Page 46 of A Winter in Wonderland
Chapter 22
We walked back into the chalet that evening, kicking off our snowboots with a series of thunks and then padding our way over the wooden cabin floor into the living room. I was mid-yawn when somebody thrust a bowl under my face with two scraps of folded up paper inside.
‘Great, you’re back!’ said Jens, one of the elves.
‘Hello,’ I replied, suspiciously.
‘We decided to do a Secret Santa, since we’ll all be away from our families this Christmas,’ he said, his happy elf grin plastered across his merry face.
‘Oh, that’s OK,’ I replied, my usual response over the past few years to what seemed to be the obligatory work-place Secret Santa.
Jens lowered the bowl, and the corners of his smile a bit.
‘You don’t want to do the Secret Santa?’ he asked.
I hesitated, looking at the faces of my workmates, wholooked over at me while I stood there, gormless, holding my overnight bag. ‘I mean, yeah, of course I do, I just meant, you know, don’t worry if everyone else is already sorted, hahaha.’
Jens’ smile returned, full-width. ‘Great. We’ve already all picked, but you two need to select your names.’ He shook the bowl and the two papers flittered about in the bottom.
‘What kind of thing are we giving? It’s just, I didn’t bring anything very gifty.’
‘We’re doing home-made,’ he answered.
‘Greeeeeat.’ I grinned through gritted teeth. Homemadewhat? I could make someone a spaghetti bolognese if they wanted? I’m sure that would be just the gift to find under the tree on Christmas morning.
I picked a name from the bowl and unfolded it, keeping it hidden from Esteri and Jens beside me. My eyes widened. Now this was a stroke of luck.
Myla
Jackpot. I can easily make something for myself, because what do I care if it’s crap? Ha, Christmas was maybe, just maybe, throwing me a bone this year after all.
Beside me, Esteri folded her own paper back and put it in her pocket, then took me by the arm. ‘Come along, let’s put our stuff back in our room and then we’ll make some dinner.’
I followed her up the stairs and along the corridor toour room, and when inside, she closed the door and faced me, her eyes narrowed. ‘You picked your own name, didn’t you?’ she accused.
I gasped in the manner of a Victorian woman being accused of showing her ankles. ‘No!’
‘Yes you did.’
‘Fine, then yes. But how did you know?’
‘Because your face went from, “I don’t want to play” to “Sure, I’d love to” in zero-point-five seconds.’
‘It’s just because I’m no good at handicrafts, so if I have me then there’s no pressure.’
‘If you have you, there’s no fun.’ She snatched the paper from my hands and tossed me hers instead.
‘But, if you have me then it’s not secret anyway,’ I protested.
‘Maybe I’ll swap with someone.’
‘Oh.’ I sighed, and unfolded my paper.
Angelique.
Well, at least she was a guide so I vaguely knew her and what she might like. I wasn’t sure about her spag bol preferences though.
‘What shall I make?’ I whined, which I immediately regretted because Esteri didn’t seem like she’d be one to tolerate whining.
