It turned out that time did not fly when you are listening to men ‘Ho, ho, ho,’ in a Cornish accent, one after the other. Even the ones that genuinely wanted the job, which were few and far between, didn’t have any of the magical qualities that Sue was looking for. None of them came even close to Jago, who had that twinkle in his eye, the snow-white beard and hair, cheeks ruddy from decades at sea, not to mention just the right amount of plumpness around the middle. So far the prospective Santas had one or maybe two of these qualities between them, and most of them seemed a lot like they’d already started on the Christmas sherry.
‘Ho, ho, ho.’ Jessie Cook, ambled into the performance space, as Sue was calling it, in a pair of very tight red leggings, the crotch area of which hadn’t seen the light of day for quite some time.
‘Jessie,’ Sue said politely, ‘this audition is for Santa.’
‘And?’ Jessie crossed her arms under her considerable bosom, hoiking it up an inch or two for the briefest of moments, before gravity took its toll again. ‘There’s nothing to say Santa is a man.’
‘There is quite a lot to say it, actually,’ Sue said, as Tamsyn spluttered into her coffee.
‘What about equal opportunities, and that?’ Jessie said. ‘You’re a sexist, that’s what you are. What makes my “ho, ho, ho” any less worthy than some man’s. What? Just because I haven’t got a penis?’
‘I think it is safe to say that Jessie definitely doesn’t have a penis,’ Tamsyn said, not completely straight-faced.
‘I most certainly am not a sexist, Jessie Cook, as well you know!’ Sue told her. ‘You are being ridiculous. This is a casting, you wouldn’t see … Sandra Bullock turning up for a casting of Hamlet, would you? Or … or … Keira Knightley?’
‘Well, where is the bloke then?’ Jessie demanded. ‘Where is Blake Wotsit? We been here all morning, not a sniff of him.’
‘Well. He’s …’ Sue sighed and ticked off a few arbitrary things on her clipboard while she thought of something to say. She had found over the years that ticking things on a clipboards usually gave people a sense of authority, even if, as was very much often the case, you had no idea what the hell you were doing. ‘No one actually specified that there would be a Hollywood star here,’ she said. ‘It was a rumour, started by unknown sources. We don’t know that he is going to show at all.’
‘Unknown sources!’ Eddie shouted from down the line. ‘You sent the email out, Sue!’
‘I can neither confirm nor deny it.’ Sue raised her voice as she spoke. ‘So I suggest that anyone who is here purely to rub shoulders with a celebrity should firstly, question exactly what sort of a person they are, and what sort of Santa they would make. And, secondly, go home.’
Sue sat back in her chair, and felt her shoulders sink as the crowd of prospective Santas thinned out to four. Two of them were drunk, one of them had his leg in a cast and the fourth one was … well, he was drunk too.
‘Ho, ho, ho!’ Sue sat up in her chair, as a fifth contender strode into the church hall already wearing a very high-end costume, made of brushed velvet, and trimmed with bright white fur.
‘A very Merry Christmas to you all!’ he boomed.
‘You have your own costume,’ Sue observed. Jago had worn the same costume for over thirty years. It was in surprisingly good nick, though, having had what amounted to only a month’s worth of wear during its lifetime, and she had been rather hoping to continue the tradition.
‘I think of it more as a uniform,’ the prospective Santa said. His voice was deep and sonorous, rich and rather plummy. He sounded exactly like Sue always imagined Father Christmas would sound, jolly and kind all at once. His very realistic white beard was luxuriant, along with his curls, which peeped out from under his jaunty hat. ‘And I have more than one, actually. You’d be surprised exactly who much mud can get on your boots, even when you are flying through the air.’
‘So sweet.’ Tamsyn smiled at him. ‘Are you a real Santa fan or a bit delusional?’
‘A fan, no,’ the man chuckled. ‘But a real Santa, yes. For I am he! Ho, ho, ho!’
‘So delusional, then.’ Tamsyn smiled pleasantly. ‘No offence, and to be fair delusional doesn’t entirely rule you out. Not round these parts.’
‘Are you receiving any treatment for mental illness?’ Sue asked him. ‘It doesn’t mean you wouldn’t get the job, I just think it’s best to have all the cards on the table.’
‘Ho, ho, ho,’ he said again. ‘I am not. Fear not, young lady, for I am perfectly sane.’
‘So you’re just what we’d call a classic English eccentric then,’ Tamsyn said. ‘Well, we love those in Poldore.’
