Santa Maybe

by Scarlett Bailey

  ‘You may speak,’ Pressburger said, sitting back in his chair.

  ‘First of all, can I just say my mum loves A Matter of Life and Death,’ Amy said. ‘She’d be so excited to know that I’d met you. Is there any chance of an autograph?’

  ‘Amy!’ Santa dug her in the ribs. ‘Focus!’

  ‘Oh yes. Right, well, the way that cross-looking Rita Hayworth woman tells it, isn’t how it happened at all. Santa has done all he could to help me since the moment we met. He made me realise I was wasting my life pining after a man who didn’t deserve me and that my one great regret was nothing to regret at all, he helped me find my father and has given me the chance to get to know and understand him at last. And he took me to Cornwall to ask me to marry him, which is the right and proper thing to do. It’s not his fault that I said no.’

  ‘Well, if she said no, if the girl doesn’t love him then what is all the fuss about?’ Powell asked, looking confused.

  ‘Because the girl does love him,’ Amy said, having to speak up to make herself heard over a sudden burst of chatter from the crowd. ‘I love him very, very much. And I’d marry him like a shot, but I can’t leave my family and friends, I can’t leave my mum and my dad, and I can’t disappear from the world. And that’s why I’m here – to ask you to make my Christmas wish come true. To let me have both.’

  ‘Have both?’ Nicky cried out, slamming her hands down on the desk. ‘What sort of greedy vixen is this?’

  ‘All I’m saying is it’s a silly rule,’ Amy said, eliciting murmurs of disapproval from the crowds again. ‘No one knows or cares what Santa’s wife looks like. If I came back home to see my family, even if it was only twice a year say, then who would know? I could have a cover story. Say I was working abroad, or something. And then in a few years, perhaps bring the grandchildren to visit. Maybe make the odd call. What difference would that make, really?’

  ‘What difference would that make?’ Powell asked Pressburger, perplexed.

  ‘It has never been done before,’ Nicky said. ‘This is the way it has always been.’

  ‘Yes, but there wasn’t e-mail, or texting or Skype before,’ Amy said. ‘I’d be a good Mrs Santa, one of the best. I’m excellent at delivering presents, I look good in faux fur and I know I could make him very, very happy. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? A jolly Santa. I could do that for him. But I can’t give up my family, the people I love too. I just can’t. You give me one sensible reason why I should.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Amanda muttered as the two judges bent their heads together to confer. ‘I hope you weren’t too demanding. Celestial Court isn’t really the place for demanding.’

  Amy looked up at Santa, but he said nothing, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he gripped her hand.

  ‘Santa,’ Powell interjected. ‘What do you have to add?’

  ‘I love this woman,’ Santa said. ‘With all my heart, and I can’t take her away from those people that are so important to her, I won’t. I want her to be happy. I know that this is the way things have been for all of time, and I can understand why you wouldn’t change that for me. I don’t expect you to. I resign. I resign from the post of Santa, and I ask only that when you return Amy to her life she will remember nothing of me at all, and that she will find the happiness she deserves somewhere else.’

  ‘No!’ Amy gasped. ‘No, no, that’s not what I want at all!’

  ‘Even though when you are returned to earth you will have no memory of your life here, no memory of Amy Tucker and no chance of ever finding another love?’ Pressburger asked.

  Santa nodded.

  ‘Very well,’ Powell said. ‘We have decided.’

  ‘What have you done?’ Amy said to Santa. ‘Don’t let this happen, please! I don’t need to be happy. I can be miserable forever, please don’t let him give all this up for me!’

  ‘We have ruled,’ Pressburger said firmly. ‘Christmas is a time of joy. A time of giving, forgiving and showing the light to every darkest corner. But most of all it’s about love, and here we can see two people who understand that more than most. We are ruling in your favour, Amy Tucker. You may marry Santa, immediately, and you may have three visits home a year, and limitless texts.’

  Santa and Amy stared at their judges as the courtroom erupted in thunderous cheers, and Laura-Anne’s angels broke out into, really, quite appalling song.

  ‘There is just one more thing,’ Amy said. ‘Can my family come to the wedding?’

