Page 22 of Five Gold Rings

‘So you’re both shopping for your mum?’ Eve asks, bending down to their level. I peer into the basket and see a large bar of Galaxy and a copy of Take-A-Break magazine. They both nod nervously. The eldest is still not sure about me but I know the look in his eyes. It’s a look I have often felt from being the eldest brother of three sisters, standing there in a shop at Christmas and debating whether to go with the comedy fridge magnets or the wine.

‘What’s your budget?’

The younger brother shows her the notes in his hand. She looks around. I can tell she’s doing some quick maths in her head. ‘Well, these pyjamas are a nice idea. Do you know what size your mum wears?’ Eve asks.

‘She’s medium sized. Like you but with bigger…’ the eldest says, gesturing that his mum has quite the rack. Eve giggles, helping him find a pair and folds them into the basket. ‘Do you know if women like those hand cream gift sets?’ he asks her.

‘I’m not super keen on them,’ Eve says, tactfully. I turn to her thinking about the one I’ve bought my great-aunt Edith. It’s lavender. She loves that shit. ‘Maybe just get her one or two things she’ll actually use. A nice bubble bath, a lip balm. You’ve made a good start here. I can see your mum likes chocolate and magazines… What else does she like?’ Eve asks them.

‘Idris Elba?’

‘Well, I don’t think you can buy him here and so difficult to wrap…’

Both boys laugh and I sigh silently to see her being so natural with them.

‘She also likes tea,’ the littlest says.

‘Then maybe a mug? The best gifts are the ones where someone’s really thought about what you like,’ she says, and I see her pause again. I wonder if she’s thinking of Chris and a ring ungifted and unwanted.

‘Your mum is very lucky,’ I add, trying to intervene.

The littlest lad looks up at me and stares. There is a look there of complete mistrust which I’m immediately offended by. I am dressed like Christmas. All kids like Christmas.

‘Why do you not have a shirt on?’ he asks, watching as Eve snaps out of her moment and rises to her feet. ‘We saw elves at the grotto in the shopping centre and they didn’t look like you.’

‘He was warm,’ Eve adds. ‘He’s used to it being very cold.’

‘Are you actually an elf? From the North Pole?’ the youngest lad asks.

‘Yes,’ I say animatedly, realising I now have a responsibility to sell a dream here. I need to up my festive game to help the kids still believe.

‘Then you know what we want for Christmas?’ his brother says, sneakily trying to catch me out.

I panic. ‘I don’t work in the lists department. I’m in manufacturing, I build the toys.’

‘Whatever,’ the littlest brother says, suddenly the world’s biggest cynic. ‘I got a Nintendo Switch last Christmas. Did you build that?’

‘No, I work in wood. I build rocking horses and stuff.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven.’

‘What’s your name?’

Crap. I need an elf name.

‘Jingles.’

‘Do you have a last name?’

I panic. ‘Jangles?’

Both boys roar with laughter. Loudly. Maybe a little too hard and at my expense. Eve’s nostrils flare trying to contain her giggles, too. That Christmas spiel needs work. The littlest turns to Eve and throws his arms around her midriff. ‘Thank you. I hope you have a nice Christmas,’ he tells her.

I see her grin broadly. ‘You, too. What about Jingles, does he get a hug?’

‘No, he looks like a right old pervy bell-end,’ the eldest one says, and they turn with their basket of gifts and run in the other direction.

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