Chapter 6

Dear Santa,

I’ll leave carrots out for Comet. Not the other reindeer – I only like Comet.

From,

Jacob

‘You found the post office then.’

Tav’s voice makes me jump in the silence. How can I have been so absorbed in the letters that I didn’t hear him come in?

I look up at him and it’s only when tears drip off my face and land on the letter in my hands with a splosh that I realise I’m crying. And have been for a while.

Before I have a chance to be embarrassed, Tav reaches inside his jumper, pulls a packet of tissues from his pocket, and tosses them to me without a word.

‘Thanks.’ I scrabble one out and turn away to wipe my wet face and snot-filled nose. Always ideal in front of a hot stranger.

When I think I might be a bit more presentable, and I’ve got plenty of time to be embarrassed about being in floods of tears over letters children have written to Santa, I turn back towards him.

I notice two things – the light is much brighter than it was when I last looked up, and the way Tav is leaning in the doorway at an almost diagonal angle to accommodate his height. One hand is holding the doorframe above his head and he’s got to duck to see in. It’s a sight that could’ve come directly from Elf.

‘You do not seem like the type of guy who carries packets of tissues about your person,’ I say in an effort to detract from how embarrassed I am about needing said tissues.

‘Kids with runny noses and Santa don’t mix. Head elves have to be prepared for all eventualities and children have a lot of orifices for many unpleasant eventualities to emerge from.’

His seriousness makes me laugh and I let out another embarrassing wet snort.

‘What time is it?’ I ask when I can muster the courage to face him again post-snort.

‘Half past one.’

‘Seriously?’ I say in surprise. It was before 11 a.m. when I came in. I’ve been here for over two hours, sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of letters. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘The nisse told me.’

I raise an eyebrow so high that he laughs and points behind him. ‘Footprints leading up to the door but not away from it.’

‘Ahh, the snow foils everything.’ I’m glad he isn’t maintaining the elf nonsense this time. ‘And there was me thinking you were some master tracker or something.’

His weird-coloured eyes twinkle in the sunlight coming through the windows. He shifts awkwardly and switches arms holding on to the doorframe and quickly ducks when he nearly hits his head on the ceiling. ‘Thanks for doing the washing up.’

‘I didn’t. Maybe it was the elves.’

‘Maybe so, but the elves usually put everything away afterwards, and this “elf” wasn’t sure where things went.’ His tone is jokey this time and it makes me smile.

‘I’m sure the new elf will find their way around in time.’

He seems to be lingering and it makes me smile to myself. I don’t even know why. It’s not like I need his help with anything, and asking him questions is as useful as a waterproof teabag when every answer is something to do with elves or Christmas magic.

I appreciate that he hasn’t said anything about the crying though. He hasn’t tried to ridicule me or make me feel silly, like some men would. Most men see a woman in tears and decide she’s hysterical, but Tav is just … there.

‘You met Freya?’ He nods to the now half-empty “Posten” bag on the chair.

The thought of the letters make my eyes well up again. ‘Oh my God, Tav. Are they all like this?’ I gesture to the pile of opened envelopes behind me.

‘Not all. Some of them are exactly what you expected – long lists of expensive toys from demanding children, but some … Santa is a special person in children’s lives. He’s a confidant, a year-round friend, someone who already knows their deepest secrets so they feel comfortable sharing anything with him. He’s the only person some children have got to talk to.’

I’d never thought of Santa like that before, but most of these letters have been the opposite of what I expected when I delved into Freya’s bag. ‘I’ve just read a letter from a nine-year-old girl who’s got cancer, and for her present this year, she wants Santa to leave something that will help her mum and dad cope when she dies. She’s asking if Santa will make the extra effort this time because she’ll be gone by next year and he won’t have to worry about delivering to her after that.’ My voice breaks again.

Tav gives me an understanding nod. There are tears streaming down my face again, but I can’t pretend I’m not touched by the things I’ve read.

‘Earlier there was one from a boy who’s being bullied and he wants Santa to make it stop.’ I reach behind me and rifle through the pile, trying to locate the correct letter in the rainbow piles of paper and envelopes that are scattered across the room. ‘A brother and sister have written together saying their mum and dad have both lost their jobs and could Santa bring them enough food for a Christmas dinner this year.’

‘We can send a food parcel if you’ve got their address.’

I look up at him in surprise and blink through the tears. ‘We do that?’

‘If we can. We ignore the lists of toys, but if a child shares that their family needs help and we can help, then we do.’

‘Do we have the budget for that?’

