by Ian Edwards
Sarah looked over to where Alan appeared to be laughing to himself.
‘Is he alright?’ Ivy asked.
Sarah sighed. ‘It’s been a long couple of days…’
Chapter 10.
The coach drove through the night, returning to the hotel just in time for breakfast. Alan, Sarah and Frankie made a quick exit from the coach in an effort to avoid Pekka and headed to a local coffee shop.
‘Where’s tonight’s gig?’ Alan asked through a mouthful of Danish pastry.
‘It’s at the…’ Sarah flicked through the screens on her phone until she found what she was looking for, ‘Ho Ho Ho Club.’
Alan exchanged looks with Frankie. ‘It’s where?’
Sarah smirked. ‘The Ho Ho Ho Club. It’s where the Santa’s go. It’s a Santa Bar.’
‘Like the elf bar?’ Alan said.
‘Well no, that was for elves. This one’s for Santa’s.’ She explained patiently.
‘Oh right.’ Alan nodded and went back to his breakfast.
‘You, or rather Pekka, have been booked for the Santa’s Christmas Party.’ She added.
‘How can the Santa’s have a Christmas Party?’ Frankie asked, having been following the conversation with a mixture of disbelief and amazement.
Alan repeated the question.
‘Why not?’ Sarah said. ‘Being a Santa is their job, and like any job they have a Christmas party.’
‘I suppose so,’ Alan said and looked at Frankie, who nodded. ‘Do they have a secret Santa?’ Alan asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘We have a secret Santa box at work. You write your name on a bit of paper, stick it in a box then people pick a name from the box. You have to buy a gift for the name you picked. Normally about five or ten quid,’ Alan smiled. ‘I remember one year I got given a giant willy warmer and the label said “I thought I’d get you one of these as you’re such a big d…”’
‘Alan!’ Sarah barked.
‘What?’
‘I know what a secret Santa is thank you.’
‘OK. So you see how great it would be if the Santa’s had a secret Santa. All the labels would say the same thing. To Santa. It’s brilliant.’
Frankie roared with laughter and even Sarah managed to smile at the thought.
‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘You’re playing at the Santa Christmas Party, but you won’t be headlining.’
‘So Pekka was booked for a gig and he wasn’t even the main attraction?’ Alan asked.
Sarah shook her head. ‘It would appear not. He…’ Sarah checked herself and continued, ‘sorry, you are playing second fiddle to a band.’
‘Must be an Irish band,’ Frankie laughed. ‘What with them having a second fiddle.’
Alan grinned, shaking his head. ‘So, who’s the band?’
Sarah looked down at her phone. ‘Sister Sledge. It says here they were very popular in the 80s and their music lives on here.’
‘Before my time,’ Alan told her.
‘And mine.’ she continued scanning through her phone. ‘Apparently they had a big hit with a song called “Frankie.”’
‘Must be about Frank Sinatra. He’s the only famous Frankie from the 70s and 80s,’ Alan said, trying to keep a straight face.
‘I’m going back to the hotel now,’ Sarah said, finishing her coffee. ‘I’m going to bed for a couple of hours before we have to go to the Ho Ho Ho Club. I didn’t get any sleep on the coach.’
‘I’m not surprised. All that snoring was enough to keep anyone awake.’ Alan agreed.
‘It was your snoring,’ she pointed out.
‘Bloody cheek.’
Frankie was still laughing as Sarah collected her bags and left the coffee shop.
*
The Ho Ho Ho club reminded Alan of every dreadful Christmas grotto he had been dragged to as a child. Sitting on the lap of a less than convincing Santa Claus whose breath smelt of whiskey and mints.
‘Have you been a good boy this year?’ Santa would ask.
Alan would nod and utter a very shy, ‘Yes.’
‘Would you like to put your hand in my sack and take out a present?’ Santa would ask.
Alan would excitedly push his hand into Santa’s sack and take out a present, imagining it would be something he wanted, but when he opened it, it was always a cheap piece of plastic tat.