  24. We Wish You a Merry Christmas!

  SOMEONE HAD PULLED the moon a little closer so that it shone even brighter than ever in the sky, like a lantern turning the snow-covered landscape into a winter wonderland of glittering silver.

  Really there had been no need for any further decorations, but word had spread as fast as Rudolph after three buckets of coffee. By the time Santa, Amy and Amanda made it back to Lapland, the elves had garlanded the trees with what might have been thousands of fairy lights, or even thousands of fairies as they seemed to shimmer, flit and float in and out of the branches. The beautiful Christmas trees all led the way to a tiny chapel that Amy hadn’t noticed before as it was tucked behind the flashing neon lights of the Holly and the Ivy.

  ‘Chop! Chop!’ Laura-Anne was marshalling her motley crew of new recruits towards the chapel where they would no doubt be providing an approximation of musical accompaniment.

  ‘Have you got a song?’ she asked Amy and Santa as she waved them in through the double doors.

  ‘A song?’ Amy asked. ‘You mean like our song?’

  ‘Yes!’ Laura-Anne said impatiently. ‘Something that means something to both of you.’

  Santa and Amy stared at each other for a moment, simultaneously realising that they had never had that moment, that special song, that ‘which bands do you like, which books do you read’ moment. Principally, because they’d been far too busy falling in love, not to mention indulging in a great deal of kissing, to be bothered.

  ‘Surprise us,’ Santa said. ‘And choose carefully, Laura-Anne, because whatever you lot start singing now, that will be our song for life.’

  ‘I suppose that rules out the theme tune from Fame then,’ Laura-Anne grumbled as she girded her loins and prepared to attempt to drag something tuneful out her angels.

  Amy laughed as she looked up into Santa’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe that we are getting married! Now!’

  ‘It is quite sudden,’ Santa said, looking a little nervous.

  ‘Having second thoughts?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not at all. I just…wow. This is the most important moment of my life!’ Santa said. ‘Wow,’ he said again. ‘I just want to take it all in.’

  ‘Me too,’ Amy said fondly. ‘Um, any chance you could wish me back my wedding dress?’

  ‘No,’ Santa said as Heather, Becca and Kirsty appeared. ‘Follow these girls, they’ll take you to get ready. There’s a dress, apparently. It’s tradition.’

  ‘A traditional wedding dress?’ Amy said, a little disappointed, envisioning an out-of-date frumpy meringue. Still it wasn’t the dress that mattered, she told herself. It was the man waiting for her at the altar.

  ‘This is the funniest dream I’ve ever had,’ Amy heard a familiar voice say, as she turned to see her mum, Jack, her dad and his partner Kevin dressed to the nines, clambering out of a yellow sleigh, with a flashing ‘taxi’ sign at its rear.

  ‘One minute I’m dreaming my Amy’s in the kitchen talking about marrying Santa, and now this!’ Sally said, clutching onto a fur-trimmed hat that neatly complemented her mother-of-the-bride outfit. ‘Still it’s nice you’re here, Roger. That’s the way it should be. Even if this is a dream wedding. A dream wedding! Get it?’

  ‘And look at those lights,’ Roger said admiringly. ‘What a lovely venue.’

  ‘Mum!’ Amy called out, beckoning Sally over. ‘You’re here just in time. Will you help me get ready?’

  ‘And quickly, bec
ause she’s got about five minutes,’ Heather said.

  ‘Yes, darling, anything to get you out of that ghastly elf outfit. No offence,’ Sally said, smiling at Amy’s bridesmaid-elves.

  ‘And, Dad.’ Amy stopped in front of Roger. ‘Will you give me away?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’d be honoured.’

  *

  The angels were singing, none too badly as it turned out, a very angelic version of Bon Jovi’s ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ as Amy and Roger stood at the end of the aisle.

  Despite her earlier worries about her outfit, Amy was so excited she had scarcely noticed what the elves had dressed her in. However, it was beautiful. Made of white velvet, it somehow fitted her like a glove. It had an off the shoulder neckline trimmed with fur and it was stitched with silver embroidery that covered every inch until the crystal-trimmed hem. The elves must have included jingle bells somewhere, invisibly, in the detail, because Amy chimed with every step.