He shifts on his feet and one hand drops from the top of the doorframe to wring his fingers together. He’s still wearing the elf gloves from this morning, even though his hat is gone. He ums and ahs like he’s trying to answer but can’t find the right words, but I can see exactly what he’s trying to say.

‘By “we”, you mean “you”, don’t you?’

‘Too many “yous” in that sentence,’ he mumbles, but his cheeks are red and he won’t look up from the floor.

‘That’s really nice, Tav.’ I feel like I’ve discovered a secret he didn’t want me to know.

‘I’m lucky in life. I have enough money to eat, heat my cabin, and feed the reindeer. I don’t need much else.’ When he finally meets my eyes, his are so sincere that it makes something flutter in my chest. ‘If I can help someone who isn’t that lucky … Surely that’s one of the greatest privileges of working here.’

It’s enough of a sentiment that it makes my breath catch in my throat and more tears form in my eyes. I’d never thought of it like that before, never thought Santa could be a way of helping people who need it, but he’s clearly got a heart proportionate to his huge size, and I’m so touched that it makes me want to give him a hug, even though I can’t remember the last time I hugged anyone besides Dad last night, never mind a stranger who I met yesterday and I don’t think likes me very much.

‘I’m not expecting you to do the same or anything,’ Tav says quickly. ‘I don’t know your financial situation – I would never expect you to fund anything like that …’

‘Good, because I’ve just lost my—’ Oh God, of all the things I wasn’t supposed to say, and of all the people I wasn’t supposed to say it to. ‘Can you pretend you didn’t hear that?’

He gives me a soft smile. ‘Hear what?’

I let out a nervous giggle, but there’s something infinitely trustworthy about someone who would send a food parcel to a family after reading a child’s letter to Santa, and I know he won’t repeat it.

‘If you come across anything like that, anywhere we can help, there’s a website I use to put together care packages for people all over the world. I’ll give you my login details and you can use my account to send something.’

‘My dad doesn’t know you do this?’

‘He knows I used to, it was part of the service here, but the North Pole Forest’s budget ran out long ago, and he’d yell at me for continuing without it.’

I can’t help smiling at the idea of this at least six-foot-six guy scared of being admonished by my five-foot-four father, who actually looks like he’s shrunk since I last saw him.

There’s something incredibly disarming about Tav. I feel like I’ve known him much longer than I have, and I lose track of time as I sit there without losing eye contact until another tear drips off my chin and lands with a cold splat on the back of my hand.

I sniffle and turn away to take another tissue out of the packet he gave me and blow my nose. I don’t know why this is making me so emotional. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise.’ He goes to duck into the room but misses and clonks his forehead on the doorframe.

In the middle of the sadness, it makes me laugh as he rubs it and looks accusingly at the doorframe itself. The wooden floorboards creak under his boots as he crouches down on the opposite side of the pile of letters, read and unread getting muddled where the bag has tipped on the chair and envelopes have started pouring onto the floor.

My face is still wet and I turn away and swipe the backs of my hands under my eyes. There’s not much I hate more than showing vulnerability in front of other people.

‘I know what it’s like reading those letters. You wouldn’t be human if they didn’t get to you.’ He reaches out as if he’s going to pat my knee comfortingly or something, but he pulls his hand back quickly.

Instead, he takes his red and green striped gloves off and picks up the letter opener from the floor where I’ve discarded it, takes an envelope and flicks it open with the expertise of someone who’s done it a million times.

He holds it up to show me a crayon drawing of a boy driving a big bus with a bird flying above it. ‘For Christmas, this lad wants a double-decker bus and an eagle as a pet. Whoever he is, he’s going to go far in life.’

It makes me giggle. ‘Do children really think Santa can provide that?’

‘Imagination is the limit. Nothing is impossible when you’re young. It’s growing up in this world that takes that away and makes people old and bitter.’ He opens another letter and his eyes skim over it. ‘This kid wants iPads, and iPods, and various other things with an “i” in front of them that make me glad I grew up before these things existed. Santa can’t help with that kind of request.’

He puts the letter back in the envelope and chucks it on the pile. ‘I should go. I need to check on the reindeer.’ He puts both hands on his knees and pushes himself to his feet, having to duck even at the highest point of the ceiling. He takes a couple of steps away and then turns back. ‘Do you want to come? There’s plenty of reindeer you haven’t met.’

‘I’d love to.’ I thought he was eager to get away, but the fact he’s inviting me makes me go warm all over because I didn’t want him to go yet.

And reindeer. Despite my close encounters of the antlered kind so far, it would be nice to see the reindeer sanctuary part of this place my dad talked about on the phone.

