Page 14 of Christmas Spirit
The Santa’s eyes had flickered at him, their edges creasing as his smile had grown wider, as his arm had come up to…
Georgie stared at the Santa, before a burst of shaky laughter bubbled from him, and he shivered, despite the heat in the room.
Stupid. Just the flames reflecting on it, that’s all.
At least Roland wasn’t there to see him make a fool of himself.
Georgie backed away, putting distance between himself and the plaster model.
To the side of a large window stood another Christmas tree, as tall and lush as those in the entrance hall. Like those, it was hung with decorations. Reindeer, elves, snowmen, and yet more Santas — little soft knitted ones, fortunately — all jostling for space. Underneath, a big pile of boxes wrapped in bright festive paper and adorned with extravagant bows, were tumbled together. Every box would be empty.
They had done the same thing at the Manor. Christmas trees everywhere, with fake presents underneath, although the trees hadn’t been as big and grand as the ones here, or the fake gifts as extravagant. It was a nice illusion, but that was all it was.
Gloom settled on Georgie’s shoulders. It was an idyllic, Christmas card scene. But it wasn’t like any Christmas he remembered, growing up. His Christmas Days had been spent hiding in his room as his mum and stepdad got drunker and drunker, paving the way for shouts and screams, and hurled abuse, before—
“Can I help you, sir?”
Georgie spun around.
Nicholas, no more than a couple of steps away. How come he’d not heard him?
“God, you made me jump,” Georgie said, a nervous laugh falling from his lips.
The guy was no more than a foot away from him but he’d not made a sound. Nicholas said nothing in reply, only smiled and stood perfectly still, making Georgie think of the plaster model by the fire.
“I—I was wondering if I could use, erm, use your landline? I haven’t got a phone, but Mr. Fletcher Jones can’t get any signal on his. Which is due to the weather, I guess.”
The old man’s mellow face puckered in regret. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but the landline’s down. The weather, as you so rightly say. Is there anybody in particular you need to get a message to?”
Notingled on the tip of Georgie’s tongue. But it seemed like such a sad and pathetic admission.
“Erm, it’s okay. I suppose it’ll wait until tomorrow.”
Nicholas’ face wreathed in a deep smile, and the skin at the outer edges of his eyes crinkled. A shiver ran the length of Georgie’s spine. The old man looked so much like the plaster Santa that one could have been the model of the other. The plaster Santa that—
Moved, and smiled. Yeah, right, ‘cause it did.
“I trust the tea was to your liking?” Nicholas asked.
“Sorry?”
Oh God, of course. The tea, the broken crockery. That was why he’d come down in the first place. The broken crockery that looked antique, and expensive.
Oh shit.
“Yes, it was lovely. Thank you very much, it went down a treat. But I, er, I had a bit of an accident, I’m afraid. I knocked the stand over, and broke it.”
Just don’t tell me it was an old family heirloom…
“I really wouldn’t worry about that. What’s broken can always be mended.”
“What? Oh, yes, I guess it can. But I’m sorry.”
“If that’s all, sir, I will bid you good afternoon until dinner later this evening,” Nicholas said, turning to go.
“Wait! I mean, don’t go. Please.”
Nicholas turned, his brows arched in question.