Alan remembered that the Santa visits stopped suddenly. His parents telling him that Santa was too busy delivering presents to children on the other side of the world to spend time with the local children. It was only much later that Alan realised Santa’s disappearance had more to do with what happened to the kids sitting on his knee than any long distance travelling arrangements.
Alan, Sarah and Frankie stood at the back of the large function room. The stage occupied one end and was, Alan noted, completely covered in Christmas decorations.
‘Is this where the world’s unwanted Christmas decorations are sent?’ Frankie looked around at the tinsel, paper chains, hanging coloured balls and miles of lights dangling from various strings.
‘Would now be a good time to tell you that I’m allergic to tinsel?’ Alan asked.
‘Really?’ Sarah asked.
Alan nodded and feigned a cough. ‘Yep. I have really bad tinselitis.’
Sarah giggled while Frankie groaned.
‘Hey Alan,’ Fredrik suddenly appeared from between several strands of industrial thickness tinsel.
It was still bugging Alan that Fredrik had gone off script the other night. But as Sarah had pointed out, everyone had loved him, and as far as they were concerned it was Alan who had made them laugh.
‘Hey Fredrik,’ Alan reached out to shake his Fredrik’s hand. ‘Are you ready to bring the house down?’
‘Absolutely. Let’s make their Christmas.’
*
‘My mother always used to say…’ Alan bit his lip as the room full of Santa’s roared with laughter. He was now certain they were laughing at Fredrik rather than him. Alan sighed as he waited for the laughter to subside and continued.
‘As I was saying, my mother always used to say make sure you have your name clearly written in your coat. So for the sake of the poor girl in charge of the cloakroom, I really hope you’ve all done that. We wouldn’t want anyone taking the wrong coat now, would we?’
Silence. A few Santa’s grinned up at him, but Alan suspected that had more to do with the free flowing beer than anything he had said. Alan waited while Fredrik’s voiceover finished and sure enough the laughter began again.
Sarah stood at the back of the room, leaning against a mock fireplace decorated with stockings and mistletoe. Occasionally one of the Santa’s would wander over clutching a bottle of beer, lean forward and shout up the chimney. She had no idea what was said but the Santa’s appeared to find it hilarious.
She looked over at the stage. Alan had told her that he was going to do the same set as he had the other night with a few additions for the Santa’s. Sarah found her attention drawn to the audience. It looked for all the world like the Nuremberg rally for Father Christmas’s.
One of the Santa’s peeled away from his group and walked over to Sarah. ‘You’re English,’ he said. It was a statement not a question.
‘How can you tell?’ She asked.
‘You’re not laughing at the comedian,’ he pointed out. ‘’He’s very funny, so I guessed you couldn’t understand him.’
Sarah studied the man in front of her. He reminded her of the images of Father Christmas from her childhood; older and fatter than anyone else in the room and a jolly red face.
‘Your English is very good,’ she said.
‘Thank you. It has to be, what with delivering presents all over the world. You never know when you’re going to have to stop and ask for directions.’
Any further conversation was halted by a roar of laughter from the audience. Sarah and Father Christmas instinctively looked towards the stage.
Alan resisted the temptation to
move from the duct taped cross at his feet. The crowd banged their fists on the tables, a good sign they were enjoying themselves. A constant stream of Santa’s weaved their way through the tables, carrying trays of drinks. He let the laughter subside and continued with his story.
‘So I said, if you think I’m going to eat that mince pie now you’re very much mistaken.’
The audience erupted before he reached the punchline, further evidence that Fredrik wasn’t translating Alan’s act.
As he waited for the laughter to subside, Alan watched a very drunken Santa clamber onto the stage. His first thought was that he had been found out and drunk Santa was about expose his ruse. However drunk Santa had no interest in Alan. Instead he stood up, turned to face the audience and dived straight off the stage.
‘It must be the stress. They need to unwind.’
Alan looked to his left, where Frankie had appeared, hands in pockets.
They both watched as several more inebriated Santa’s climbed up onto the stage before throwing themselves into the crowd.
‘I’d be more impressed if they were throwing themselves down a chimney,’ Alan said. Fredrik translated and the audience erupted again.
A bottle of beer was thrown at the stage missing Alan by inches.
