, I love the Jordaan district,’ he murmured, tapping it in. He looked back at her, locking eyes again, sending the flame between them flickering wildly, as though someone had just opened a door. ‘So when were you thinking?’
She shrugged, trying not to look as startled by his presence as she felt. ‘When’s best for you? We’re always around.’
‘Well, I’ve got stuff on for the rest of the day and this evening. How about tomorrow night?’
‘Oh. We can’t tomorrow.’ She gave an apologetic shrug. ‘But other than that, we’re always around.’
He grinned. ‘Sunday then? Seven-ish?’
‘That would be great. And I’ll pay you, obviously. I mean, I don’t expect you to . . . just do this out of the kindness of your heart.’
‘Why not?’
She was surprised by the question. ‘Because people . . . don’t?’
He was looking at her still; he had a way of regarding her, as though he was intending to draw her, observing her mannerisms and funny, nervous tics. She felt him absorbing her. She felt sucked in, magnetically drawn to him.
‘Or, how about a glass of wine afterwards instead?’
‘Wine . . . wine would be good,’ she smiled, feeling her heart rate go into overdrive.
‘Great.’ He picked up his bag again. ‘So then I’ll see you on Sunday. I’ll turn up in the costume, just in case Jasper answers the door. It should be a great look on my cycle over.’ He rolled his eyes.
She laughed. ‘You might be mobbed.’
‘I’ll just have to cycle fast then. See you Sunday.’
‘Yeah, see you.’ She watched the door swing closed behind him and gave a small squeal of excitement. Had that really just happened? She sank against the basin and bit her thumbnail excitedly. Roll on Sunday.
Chapter Five
Lee sat on the refectory table, elbows on her knees and hunched over, as Mila moved around the kitchen like it was her own. Mila was dressed in a frilly blue gingham apron with cherries embroidered on it, which had been intended as an ironic birthday present for Lee several years back from her friend Noah, but which Mila wore in all seriousness. She knew far better than Lee where Lee’s own colander was kept and that she actually had paprika (expiry date November 2014) in her spice rack.
‘I really think it suits you,’ Lee nodded, watching her friend chop some pak choi.
‘Yeah?’ Mila put a hand to her sleek, dark-haired head. The move from ‘student long’ to ‘elfin crop’ had been dramatic, but then so had her recent break-up with yet another man who’d forgotten to mention he had a wife.
‘It’s a good sign – indicative of changes for the better. Not to mention,’ Lee said, earnestly stabbing the air with a finger, ‘quicker in the mornings.’
‘Well, so long as it’s efficient,’ Mila quipped.
They heard heavy footsteps on the stairs and looked towards the door. Lee had deliberately left the door on the latch for her friends – it looked fully closed from the street but nonetheless it left her jumpy and she didn’t take her eyes from the doorway until she saw her friend’s large bulk emerge.
‘Noah! Did you bring the beef?’ Mila asked with obvious relief. ‘Please say you got my text?’
‘Of course.’ He held up a bag and handed the swag over to her as she reached on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
‘You are a star. Cheers,’ she added in English.
‘It will never cease to amaze me how coming to dinner at yours . . .’ Noah said, bending down to wrap Lee in a bear hug. His strawberry-blonde beard tickled her skin, his sudden warmth like a tranquilizer shot. ‘. . . Means we supply the food and cook it!’
Lee gave him a sweeter-than-sweet smile. ‘Excuse me. I’m providing the space and the booze and the cute kid. None of you has one of those, and they’re expensive to hire.’
‘Well, we can’t be sure Liam’s not got a few dotted around the city. The way he gets around,’ Mila tutted.
Lee and Noah swapped amused looks. It appeared to be evident to all but Mila that she was wildly in love with their raffish friend.
‘He is coming tonight, right?’ Lee asked, having another sip of her drink. ‘I’ve not heard otherwise.’
‘Yeah, he’s on his way. He said he was stopping in at some drinks thing first, on the way over,’ Noah replied.
‘Well, so long as we’re not cramping his style,’ Mila said, sipping her drink too.
‘And where is my handsome god-thing?’ Noah asked, looking around the huge space.
Noah was her son’s second favourite person in the world and Lee smiled, watching and waiting for his joyous welcome. Sure enough, a second later, his cheeky face appeared around the back of the sofa. ‘Here I am!’
‘Jazz King!’
Lee watched as her son raced across the floor and into Noah’s outstretched arms. He was a bear of a man even to her; she could only imagine how gigantic he seemed to Jasper. Noah swung him around, his little feet flying high through the air (this was another valid reason why not too much stuff was a good option for them – less to knock over).
&nbs
p; ‘How’s my main man?’
‘I knocked a cyclist into the canal.’
‘No way?’ Noah exclaimed, bursting out laughing and holding up his hand for a high five. ‘Ten points!’
‘Not helpful!’ Lee groaned, chuckling too.
‘You’ve grown again. Let me see how tall you’re getting.’
Jasper went and stood beside Noah, stretching himself as tall as he could. The top of his head came to Noah’s thigh. ‘Very good. You were down here last time,’ Noah said solemnly, dropping his hand an inch, even though they’d seen each other only last week. ‘Sinterklaas will be pleased with you. You’re obviously eating your dinners and going to sleep on time. Have you had any visits from Zwarte Piet?’
‘Yes. He’s brought me pepernoten and chocolate letters,’ Jasper said, pointing to the tiny clog left out by the fire. It already had tonight’s offering of a carrot and a handwritten poem in it.
‘Huh. I think I know someone who can go one better on pepernoten and chocolate letters . . .’ Noah arched an eyebrow as Jasper began jumping up and down excitedly. Slowly he reached into his coat pocket and drew out a slim package.
‘A lightsaber!’ the child cried as he tore off the packaging. Noah shrugged off his coat and sank onto one of the bar stools, watching on with a pleased smile.
‘You are spoiling him,’ Lee said sternly, getting up and planting a kiss on his forehead. He was the best father surrogate she could have hoped for in her son’s life and every day she was more glad she’d had the foresight to ask him to play this role. They had first met when she had just arrived in the country with her newborn, knowing no one but Mila. While she was escaping the rain one day, on one of her endless long walks trying to get Jasper to sleep, Noah – as a driver on one of the city’s hop-on/hop-off canal-boat tours – had let her stay on his boat for seven full circuits of the city. The gentle movement of the boat had helped Jasper settle, so she had gone back the next day too, as eager for adult conversation as for the baby to nap. Within two days, she knew Noah’s patter to the tourists off by heart and within the week, his life story. He was one of the dearest people in her life; the brother she had never had. ‘You’re undoing all my hard work.’