Tav holds a hand out to pull me up and I slip my hand into his without thinking. Ridiculously long fingers close around mine. His palm is hot, hotter than I thought it was possible to be in this climate, and his skin is rough, catching on mine, creating friction that feels like it could spark a fire. It’s the first time either of us haven’t been wearing gloves and the skin-on-skin contact makes me go fluttery all over.

What is wrong with me? It might’ve been a while, but a simple chivalrous gesture has never been responsible for such a wave of feeling before, and it seems like forever before he hauls me to my feet with very little assistance on my part.

I’ve been sitting on my knees for so long that pins and needles shoot through them and he keeps a strong enough grip on my hand to hold me upright, and I cling on as I stamp my feet and jiggle my legs to get rid of the numbness. He must think I’m a total muppet not to be able to get to my feet on my own, but handsome men always catch you at your most embarrassing moment, don’t they?

I can feel my palm rubbing against his, a pulsing beacon of heat as I wobble around like a magpie that’s been at the fermented fruit, not quite certain that it’s just the pins and needles causing the unsteadiness.

I have to distract myself somehow. I wave my other hand towards the photo frames on the wall. ‘I expected to see you up there. You’ve never played Santa?’

‘I’m too young. And that’s something I don’t get to say very often.’ He laughs. ‘Santa has to be genuine. That’s a hill I’ll die on. He cannot be played by a thirty-eight-year-old in a fake beard and a wig. Children know these things. No one is going to believe in Santa if they can pull his beard off.’

His dedication to making children believe in Santa is admirable, I’ll give him that. Mum and Dad took me to visit Santas in supermarket grottos when I was young, and I have absolutely no idea whether their beards were real or not. I’m pretty sure that in my Christmas-filled young eyes, I didn’t know or care either way, but it’s nice that he does. The small details seem to be Tav’s thing.

I stopped stamping my feet ages ago, but he’s still holding on to my hand, and he watches me for a moment before he lets go and stands back to let me walk out first.

I glance at the pile of letters. I want to come back here. I want to read more of them. I’ve put the one that needs a food parcel on the desk, but surely there’s something we could do for more of them. Something to help these children feel like they’re not alone.

I pull the door open and step out into falling snowflakes.

‘Snow!’ I say in delight.

Tav looks at me in confusion as he ducks out the door. ‘Were you not aware that it snows here? Quite regularly, in fact. Or did this general covering of white not give it away?’

I give him a scathing look because he knows exactly what I mean. The snow cloud is above us, but the rest of the sky is blue and the low sun is glinting over a mountain to the west, soon to sink below the horizon and into darkness. For now, the snowflakes falling from the sky are so white and fluffy that it’s like someone’s tipping a bucket of crocheted ones directly over the top of us.

I skip down the ramp and spin around with my arms out, watching the snowflakes land on the sleeves of my coat, and like any adult in the snow, I stick my tongue out and catch some. When I spin back in Tav’s direction, he’s watching me with a raised eyebrow.

‘Snow is falling,’ I say like it explains everything.

Instead of making fun of me like I expected, he sings the first line of “Merry Christmas, Everyone” by Shakin’ Stevens, complete with finger-clicking arm movement.

This was always my mum’s favourite Christmas song, and it’s a well-known fact that no one can hear it without singing along, and I wish I was brave enough to join in. I’m too self-conscious to sing in front of anyone, but he continues the song as he walks down the ramp.

I’m breathless from spinning, but I feel young and carefree for a moment. Snow always makes me feel like a child on a snow day when the schools unexpectedly close and you run outside to build a snowman or slide down a hill.

‘Thank you for the boots,’ I say, appreciating the traction they give me on the freshly fallen snow. ‘They’re the most comfortable things I’ve ever owned.’

He glances down at my feet. ‘You’re welcome.’

In my head, I do a victory punch. Who knew an adult conversation with no mention of elves would be a cause for celebration?

‘You said you live in the woods?’ I have so many questions for him that I’d make even the most hard-hitting journalist jealous, but I get the impression he doesn’t talk much and won’t answer if I don’t tread carefully.

‘In a cabin to the west. Just beyond your dad’s land border, with the reindeer I’m responsible for.’ He gestures in the general direction we’re walking, to the left of the sinking winter sun. ‘To be honest, I’ve been staying at the house for the past couple of weeks. Since the heart attack, I’ve been scared to leave Percy in case something happens, y’know? And the reindeer are all doing well at the moment. We don’t have any that require round-the-clock care right now, so I felt it was better for me to be close by for a while.’