‘I know I’m getting free drinks tonight, but I prefer them in a glass.’
As Fredrik translated Frankie grabbed Alan’s arm. ‘Incoming.’
Alan stepped to one side as another bottle came flying past.
‘I think it’s time we were going,’ Frankie said.
‘OK, that’s it from me. You’ve been a fantastic audience, I’ve been Alan Rose. Goodnight,’ Alan gave the audience a quick wave and jogged off the stage followed by Frankie.
He stood in the wings and listened to the applause and the crash of bottles hitting the stage.
‘Well,’ Frankie said. ‘I don’t think you can be accused of not warning them up for Sister Sledge.’
Chapter 11
Alan, Sarah and Fredrik sat at a corner table drinking bottled beer. The gig had finished an hour ago, and it had taken security an extra half an hour to remove the last of the Santa’s.
Sarah raised her bottle. ‘Congratulations guys, a good couple of gigs.’
Alan and Fredrik clinked their bottles together. ‘Cheers.’
‘What was I talking about tonight?’ Alan asked. ‘It seemed to go down well.’
Fredrik laughed. ‘You had them eating out of the palm of your hand with stories of reindeers, elves and Mrs Claus.’
‘That’s my best routine,’ Alan replied.
‘So what’s the story with this place?’ Sarah looked around the empty venue.
Fredrik took a sip from his bottle. ‘The manager lets me stay around after gigs once the place is closed, just for a quiet drink or two. I thought you guys needed a beer.’ He looked at Sarah. ‘So what’s going on?’
‘What do you mean?’ She queried.
‘You spent the entire evening with one eye on the crowd. You never relaxed once. It was almost like you were expecting trouble.’ He watched her reaction and then added, ‘I know the Santa’s can be a rowdy crowd, but they don’t normally cause trouble.’
Sarah and Alan exchanged glances.
‘We Laplanders are a very perceptive group of people. It’s something to do with being born so close to the Arctic Circle. The magnetic pole probably.’ Fredrik explained.
Sarah looked at Alan and nodded.
‘Well you know…’ Alan began before being distracted by Frankie appearing alongside the table.
‘You should see it out there,’ Frankie nodded towards the door. ‘There’s two Santa’s kicking the living daylights out of each other. Hilarious.’ He looked around the table and realising he was interrupting said, ‘Sorry, carry on like I wasn’t here.’ And sat down in the vacant chair next to Sarah, who shivered.
Alan was tempted to have a look at the fighting Santa’s, but realised both Sarah and Fredrik were staring at him.
‘Everything OK?’ Fredrik asked.
‘Sorry yes,’ Alan said, retrieving his thoughts. ‘Right, where was I? Oh yeah, so Pekka is missing.’
‘Yes, we know that,’ Fredrik said. ‘That’s why we’re all here.’
‘Well…We know where Pekka is.’
Fredrik opened his mouth to speak but Sarah put her hand on his arm. ‘Let him explain.’
‘Pekka came to see us at our hotel on our first night here. He told us he’s gone into hiding and that he wants to leave the country.’
‘He wants to sneak out with us tomorrow on a fake passport,’ Sarah added.
‘Why?’ Fredrik asked.
Alan took a long drink, wiped his mouth and continued. ‘He’s fed up with being the most famous person in Lapland, and he’s fed up with Christmas and everything it stands for.’
‘And?’
Alan looked at Sarah.
‘Go on’ Fredrik urged. ‘I told you I’m very perceptive. I know there’s more.’
‘Well, the other night after the first gig, Pekka’s manager approached us. He wanted to know where Pekka was.’ Sarah said, taking up the story. ‘He was actually quite intimidating. He made it quite clear that if we knew where Pekka was, we were to tell him, or else.’
‘Tell him about the Reindeer head,’ Frankie urged.
‘And yesterday I found a reindeer head in my bed. It was clearly a warning.’ Alan told him.
‘A reindeer head? Oh God…’
‘Thankfully it wasn’t a real head. Just a Christmas decoration,’ Alan explained.