  They had also wound a crown of mistletoe and ivy into her hair and at her throat a diamond pendant presented to her by Roger. She wasn’t sure where it had come from – whether her dad had bought it or whether it was just another bit of Christmas magic, but it was perfect.

  Santa was waiting for her by the altar, dressed from head to foot in a white non-Santa-style suit, and he looked so beautiful that Amy almost ran up the aisle to be with him. He looked so happy and so handsome as he waited for her.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Roger whispered in her ear, just as they approached the altar where Amanda was waiting to preside over the ceremony.

  ‘Like the luckiest woman in the universe,’ Amy said, as finally she reached Santa’s side.

  ‘Dearly Beloved,’ Amanda began.

  *

  When Amy opened her eyes the next morning she was smiling. She stretched out her arms, rolling on to her side to get her first look at her new husband in the daylight. A crease formed between her brows when Amy realised that Santa was not there. Nor, come to think of it, were the fur throws that had kept them so cosy and warm last night. In fact, it looked exactly like her duvet in her bedroom at home…

  Amy sat bolt upright like a shot, looking around her to discover that she was indeed at home. In her flat. In Peckham. With no sign of Santa, or a magical journey of discovery, culminating in her marriage to the man of her dreams.

  ‘No!’ Amy said out loud as she scrambled out of bed. ‘No, no, no! Please don’t let it have been a dream, it can’t have been a dream! Everyone knows that’s a rubbish way to end anything!’

  Barefoot, she ran into her living room which was completely empty, as was her little kitchen. Her flat was exactly the same as it had been the day before down to the washing up in the sink. Everything about her miserable, pointless life was just as it had been, and her wonderful, amazing gorgeous husband had been a figment of her sad, lonely imagination.

  Tearfully, Amy sat down on her tiled kitchen floor, hugging her arms around her. ‘But it felt so real,’ she whispered to herself. ‘It felt so real…’

  ‘What did?’ Santa said, appearing behind her dressed only in a towel, his torso glistening with droplets of water. ‘And why are you sitting on the floor?’

  ‘You’re real?’ she asked uncertainly. ‘I didn’t make you up?’

  ‘I’ll be honest, it would be hard to make up someone as perfect as me. But no, I am real and we are married.’ Santa examined her tear-streaked face as he pulled her to her feet. ‘Did you think you dreamed it?’

  Amy nodded, dumbly throwing her arms around his neck and holding him tightly.

  ‘You muppet, didn’t you check to see whether you were still wearing my rings?’

  Amy peered at her hand over Santa’s shoulder and, sure enough, her beautiful engagement and wedding ring were still gleaming on her finger.

  ‘Then why are we here?’ Amy asked. ‘Why aren’t we still in Lapland?’

  ‘Because this is Christmas Day,’ Santa said. ‘And now the Powers That Be have ruled in our favour, we get to spend every Christmas Day with your family. And this Christmas – our first Christmas together – you’re taking me to meet your parents, all four of them. Today’s the day you officially meet your dad. I couldn’t have you miss out on that, could I?’

  ‘But how…? Why…?’ Amy’s head was so full of questions she didn’t know what to ask first. ‘But they’re not allowed to know that you’re Santa!’ she said at last.

  ‘And they won’t,’ Santa said, kissing her on the tip of her nose. ‘Just remember to call me Dave. You may want to slip your rings off for now…unless you want to tell your mum you’re now married to a man she hasn’t yet met!’

  Amy realised her mum would not even remember being at their magical wedding. ‘Erm…What about—’

  Santa silenced her with another kiss. ‘I know you have questions about lots of things, Amy, and I’ll answer them I promise. But that’s for tomorrow. For today, let’s just go to your mum’s and eat our own weight in turkey.’

  Amy looked at him doubtfully.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘We don’t have to tell her we’re already married. We can tell your folks we’ve had a whirlwind romance and want to get married as soon as we can. Then your mum can plan another wedding here in…well, Peckham if you want.’

  ‘You’d marry me again just to keep my mum happy?’

  ‘I’d marry you again to keep your mum from giving you grief over thinking you got married without telling her,’ Santa corrected her. ‘I want to keep you happy.’