‘Tav …’ I take a deep breath. ‘What happened when he had the heart attack? He won’t talk about it. You were here, I take it?’

He looks at me again and I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the horizon. I have no doubt that he can hear every ounce of fear in my voice, and I can see the kindness of his eyes without looking, but I’m a fraction of a second away from tears again, and there have been more than enough tears in front of gorgeous men today.

‘I came in one morning and started making breakfast, thought it was odd that he wasn’t around, because usually you’d hear the floorboards creaking if he was upstairs getting ready, or he’d have left a note to say where he was going. You know when things feel off and you can’t put your finger on why, and you think you’re just being a doom-monger, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong? I did a quick check of the house to make sure he hadn’t overslept, then I realised there was a track of fresh footprints leaving the house, so I followed them, and found him face down in the snow.’

I can’t help the intake of breath at the thought of my dad being so … vulnerable.

‘It was near the Northern Lights igloos.’ Tav turns and lifts his arm in the direction we’ve come from. ‘I made sure he was breathing, called the ambulance, and then carried him back to the house to get him warm. He didn’t regain consciousness until he was at the hospital.’

The thought of Dad being in that position makes my heart skip a beat. And the thought of what would’ve happened if Tav hadn’t found him … My breath does that shuddery thing it usually saves for after a good cry. ‘You saved his life.’

‘I did what anyone would do if they came across someone in trouble.’

‘No, I mean, you being you. Being tall and strong enough to carry a grown man. And trusting your instincts that something was wrong. If you hadn’t been here, if you hadn’t followed those footprints …’ It’s too late to stop myself crying again as tears spill down my face.

Tav steps closer and drops a heavy arm around my shoulders, tugging me loosely into his side.

‘He’s okay, Sash.’ His lovely voice is soft above my ear.

The kind, comforting gesture makes me cry harder. I’ve never been good with people being nice to me when I’m upset. I half-heartedly push at his side, but it’s as ineffective as I thought it would be. ‘Don’t, Tav. People don’t hug me.’

‘That’s convenient because I don’t hug people, but new experiences are good for us. Character building and such.’

It makes me laugh through my tears, but it’s also comforting somehow. I feel like Tav understands.

Like he can sense it too, his arm tightens and he pulls me closer as we walk, but it feels protective, not pushy. I have no doubt that if I stepped away, he’d do the same.

I’m also really glad I had the forethought to shove the packet of tissues into my pocket, and I surreptitiously wipe my face. ‘I didn’t realise how scared I was of something happening to him. He always does all these crazy things, and all my life, we’ve joked that he’s going to be eaten by a crocodile or swallowed up by a volcano or something, but it’s never seemed like something that will actually happen. The thought of him having something as ordinary as a heart attack really makes it hit home.’

‘Yeah. It shocked me. He’s so young at heart and vibrant and full of life. He makes me feel old and decrepit and I’m forty years younger than him.’

It makes me giggle again because it’s so relatable. Dad could make a five-year-old after ten tubes of Smarties look like a hibernating tortoise. ‘How is he now? He says he’s fine, but I don’t think he’d tell me if he wasn’t.’

‘I don’t know.’ Our eyes meet again. ‘If he’s affected by it, he doesn’t mention it to me. He acts like nothing happened. When the hospital discharged him, he couldn’t understand why I’d been worried. You’d think it was the equivalent of breaking a fingernail. He’s not someone who easily admits vulnerability.’

‘You really do know him well.’

He’s quiet for a moment. ‘I did try to get him to call you before, but he was adamant that he didn’t want to worry you.’

That makes me feel better somehow. I thought I was just an afterthought, that maybe if Dad hadn’t needed my help, he wouldn’t have told me at all.

‘I was surprised when he did. He hadn’t said anything about needing help. It was a surprise to see “pick Sasha up from the airport” on my jobsheet yesterday morning.’

‘That’s when you knew?’ I say in surprise. I’m clearly not the only person my dad doesn’t share things with.

Tav seems to suddenly realise his arm is around my shoulders because he jumps and yanks it away. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbles. ‘Percy’s told me so much about you that I feel like I know you and keep forgetting you don’t know me.’

I shake my head to clear it. ‘He has no intention of selling this place, does he?’

‘I don’t know what he intends.’ Tav’s blueish copper eyes meet mine again. ‘I know he doesn’t want to sell.’

