All I Want for Christmas: a hilarious and heart-warming romance Read online

  I follow my map, passing a mixture of historic-looking buttery-coloured brickwork buildings, shops and new builds before I finally arrive at Homelessness Action, whose offices look very modern, but not at all imposing.

  ‘Good morning! How can I help you?’

  The receptionist smiles at me like she’s genuinely happy to see me, while behind her, a staff of at least twenty people occupy an open-plan office. I count at least seven happy faces and see a woman wearing a Nirvana T-shirt – I’m already getting good vibes.

  ‘I have an appointment with Joseph Dalton at ten.’

  She taps on her keyboard, finding my appointment and nods. ‘Nick? Great. Please take a seat and I’ll let Joe know you’re here.’

  I thank her and sit on a huge purple couch, wondering if I’ve come to the right place. If someone wore a band T-shirt at my current office, Sophia would have them fired or maybe even thrown from the roof. This is all very disconcerting. Even the ring from the phones sounds chirpy.

  A man in a blue shirt and swinging lanyard approaches me, holding out his hand.

  ‘Nick. Joe Dalton. Thanks for coming in.’

  We shake hands and I follow him through the office and into a large pale green meeting room, complete with yucca plants and a water cooler. Joe opens his folder, revealing my CV and I take a deep breath.

  ‘Impressive,’ he remarks, his pen scanning down the pages. ‘First class degree, a year at Rose Allen, then five years at Kensington Fox. You were lead on the Broadshore merger, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, slightly unnerved by the fact that this particular piece of information isn’t on my CV. Broadshore was a particularly tricky healthcare client who threatened to move their business to other firms on a daily basis. He’s obviously done his research. ‘It was an interesting project.’

  ‘Why did you leave Kensington?’

  ‘It was time,’ I lie. ‘I think it’s important to expand one’s horizons.’

  ‘One’s horizons’ . . . When have you ever spoken like that? Are you the Queen? Is that what we’re doing now?

  ‘And you’re currently at Portman Brown . . . I hear they’re a tough crowd.’

  I nod. He has no idea. ‘It can be, but you know . . . work hard, play hard.’

  As the words leave my mouth, I want to immediately cram them back in there. Moron. Absolute fucking moron.

  He places his pen on the table and leans back in his chair. He reminds me of Matt Damon, if Matt Damon was five foot six and almost completely bald. This is going horribly; I just want to leave.

  ‘You’ve seen the job description; obviously we’re not a huge organisation like Shelter or Crisis, but we need someone to assist with everything from advising on the Charities Act, to dealing with the trustees, to giving legal advice to drop-ins who may be facing homelessness. You’re obviously more than capable of doing the job with some in-house training.’

  ‘I’m sure I can get up to speed relatively quickly with the appropriate policies,’ I respond eagerly, hoping he’s forgotten everything I’ve previously said. ‘I’m used to working over many different legal disciplines.’

  He smiles and closes over his folder.

  ‘This won’t be like any other place you’ve worked before. I need someone who can deal with Joe Bloggs – who’s been sleeping outside Tesco for the past year – just as competently as they deal with the business side. Our focus is people, Nick. Real people with stories and families and problems, some of whom you’ll have walked past on your way to the office. While you’ll have an important role to play here just like everyone, from Briony on reception to the street fundraisers we have pounding the pavements, I prefer to hire people who are willing to share their stories, just like the people we help.’

  ‘My story?’

  Joseph nods. ‘Tell me about yourself, Nick. What’s not on your CV?

  Stuff that makes me look bad, Joe, that’s why it’s not on there. Next question?

  I shift uncomfortably in my chair. ‘So . . . um, unfortunately I’m not that interesting, but I’m sure I can apply what I’ve learned in my previous roles to bring something unique and . . .’

  Oh God, did his eyes just glaze over?

  ‘Perhaps a fresh perspective on the current policies which . . .’

  I see him subtly glance at his watch. What the hell is this? Why does it matter what my damn story is?