‘Yes,’ Sue said. ‘You’ve got the part on a trial basis – we’ll see how you do in training.’
‘Excellent,’ he boomed. ‘Training! What larks!’
‘Quite, so what’s your name, and number. One of the requirements of the role is that I need to have you on twenty-four hour call between now and Christmas Day.’
‘Really? Twenty-four hours does seem a bit extreme,’ Tamsyn said.
‘Well, you know what I mean. We’ve got a lot of work to do to make sure he provides us with a quality Santa. So your name is?’
‘Santa.’ The man nodded. ‘Claus. Or St Nicholas, if you prefer. Although I rather like Father Christmas, myself, being something of a traditionalist.’
‘Ha, yes, very funny. Your name is?’ Sue repeated herself.
‘Santa Claus.’ The man nodded again.
‘I am actually not amused now,’ Sue said, although Tamsyn was so very amused that she was crying slightly and cracking open another mini Baileys.
‘Nick,’ the man conceded with a shrug. ‘You can call me Nick.’
‘And your mobile number?’ To Sue’s infinite relief, Nick didn’t claim to only communicate via reindeer antler or jingle bells, or something. Instead he produced a very up-to-date smartphone from his pocket and reeled off a number.
‘Excellent,’ Sue said. ‘Well, Nick, I will need you at Castle House tonight, at seven o’clock, where we will be going through the Santa basics, call it a sort of Santa boot camp if you will A big black shiny boot camp!’
‘I shall look forward to it!’ Nick bellowed. ‘Blitzen, Dasher, fire up the sleigh! We must away!’
‘You’ve got yourself a certified nutter there,’ Tamsyn said, cheerfully.
‘Yes,’ Sue said. ‘I do hope there isn’t a chainsaw concealed in that present sack. However, at this point in time, short of popping the beard on myself, there doesn’t seem to be any alternative.’
‘He seems harmless enough.’ Tamsyn stretched her hands over her head. ‘I wonder who he is, I didn’t recognise him, did you?’
‘No, but that’s not really surprising,’ Sue said. ‘The pageant brings in loads of Christmas crazies every year. We have one lady who always stays at the Silent Man for the holidays and for the rest of the year cooks Christmas lunch every single day. She’s been on the news. I mean sometimes you’d just want a sandwich, wouldn’t you? Or a bowl of cornflakes.’
‘Sue, before you go, I know you don’t want to think about anything else at the moment, but I have a proposal for you.’
‘I’d have thought you’d made enough proposals for a lifetime,’ Sue quipped, remembering how Tamsyn had stood up in the church and proposed marriage to the vicar after less than a week of knowing him. ‘Look, whatever it is you need help with, then of course the answer is yes. But don’t ask me now, not when I’ve got to get the angels to stop scrapping, pray that Vicky Carmichael can sort out our agoraphobic donkey, and hope that Catriona doesn’t change her mind about Mo being the Baby Jesus, again.’
‘She’s just very keen on accuracy,’ Tamsyn pointed out. ‘She’s a bit concerned it might be a tad blasphemous to have a girl Jesus. Even though Mo looks so adorable in that swaddling.’
‘With the greatest respect to little Mo, no one will know the difference.’
Tamsyn, who had cared for Mo more than anyone else during the first days of her life, after she had been found abandoned in the storm, and was now the infant-besotted adopted aunt, looked rather affronted.
‘There has never been such a shortage of suitable babies in Poldore before,’ Sue rushed on. ‘Seriously. Tamsyn, I think that next year I am going to have to insist that you and the vicar provide one for us.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that.’ Tamsyn squirmed. ‘I’m building a business don’t forget, which brings me to—’
‘Right, I must go,’ Sue said. ‘I’m having a meeting with the Three Kings – there’s the same uproar over who gets the best crown every year. I must say, I am disappointed that Blake Fletcher didn’t keep his word to turn up. I don’t know why I am surprised. Celebrities aren’t famous for being on time, are they? He just seemed so certain about it, pretending to be all nice and a man of the people.’
‘Well—’ Tamsyn patted the back of her hand ‘—you’ve got it all sorted now. You didn’t need him. You are super, Sue, the woman who can do it all alone, not that you have to any more. We, your minions, are at your disposal.’
Sue was smiling brightly as she marched briskly out of the church hall and into the crisp December afternoon. She waited until she was in the alleyway that ran behind the church before she burst into tears.