‘Even so, shouldn’t you tell him you don’t know where Pekka is?’ Fredrik said.
‘You see, that’s the problem.’ Alan took a sip from his bottle. ‘He’s following us. Pekka, that is. He keeps popping up wherever we go. He said he was making sure he was close so he could get on the flight home with us.’
Fredrik nodded. ‘I see,’ though he really didn’t see at all.
‘And he wants to marry me,’ Sarah added.
‘Don’t you have a boyfriend in England?’ Fredrik asked.
‘She does, but Pekka’s definitely the better option,’ Alan said, lightening the mood.
Sarah scowled at Alan, said. ‘So Fredrik, you can see the position we’re in.’
Fredrik stood up. ‘OK. I’ll get some more drinks,’ and made his way over to the bar.
They watched as Fredrik took three bottles from the bar fridge before heading back to their table. He glanced out of a window and winced.
‘It’s all kicking off outside,’ he said, distributing the bottles. ‘A couple of Santa gangs are going at it. Don’t worry Sarah,’ he said, seeing her look of fear. ‘It’s quite normal at this time of year. They work all day and let off a bit of steam after a few beers.’
‘I imagine that starts off with a bit of sledging,’ Alan mused.
‘Not cricket fans, obviously,’ Frankie gestured to the puzzled look on Sarah and Fredrik’s faces.
‘Actually, I need to tell you something,’ Fredrik said, changing the subject.
‘Fire away,’ Alan said. ‘We’re not going anywhere right now. Not with the Santa turf war going on outside, and Pekka’s mobster manager after us.’
Fredrik took a drink. ‘Pekka’s manager is a very powerful man. He owns all the comedy venues in Lapland and has a lot of influence on who plays there. The rules are simple for any comedians; you either sign up with him or you can’t get a gig anywhere.’
‘I assume you have haven’t signed up with him?’ Sarah asked.
Fredrik shook his head. ‘No, I decided not to.’
‘That was brave. Why not?’ Alan asked. ‘Surely it’s the only way you’re going to have a career.’
Fredrik shook his head again. ‘He likes to have some creative control. You know, just in case you happen to talk about corrupt managers. Or anything else he doesn’t approve of.’
‘Sounds like a lot of managers in my day.’ Frankie mumbled.
‘Anyway, I thought about it, but in the end I just wasn’t comfortable allying myself with him and what he stands for. Career suicide, really.’
Sarah smiled at him. Alan took a pull on his beer. ‘So, what did you do?’ he asked.
‘I had written lots of material which I thought was really good. Too good to never see the light of day, so I recorded it in a studio. That’s where you came in.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alan asked.
‘I had this great idea to put my material on the internet, so I looked on line for clips of other comedians.’
Sarah rolled her eyes and shook her head.
‘I looked at lots of clips, but it had to be someone relatively unknown. I had almost given up when I came across a clip of Alan, and I thought, yep, this’ll do.’
‘Because you thought I was very funny?’ Alan said.
‘Oh no, I just liked your shirt.’
Sensing Alan’s annoyance, he quickly added, ‘You were funny. It was a good routine. You were doing a story about a large child wedged in a waterslide…Very amusing.’
‘Lost in translation,’ Frankie said.
‘So I dubbed one of my routines over your act and released it onto the internet. I used your name so anyone seeing it and knew you would think it had been dubbed. And I had the satisfaction of seeing my work appreciated without Pekka or his manager knowing what was going on.’
‘Massive in Lapland…’ Alan added.
‘Exactly,’ Fredrik said. ‘I had no idea how popular the clips were going to be. They were suddenly going viral all over Lapland. As you say Alan, suddenly you were massive in Lapland. I enjoyed seeing the reaction, so I recorded some more material and found some more clips of you and you just kept getting more popular.’
‘So when Pekka went missing they called on the biggest comedian in Lapland.’ Sarah confirmed.
‘And the rest is history,’ Fredrik added.
A silence descended across the table as they all considered the implications of Fredrik’s actions.
‘Oh well,’ Alan said at last. ‘If I do end up in the foundations of Lapland’s next building project, at least I’ll have had my moment of fame.’