  ‘So, I think that’s probably all—’

  ‘Santa!’ I blurt out. ‘. . . I used to be Santa.’

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘Go on . . .’

  By the time I’ve told Matt Damon all about my job at Southview Shopping Centre, I know I’ve blown it. An interviewer who goes from impressed to bored to mildly amused doesn’t exactly instil confidence. And neither does a candidate who just told you his calling was to play Santa.

  ‘I appreciate you being so candid with me. Sounds like quite the experience,’ he says, still smirking. ‘And while you’re being so open, I have one last question for you.’

  Why am I still sitting here?

  ‘Kensington Fox. Why did you really leave?’

  I pause and look at the table. Here goes . . .

  ‘I left Kensington Fox because they asked me to.’

  As I look up, I see Joseph nod, waiting for me to continue.

  ‘I think I became disillusioned by the nonsense which came with a job like that. I became complacent. And while arguments could be made that my dismissal wasn’t entirely my doing, they were absolutely right to let me go. Although I regret the way I handled things, I wouldn’t change anything because it’s shown me that I’m capable of being better . . . of doing things I never thought possible, and I know I could bring that to the role here. I think everyone deserves a second chance.’

  Joseph shakes my hand and says he’ll be in touch, but my gut feeling tells me otherwise. I thank him for his time and walk back to the station, knowing that the next time I hear from him will be by letter with a short, sharp rejection, possibly followed by a recommendation for a therapist.

  That evening, I agree to watch Alfie again so Sarah and Matt can finish the date they barely started the other night. I’m happy to; the last thing I need is to be sitting at home wondering if my interview went as horribly as I think it did.

  ‘I thought we’d watch Jumanji,’ I say to Alfie. ‘I hear the new version is really good.’

  ‘Can we have popcorn? We have some in the cupboard.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ I reply. ‘But check with your mum first.’

  Tell me about yourself, Nick. What’s not on your CV?

  ‘Yes, popcorn is fine, just make sure he brushes his teeth,’ Sarah yells from her room.

  Alfie runs to the kitchen while I try and shake off the voices in my head and stop them running over my interview relentlessly. Matt notices the look on my face.

  ‘Will you stop worrying already? I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as crap as you imagine.’

  ‘Mate, I told them I thought it was my calling to work as Santa!’ I say quietly. ‘My way of giving back to the community. It was like I couldn’t stop talking utter garbage. MY CALLING. What kind of idiot says they were destined to work in a different industry at a freaking job interview?’

  He smirks supportively. ‘I’m not sure working as a Santa counts as an industry? But they’re do-gooders. They’ll eat that shit up. Better than saying no one would hire you . . .’

  ‘Nick! I can’t reach the popcorn!’

  I leave Matt and join Alfie in the kitchen where he is on his tippy toes, straining to reach the top shelf, even though it’s a good metre out of his grasp. I can’t help smiling as I lift it down for him. I ask him to get two bowls from the dish drainer while I microwave the popcorn.

  It’s not often I hear of lawyers playing Santa Claus.

  ‘Ready!’ Sarah announces. �
�Sorry, I couldn’t find my earrings.’

  ‘No problem,’ Matt replies. ‘You look great. We should head out though, reservation is for seven.’

  I yell bye from the kitchen as they both rush out the door. I don’t need to see how great she looks, I’m already aware. Besides, I have enough going on in my head without adding Sarah in some slinky dress to the chaos.

  I settle down on the couch with Alfie, divide up the popcorn and turn on Netflix.

  ‘Mum says Mrs Grainger will be watching me when you go away,’ Alfie says quietly, as we watch the film. ‘I don’t want her, she never plays with me. She just talks to her cats.’

  ‘Your mum told you I was going away?’

  He nods. ‘She said that you might get a job far away. Don’t you like us anymore?’

  ‘Of course, I do, buddy!’ I exclaim, my stomach plummeting as I notice his bottom lip beginning to wobble. ‘It’s just that sometimes grown-ups need a change.’

  He stares at me blankly.

  ‘Right . . . I’ll try and explain it better. You enjoy nursery, right? It’s fun. You know everyone, you know where all the good toys are.’