‘It’s not about what he wants, it’s about what he needs, and he needs to live somewhere normal with a doctor’s practice nearby and ambulance access. These temperatures are stressful on the body as it is, and if you hadn’t been here that morning …’ My voice breaks again and I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths and get a grip. There are only so many times in one day you can burst into tears in front of the same gorgeous stranger and I’m quickly approaching the upper limit.

I try a different approach. ‘What happens to it for the rest of the year? What do you both do in the months when he’s not being Santa? How does it earn money?’

‘It doesn’t – that’s the problem.’ He looks at me for a long moment and seems to decide he trusts me. ‘We need a buyer who wants to restore it, but that’s never going to happen, is it? It’s got to the point of needing too much work. As soon as you fix one thing, four more things fall apart. Whoever you force him to sell to will be a developer. They’ve sniffed around before and been sent swiftly on their way, but this time, I don’t see another way out …’

I glance up at Tav. He is gorgeous. I’m still wearing my bobble hat but snowflakes are settling in his hair, which is pushed back and the sun reflects off a couple of blond strands mixed in with the light and darker brown.

‘Unless you have any suggestions with your hotel expertise …’

There’s a faint tone of mockery that makes me wonder if he suspects the truth about my job, but I’m so distracted by the way his longish hair tickles the back of his neck and how I’m almost positive I can make out the silvery marks of scars on the skin there that it takes me a while to realise what he’s said.

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ I stutter eventually. I feel like I have to prove myself somehow. God knows why. I’m not the manager of a fancy hotel, and the last thing I want is to convince him I am.

‘Everything has to come to an end eventually, and if I’m brutally honest with myself, things have been a struggle lately. Maybe it’s time to say goodbye.’ He’s unable to hide the depth of gloom in his voice.

We pass Santa’s House and crunch down the curve of the main road, and then Tav takes the same narrow path through the trees that he took when he led Rudolph back the other night.

Was that really only last night? It feels like I’ve been here for weeks, but it’s barely twenty-four hours.

‘Have you worked here long?’ I rush to catch up with him. He’s not intentionally hurrying, he just doesn’t realise my legs sink into the snow a lot deeper than his do.

‘Since time began. Since the year dot. Since cavemen roamed the earth and Alexander the Great rode through on Bucephalus.’ He turns back to grin at me, and when he realises I’m lagging behind, he stops to wait. ‘Or about fifteen years, give or take.’

‘How long’s it been going?’

He tilts his head side to side. ‘About fifteen years, give or take.’

‘You’ve been here from the very beginning?’ I say, surprised again.

‘Well, it turned up on the doorstep of my reindeer sanctuary. What else could I do?’

‘Oh, so you ran a reindeer sanctuary before the North Pole Forest was built here?’

‘Something like that,’ he says with the familiar tone of not wanting to talk about it, and I can’t work out what it is that he doesn’t want to talk about. ‘When your dad took over last year, he let me keep my job, and now he puts jobsheets through my door every Monday morning that I ignore and get on with my own work.’

‘It’s like someone bought up the forest and pulled bits of it out to put cabins in.’

‘That’s exactly what someone did.’

‘Really? Who?’

‘Santa, of course.’

Here we go again. ‘Yeah, but who built it? Who put it here?’

‘Santa.’

‘Right. Of course he did. Because I was thinking more along the lines of a construction company seeing as Santa isn’t particularly known for his DIY skills, and I can’t imagine his team of reindeer being particularly good with hammers and nails.’

‘You’d have to ask him that.’

Of course I would. ‘And I suppose it was Santa who gave you the job here?’

‘Obviously,’ he says, but there’s a teasing tone in his voice, like he wants me to know he’s winding me up now.

‘Well, whoever sold this place to my dad really saw him coming.’ We’ve been walking for ages and we still haven’t reached the property line. This place is unimaginably huge.

‘Saw him coming?’ Tav glances back at me with a confused expression. ‘Because he’s colourful when he wears his Santa suit?’

‘No, because he’s a vulnerable old man and whoever owned this place clearly knew that and set out to take advantage.’

‘What do you mean? He wanted to buy the North Pole Forest. He wanted to restore it. It was his idea, not the old owner’s.’

‘Yeah, but an almost-eighty-year-old man can’t cope with all this on his own. They clearly knew that and shafted it off on him anyway.’

Tav looks like he only understands fifteen per cent of that sentence. ‘He’s not on his own.’

He’s stopped at the edge of the path to wait for me again and I wait until I reach him to speak. ‘You’re only one person, Tav.’

‘I’ve got it under control. I don’t like people implying that I haven’t.’ His tetchiness intrigues me because he doesn’t sound annoyed – it sounds more like an explanation.

