I know the local launderette isn’t an ideal place to spend Christmas Eve, but it sure beats my empty house.
I’d dropped the two boys off at their father’s earlier in the day. It was Martin’s turn to have them for Christmas this year, an amicable arrangement which usually suits all of us, but after I’d left I was full of nervous energy. Louisa, Martin’s new wife, has that effect on me. She’d strolled down the stairs in a black, skin-tight jumpsuit looking immaculately groomed and impossibly thin. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t resent Louisa and I’m certainly not jealous of her. She’s really good for Martin and the children think she’s cool. But sometimes, she makes me feel fat, frumpy, and middle-aged.
Consequently, I arrived home in a bad mood, already regretting turning down an invitation to spend Christmas with friends. I decided to work off my bad temper by having a blitz on the kids’ bedrooms, something I’d put off for too long. By the time I’d finished and shoved the duvets into the car it was almost dark and the launderette was empty and hot. I sat round the corner by the dryers and picked up a magazine. It was quiet and peaceful and the gentle sloshing noise of the machines made my eyes feel heavy.
I must have dozed off because, when I looked at the washing machine opposite me, I could see Santa Claus rolling around inside. His fat red trousers, his matching jacket trimmed with fur, and his long, white whiskers were pressed up against the glass, trying to get out.
‘Oh, you poor man!’ I cried. ‘Let me help you.’ I rushed towards the machine just as a large dark shape appeared at the launderette’s glass door. Pinching myself to make sure I was awake, I looked at the shape again. It was definitely Santa’s reindeer. Snow covered its fur, its antlers tapped against the door, and its breath misted the glass.
‘I don’t need any help,’ a voice said behind me. ‘I’m OK. Please don’t turn round.’
I turned round. A naked man, looking very embarrassed, tried not to meet my eyes. I opened my mouth to scream. Well, you do hear of strange goings-on in launderettes.
Then a dog barked.
‘Be quiet, Bonzo,’ the naked man said. ‘He thinks you’re going to attack me,’ he added apologetically.
Bonzo? I looked at the reindeer which was standing on its hind legs pawing at the glass. It was definitely a dog.
‘I thought …’ I stopped. I wasn’t quite sure what I thought any more. I looked closely at the man and realised he wasn’t entirely naked. He was wearing a rather snazzy pair of red and white striped boxer shorts and a large pair of black boots. On the bench beside him was a brass bell.
‘You’re Father Christmas,’ I said accusingly.
He nodded sheepishly. ‘Gerry Drysdale, actually.’ He smiled disarmingly and held out his hand.
‘Tessa Stanton.’ I put my hand in his.
Bonzo chose that moment to put both paws on the door handle and bound into the room. Leaping excitedly, he shook snow over both of us. We stepped out of his way as the antlers slipped over his eyes and he crashed into the washing machine. One of its knobs flew off and rolled across the floor out of sight. The machine gave a protesting gurgle and stopped in mid-cycle.
I hate to admit it but I got a fit of the giggles. Gerry’s face was a picture of horror when he realised the machine was jammed with his clothes still inside and neither of us could get it to start again.
‘I was only doing this as a favour for my dad,’ he wailed. ‘He’s been Santa Claus at Barton’s department store since he retired, but he wasn’t feeling well last week and asked if I’d stand in for him. Then, one of the little darlings threw up all over the suit, so I nipped into the launderette to wash it. I didn’t think there’d be anyone here.’ It was his turn to sound accusing.
I took pity on him and threw him a quilt cover out of the dryer. ‘Here, wrap this round you and I’ll drive you home.’
Later that evening the house didn’t seem empty any more. Bonzo, minus his antlers, was asleep in front of the fire. Gerry, wearing a pair of Martin’s old gardening trousers and a shirt I’d found at the back of the airing cupboard, was stretched out on the couch.
I thought of Louisa, having to cope with my two boisterous children and hating every minute of it, and felt full of joy and goodwill. Gerry was cooking Christmas dinner for his dad tomorrow and that was one invitation I didn’t turn down.
I put my hand in the pocket of my jeans and curled my fingers round the washing machine knob. I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. After all, I told myself, it isn’t every day you meet Santa Claus in the launderette.