  He nods.

  ‘But eventually you’ll leave and start school. Not because you hate nursery, but just because you’re ready to move on to something different. You’ll still keep all of your old friends, but you’ll make new ones! You’ll have new challenges, new toys and become a big boy who can do more things for himself. That’s what I’m doing. I’m trying to be a big boy too.’

  He ponders this before saying, ‘I don’t want you to go. I don’t want Mum to be unhappy again.’

  I pull him in for a hug. ‘Aww, Alfie, why would she be unhappy again? Look at all the fun she’s having with Matt now and the stuff you guys do together. That’s what has made her happy. Besides, I promise that wherever I move, I’ll only be a car ride away, so I’ll drive up to come and see you all the time. Deal?’

  Strictly speaking, this isn’t a false promise. Even if I moved to Aberdeen, it would still only technically be a car ride away, but Alfie seems satisfied anyway. He smiles and agrees which makes me feel a little better, though I’m still somewhat disconcerted that Sarah’s been speaking to Alfie about the possibility of me leaving but hasn’t directly mentioned it to me. Maybe the only effect it will have on Sarah is disrupting her childcare arrangements. The thought of not seeing her regularly anymore kills me and I know that’s exactly why I need to go. However, after today’s interview, I have a feeling that it might be a while before it happens.

  Kensington Fox. Why did you really leave?

  Jesus fucking Christ, why did I go with honesty? Why didn’t I just stick to the whole expanding one’s horizons, bullshit? Or that I wanted to try something new? Anything except that pile of melodramatic drivel. I should call Greta and see if Slough is still available.

  Saturday morning begins with a plate of Matt’s famous French toast. It’s been two days since my interview and my cringe level has gone from a strong ten to a much more manageable four. There are lessons to be learned here and once I figure out what they are, I’ll be sure to implement them. Matt hands me the maple syrup while he turns on LBC radio.

  ‘Do we need to listen to this?’ I whine, drenching my breakfast in sugar. Matt loves radio phone-in shows – almost as much as French toast – but I hate them with a passion. It’s like the radio version of Facebook.

  Matt takes a seat, grinning. ‘How can you not love this shit? Angry members of the British public, ranting down the phone for the whole world to hear? It’s music to my ears.’

  ‘I’d prefer actual music to my ears,’ I mumble. Thankfully, my phone rings and I move through to my bedroom just as Geoff from Kent starts talking about Brexit.

  ‘Nick. Joe Dalton here, sorry to bother you so early. Our Saturdays here get hectic later in the day. I hope I’m not interrupting your breakfast?’

  ‘Oh . . . hello! No, no problem at all.’

  ‘Great, just wanted to give you a quick bell to let you know that I was very impressed with your interview.’

  I feel my face contort in confusion. ‘You were? I mean, thanks. Thanks very much.’

  ‘The fact that you’ve experienced just how quickly circumstances can change is a quality I feel would be infinitely beneficial for this role. And if there is anything we believe in here, it’s second chances. So, I’d like to offer you the position.’

  I slump down on my bed, stunned and apparently, mute. In what world was that interview a success?

  ‘You still there? Nick?’

  ‘Yes,’ I respond, clearing my throat. ‘Sorry, can you just repeat that?’

  I hear him chuckle quietly. ‘Job’s yours, Nick, if you’re still interested. We’d be looking for you to start in a couple of weeks, if that’s feasible?’

  ‘I think so,’ I reply. ‘I’ll make it work.’

  ‘Excellent, you’ve made my morning. I’ll get all the paperwork sent over to GL Recruitment when Sigita is back on Monday. If you need help finding accommodation, she’ll be able to recommend some letting agencies.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ I respond. This whole conversation feels like a dream. If Matt wasn’t in the next room, I’d swear he was pranking me.

  ‘Very pleased to have you on board, Nick,’ he replies. ‘Speak to you soon. Have a great weekend.’

  I hang up the call and return to the kitchen table. The look on Matt’s face tells me he already knows what I’m about to say.