‘It evidently needs more than two people. For him to even think this is a sensible thing for a man of his age to take on … Between you and me, I’m seriously wondering if he’s starting to lose his marbles.’

‘Marbles?’ Tav looks even more confused. He looks at the ground like someone’s genuinely dropped some marbles. ‘I don’t understand. We don’t have any marbles here.’

His non-understanding of my British slang is so adorable that it makes me burst out laughing. ‘Believe me, I can see that.’

He looks yet more confused.

‘It means … Oh, you know what, maybe I should just stop talking entirely.’

‘I think that would be a very reasonable plan.’ That teasing tone is in his voice again.

Another clearing has sprung up amongst the trees, and we come to a wooden three-slat fence with a wide path around it. A reindeer is trotting across the paddock towards us.

‘Welcome to the North Pole Forest reindeer sanctuary.’ Tav goes to the fence and pulls a handful of greenery out of his pocket and offers it to the approaching reindeer.

‘Do you always have some form of plant life in your pockets?’

He laughs. ‘As I said – all eventualities. You never know when you might need to win over a reindeer.’

‘No antlers?’ I ask as I watch the reindeer gobbling the plant from Tav’s hand.

‘Males drop them by this time of year and the females keep them until May to protect their calves. Factually, all of Santa’s reindeer would be female to still have antlers on Christmas Eve.’

‘I can honestly say I’ve never thought of Santa’s reindeer and the term factually in the same sentence before.’

When Tav’s hand is empty, he brushes them together and leaves the reindeer chewing as we walk along the path towards a wooden cabin. It’s exactly what you’d dream of for a log cabin in the forest. There’s a low fence with strings of glowing white lights strung through the posts, a wooden gate and a snow-covered path up to the door, and a small potted Christmas tree on either side. It’s so different to the loud and colourful decorations of Santa’s House. This is understated and classy, and it reminds me of the cabins on the hillside. ‘You live here?’

‘Yeah. This has been home for many years. It was just the cabin at first; I added the stables and paddock later.’

‘Don’t you get lonely?’ It feels like we’ve walked about a mile, maybe more. My voice is swallowed up by the seclusion of the trees. The only movement is a few of the reindeer making their way towards us.

‘Lonely?’ His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. ‘I’ve got twenty-three reindeer.’

‘And you don’t like people and can’t rely on anybody?’

‘Exactly.’ The smile he gives me doesn’t look genuine as he opens a heavy gate and lets us into the reindeer pen.

‘They’re amazing. When I was little, I didn’t think they were real animals.’

‘A lot of people have never seen one in real life before, and the astonishment on children’s faces is magical to behold.’ His eyes light up when he talks about it, and it’s clear in every millimetre of his body language that he loves this job.

I’m so distracted by watching him that I have to duck out of the way fast when a reindeer mooches up and nearly takes my eye out with an antler.

Tav laughs. ‘That’s Vixen One. They won’t hurt you, but keep an eye out for errant antlers. Here.’ He pulls out another handful of plant life and offers it to me. ‘The way to a reindeer’s heart is most definitely through their stomachs.’

‘What is it?’

‘Cladonia lichen. It grows all over the northern forests. On trees and under the snow. I grab handfuls when I see it.’

Quite a few reindeer are heading towards me, and I hold the lichen out to Vixen One who’s coming closer to sniff out my pockets, but most of them change direction and follow Tav where he’s gone into a storeroom behind the cabin and comes back out with a bag full of the stuff.

While Vixen One is chewing, Tav shows me where to rub her nose and I let my fingers trail over her coarse hair. ‘This is a real sanctuary for them?’

‘Yes. Reindeer are and always were my main priority. A way of combining my passions. Helping reindeer and helping children believe in the magic of Christmas.’

‘The tourists must love them. Do you take people on sleigh rides?’

‘No.’ He seems offended by the suggestion. ‘They are not here for entertainment purposes. Some of them are recovering from injury and trauma. I let them be part of the North Pole Forest because they love to meet people and socialising is good for them, but I don’t agree with using animals for entertainment. If they’re fit and healthy, I walk them so tourists can stop and chat and feed them, but I don’t allow unsupervised visits, and their paddock is out of the way because I don’t want tourists wandering off and finding it.’

There are signs all along the fence saying “Do NOT feed the reindeer”, and an explanation saying that reindeer can die from being given the wrong food, written in many different languages.

‘Some of them are working animals. They pull sleds that I take to go down into the village and collect supplies, and they take me on journeys whenever I need to go elsewhere.’