  ‘You’d marry me in Peckham?!’

  ‘In Peckham or anywhere you like,’ Santa confirmed.

  ‘Blimey,’ Amy exclaimed, as she kissed Santa again, ‘it must be love!’

  The End.

  Enjoyed Santa Maybe?

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at

  Married by Christmas

  by

  Scarlett Bailey

  The Proposal

  The sun was just about setting as Anna Carter and her boyfriend Tom Collins finally reached the summit of Ivanhoe Beacon, the tallest point of the Chilterns. Tom’s parents’ overly enthusiastic Labradors charged around their legs in a series of haphazard circles before Napoleon caught the scent of a rabbit, and Nelson chased after him, both of them barking so loudly that any chance of actually catching one was obliterated by the din.

  ‘I’m worried about that jumper I got your gran, now,’ Anna said, her breath misting in the cold air, as she looked out over the stunning view of the Buckinghamshire valley, bathed in coppery gold, which stretched out below them. It was a perfect Christmas scene – snow globe worthy – of the village, gilt-edged with snow, the spire of the tiny jewel of a church sparkling in the crook of the hill. ‘I mean yes, pastel pink is a good colour for a lady of a certain age, and it will go so nicely with her hair and her eyes, but what if she thinks I’m being patronising, what if she thinks that I think that all old ladies wear pink, and that I don’t see her as person, just as a walking – tastefully dressed for her age – corpse?’

  ‘A what?’ Tom exclaimed, laughing, as he rubbed his frozen hands together, then checking his pockets once again, probably for his gloves, Anna assumed, although he still neglected to put them on. ‘Granny may be eighty-nine, but the very last thing she is is a walking corpse! She was challenging Dad to a drinking game when we left to walk the dogs. She will certainly outlive us all, and she loves pink. You worry too much, Anna. She will adore your gift, just as much as she adores you. And if she doesn’t she will say she does and exchange it in the New Year like most sensible people do. Everything will be fine.’

  ‘But it won’t be fine, will it?’ Anna protested, looking at Tom, who in the dying golden light, his reddish hair shining and his cheeks ruddy from the cold, looked like a particularly handsome fallen angel, a person who was born to be good, but couldn’t quite help getting into the occasional spot of trouble. ‘This is our first Christmas together, my first Christmas getting to know
your family. I want them to like me, and to know how much thought I’ve put into their gifts and that I’ve got it exactly right, so that they … you know, like me and don’t secretly discuss why on earth you are going out with me whenever I’m not in the room. It’s Christmas, it’s got to be perfect.’

  ‘Why do people put so much pressure on themselves at this time of year?’ Tom asked her, shaking his head, genuinely bewildered by all the fuss. ‘It’s just another day, another big dinner and a load of money down the drain. Really, it’s no big deal.’ His grin faded as he watched Anna’s face fall. ‘What? What have I said? I was trying to make you feel better!’

  ‘It’s just …’ Anna hesitated, as she struggled to find the right words. ‘Look, I know it’s silly, and frivolous, but to me … when I was a little kid, Christmas was the one time of year when everything seemed shiny and … exciting and magical and just for those one or two days everything was fine. And I suppose I’ll always feel that way. This is my favourite time of year and I don’t want that to change because I’ve killed your family with salmonella or offended your granny with the wrong jumper. This is the time of year when good things are meant to happen.’

  ‘It is?’ Tom put his arms around Anna and pulled her into a slightly awkward hug. Given that she was wearing his mother’s ski jacket, which was made for someone a good deal taller and rounder than she was, at that moment, she most precisely resembled a duvet. ‘Because as far as I’m concerned the good thing has happened already when I met you. And besides, my family already love you. How could they not? You arrived laden down with colour co-ordinated gifts, each wrapped in a different paper for every guest, you’ve volunteered to cook Christmas lunch for fourteen, a job my mother hates, as it very much interferes with her sherry drinking, and you’ve made my mother’s only son a very happy and altogether much more organised man, who no longer forgets everyone’s birthday, not even the dogs’.’

  Anna looked up into his eyes apologetically. ‘I know I’m a nightmare. I’m controlling and overanxious and constantly organising everything that moves. I’m sorry.’