  ‘You got it then?’

  ‘Two weeks,’ I tell him. ‘They want me to start in two weeks.’

  He slices into his French toast. ‘Or . . . now hear me out . . . you could start never and just stay here.’

  ‘Hmm, kind of ruins the whole “new start” thing I have planned.’

  He nods and continues eating but I can tell his heart’s not in it. God, he looks so . . . sad. I sit back down at the table, pick up my fork and stare at my food.

  ‘I’ll leave the room empty for you . . . just in case you change your mind,’ he muses. ‘You might get there and hate it. I mean, it’s full of smug Oxford University students and fucking Harry Potter bullshit. You’ll go crazy.’

  ‘You like Harry Potter!’

  ‘I like Alien too. Doesn’t mean I want to live in space.’

  I smile tentatively. ‘Come on, mate, you’re supposed to be happy for me.’

  Matt nods. ‘I am, Nick. Truly. It’s just, well . . . the end of an era. I’ll miss this . . . I’ll miss you.’

  ‘I know, mate, and I’ll miss—’

  As he pulls me in and hugs me tightly, there’s no need to finish my sentence. There’s nothing I can do or say that will make any of this any easier. All I can do is hug him back.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘Can I have some quiet, please! Now, as you all know, I met Nick at university and we’ve been through a lot together. The good . . . the bad . . . the downright embarrassing and occasionally ugly – we’ve survived it all.’

  I smile as Matt commands the attention of our flat, which is bursting at the seams with familiar faces: Greta, Noel, Harriet, Sarah, of course, plus Izzy and the guys I worked with last year at Kensington Fox – all tipsy, all happy and all here to wish me well for my new job in Oxford.

  ‘But, as he’s decided to fuck off and do legal aid at a bloody homeless charity, I thought it might be a good idea to have a little whip-round before he goes. We all know how much those poor sods earn.’

  Everyone who is not a lawyer smiles politely while the lawyers laugh at Matt’s joke, including me. My salary isn’t exactly life-changing, but for someone, my job just might be.

  ‘So please, raise your glasses and wish the best man I know all the success and happiness life can bring him. He truly is Saint Nick. Though this time the wardrobe will be a little more flattering.’ He w
inks at me and I laugh. ‘To Nick!’

  Hearing the room toast me makes my eyes well up. Even Alfie is holding up his little juice box. It will be strange leaving all this behind, but for the first time in ages, I’m looking forward to whatever the future holds.

  ‘Speech . . . SPEEECHHH!’

  I laugh and take a quick swig of my beer, agreeing to say a few words. Thank God I’m tipsy, it’ll make this less painful.

  ‘I’m rubbish at this kind of thing, but thank you for coming, everyone,’ I begin. ‘I honestly didn’t expect so many of you to show up, but I’m very grateful you did. Would have been a shit party otherwise . . . oops, sorry, Alfie.’

  I see Sarah jokingly place her hands over Alfie’s ears, while everyone chuckles.

  ‘You all know that the past year has been challenging, to say the least, but I feel like things are finally moving in the right direction . . . Anyway, I’m only a couple of hours away, so there’s really no excuse not to come and visit me when the overwhelming urge to see my face becomes too much to bear.’

  I turn to Matt and raise my glass, a lump in my throat already forming.

  ‘And Matt . . . what can I say, brother? You are the yin to my yang, the piña to my colada and, well, without me, you’d never have met the lovely Sarah, so I expect a seriously large and very expensive housewarming gift.’

  Matt laughs and wraps his arm around Sarah, giving me a thumbs up. Sarah in turn puts her arm around Alfie, who looks exhausted. I’m going to miss their faces most of all.

  ‘So enough from me. Please drink the flat dry. Cheers, everyone!’

  Half an hour later, Sarah announces that she’ll have to get Alfie home, and I follow her into my room to help her find their coats among the monstrous pile which has accumulated on my bed. As we dig through, Alfie gets a second wind and decides to bounce manically on my bed. It’s the most action it’s seen in months.