Another one comes over and pushes his big, furry nose into my hand and I let him have a bit of lichen and stroke across the thick beige fur at his shoulder.

‘Donner Four,’ Tav says.

I’m impressed he can recognise them. They all look so alike.

‘When you want to go into the village, the reindeer sleighs are kept in the stable. I’ll show you the ropes the first time, but it’s very simple.’

The idea of going somewhere by reindeer-drawn sleigh is so absurd that it makes me laugh a mildly demented cackle. He can’t be serious. ‘Can’t I walk?’

‘If you want to carry heavy shopping for three kilometres in thick snow and anything from minus-ten to minus-twenty-degree temperatures.’

‘So, let me get this straight … so far, for modes of transportation, you recommend dog sled and reindeer-drawn sleigh. There’s a truck outside Dad’s house – can’t we use that?’

He does something that’s not a laugh at all, more like a scoff. ‘I don’t drive.’

‘Me neither.’ It’s unusual to meet someone else who doesn’t, especially a man. ‘Never learned?’

‘I just don’t.’

There’s something defensive in his voice, and I can’t help noticing the tension that’s squaring his shoulders and the finality in the tone of his terse answers. ‘My mum died in a car accident when I was younger,’ I say as an explanation.

‘I know.’

Dad must’ve told him then. I’m surprised because Dad has never talked to me about the accident they were in. ‘Are people ever disappointed that they don’t actually fly? Or that Rudolph doesn’t have a red nose?’

He looks over at me like he understands the change of subject for what it is and his lips curve upwards. ‘They only fly on Christmas Eve. And Rudolph’s nose only glows in the fog. Everyone knows that.’

I laugh, but it makes me smile too because he switches from serious to children’s entertainer at the drop of a hat, but you can hear the joy in his voice when he talks about Christmas magic.

I bite my lip to stop myself smiling. ‘This really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’

‘It’s something that was sorely missing from my childhood. My parents are very sensible people, always too serious to let me and my brother and sister believe in anything as whimsical as Santa Claus, and when I was older, I saw how other families bolstered this belief and how magical it must be for a child to grow up believing in the impossible, and I wanted to be part of that.’

‘So that’s why you do it? That’s why you’re so dedicated? Making up for lost time?’

‘No. I just like seeing people happy, and I think children should grow up thinking there’s something wonderful in the world.’ He meets my eyes. ‘And it’s never too late for adults who have lost that sense of wonder to get it back. Santa is a symbol of hope, a sign that things will always get better. Christmas is something to look forward to. A joyous end to the year – a celebration of a good year or good riddance to a bad year, but always a moment to measure your life by, whether adult or child.’

His eyes are burning into me and I can’t look away. I’m so distracted that I’m still holding a piece of lichen in mid-air and I jump when another reindeer comes over and helps himself from between my fingers.

‘What about you? I can’t imagine Percy raised you to not believe in Santa.’

‘No. My mum and dad always made Christmas special and went to great lengths to stoke my belief in Santa. There were always snowy footprints leading from the fireplace to the Christmas tree on Christmas morning, mince pie crumbs and an emptied glass of milk and half-chewed carrots on the plate by the fire, glittery hoofprints in the garden, noises from the roof on Christmas Eve, bells jingling from above.’

I don’t realise I’m smiling at the memories until Tav points at my face. ‘See that? That smile right there? That is why children should grow up believing in Santa. Because when they’re old and cynical, they can still look back and recall a time when they believed in magic.’

Again, it’s a nice sentiment, but my childhood Christmases make very little difference to my adult life.

‘Are you a vet?’ I ask to change the subject, because it feels so peaceful out here, and being around animals has always been calming for me. These creatures are truly majestic in the middle of this gorgeously natural forest, and it makes me want to breathe deeper and be still for a moment.

‘No, I’m self-taught.’ There’s a hesitancy in his voice that says he clearly expects ridicule. ‘Through experience and through courses I took for the knowledge, not the qualifications. I work with a vet down in the village because, obviously, there are things I can’t do and problems I don’t always know how to fix, but I’ve been looking after reindeer for nearly twenty years now.’ There are three around him as he talks and he expertly dodges antlers and gives them all a handful of lichen and a bit of a fuss. ‘Injured reindeer come here for rehabilitation. I get a lot of orphaned reindeer calves. Then there are wild animal attacks, traps, hunters, people who chase them for sport.’

‘You’re so good with them.’

‘Better than I am with people.’

‘You know where you stand with animals. I miss the dogs I used to work with. People are unpredictable, but a dog never is. They always want a walk and a belly rub, no matter what’s going on in the world.’

‘Dogs? Is this before or after the fancy hotelier job?’

I freeze mid-reindeer-stroke. What is wrong with me? I’ve barely known this man a day and I forget myself completely in front of him. I am the worst at keeping secrets.

‘It’s all right,’ Tav says. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that too.’

I give him a grateful smile, and feel even more grateful when he doesn’t push for more info even though he must have worked it out by now.

Instead, he looks out across the paddock. ‘Rudolph Number Three is missing again.’ He glances at me. ‘Or Clive, as he’ll now be known.’

It shouldn’t make me laugh as hard as it does. ‘Clive was in the forest earlier with another reindeer, a small one with big antlers.’

He does a headcount. ‘That’s odd. We don’t have another reindeer. You definitely saw two? And it wasn’t one of this lot?’

I look over the animals in front of me. Am I really supposed to recognise them?

Tav must clock the look on my face because he laughs. ‘It seems impossible now, but they all have different antlers, markings, and personalities. You’ll get to know them in time.’

‘Not with all the numbers after their names, I won’t. You can’t seriously expect anyone to remember those. You could use the time you spend memorising numbers to think up actual names for them. Right, this one.’ I nod to the non-antlered chap who’s now snuffling across my palm in search of more lichen and Tav holds the bag out for me to take some. ‘From now on, he’s Mr Bean.’

‘Why?’

‘It was my favourite TV show growing up.’

‘No, I mean …’

‘The least you can do is give them the honour of having their own name, not another reindeer’s recycled name with a different number. And for God’s sake, haven’t you heard of creativity? There isn’t a reindeer in the world not known as Rudolph. Think outside the box. Look, those two, Ant and Dec. Those two, Richard and Judy.’ I point at two pairs of reindeer on the opposite side of the clearing. ‘Holly and Phil. Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood. And that one, look, he bears a striking resemblance to Martin Clunes. That one with orangey-brown fur has got David Dickinson written all over him. Look at the messy fur on that one’s head – it’s definitely Boris Johnson.’ I keep pointing to individual reindeer. ‘This one, Richard Madden. That one, Oscar Isaac, and look, there’s Pedro Pascal.’

I make a clicking noise with my tongue to attract the attention of the three reindeer who are pawing at a bale of hay. ‘Come on, Oscar Isaac. Come and have some lichen. Oh, look, Oscar Isaac seems quite interested in Richard Madden’s back end … Oh, now Oscar and Pedro are having a playfight over who gets to stand nearest to Richard Madden. And … they’re back to comparing antler sizes. Honestly, men are all the same.’

Tav is laughing so hard he can barely breathe. ‘I don’t know who any of those people are, but Reindeer Namer has just become your job. Even after you leave, I’ll send you photos of new arrivals and you can send me names back. It’s your job for life now.’

I swallow hard. I’ve been here a day and I don’t even like Christmas, but the thought of Tav sending me photos of reindeer while I’m at home in miserable Britain makes a rock settle in my stomach. The thought of being back there with Dad, of having made him miserable too … And what if Tav’s right about the property developers? What would someone want to build here? Some state-of-the-art outdoor sports centre? An Arctic Circle novelty ice hotel? A luxury spa? All sharp angles and concrete and stone and glass? What if they want to bulldoze it completely and put in a ski resort? He’ll be trying to run a reindeer sanctuary on the edge of a building site, looking after reindeer recovering from injuries or poor orphaned calves being lost without their mums, and all around them are pneumatic drills and excavators and trees being felled.

I don’t realise my eyes have welled up again until Tav asks if I’m okay.

‘Cold air,’ I mutter, turning away to take some deep breaths.

Mr Bean follows me and pushes his furry nose right into my face and it distracts me from the sudden and overwhelming sadness at the thought of this forest being spoilt.

I give Mr Bean a head rub and distract him with another mouthful of lichen and look over at Tav, who’s watching me with intense eyes.

‘You’re different than I thought you’d be,’ he says eventually. ‘I expected posh and pristine. All business and not wanting to get involved. But I can tell you like it here, and you’ve made me laugh more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in the last month put together.’

I blush because he makes me feel like laughing too. There’s an honesty about him, a sense of ease and candour, the kind of guy who makes it okay for me to be myself without judgement. ‘Well, everyone needs more laughter in their lives.’

‘Maybe some people need more magic in their lives too.’

He’s not wrong there, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. There’s a sense of joy here that pervades the whole forest. It’s the kind of place that makes you happy.