Dear All,

This is my Christmas Strange Story; it’s called “Santa Claus in Times of Crisis”, and you can either read it online or download it here.

I would like to wish all of you a new year better than you think and not worse than you hope.

Alex

Dear Graeme Straub:

We interviewed a number of candidates for the position of “marketing manager”, and unfortunately on this occasion your application was not successful. Although the interview committee was impressed with your credentials and experience, it was deemed that you were overqualified for the position.

We wish you every personal and professional success with your job search and in the future.

Thank you for your interest in our company.

Regards,

Ebenezer Scrooge

HR Manager

 

Graeme sighed. Another polite, perfectly proper rejection email. They acknowledged his skills and experience, how kind of them. At the same time, though, they hinted that he was too old for the job.

The receding line of his greying hair reflected back at him from the computer screen. He was almost fifty and the job market was kindly reminding him of this fact as often as possible.

A festive banner appeared at the side of his mail provider page, advertising the Westfield Shopping Centre. It was as shiny and inviting as a Christmas ad is supposed to be, promising so many wonderful gifts all under one roof. If only he had the money, of course.

There was nothing he didn’t like about Christmas: the presents, once for him as a child, now for his six-year-old son; the tree, the decorations, the turkey, the cakes, the gleaming lights hanging above London streets. He had always been in love with Christmas. Always. Until now.

He deleted the email with an abrupt click on the mouse and got to his feet.

Crossing the living room, he walked into Zack’s bedroom, decorated with cartoon characters, and took a deep breath: how much he loved that air so devoid of any responsibility. His eyes wandered for the room and rested on a gleaming mini basketball hoop. He had given it to Zack for Christmas last year.

Picking up the small ball and taking aim, he shot it into the hoop with complacent skill. Since that day nine months ago when he had been made redundant, he’d had a lot of practice. This was his refuge from the world out there.

Still shooting hoops, he glanced at his watch – Zack would have been home soon: the love of his life, the only one thing he was really proud of.

He shot another hoop just as the doorbell rang.

“Hi,” he said as he opened the front door, beaming as though in a commercial for something wholesome and fun.

“Hi, Graeme. How are things?” His ex, Alianne, looking exactly like the dynamic, business woman she was, handed over Zack’s holdall.

“Great!” he nodded, squatting down to give Zack a hug.

“How was school, mate?”

“It was cool,” said Zack, a lively little boy with a mop of yellow hair.

“Really? Since when school is cool?” asked Graeme, smiling.

“Cos we did stuff about holidays and Christmas presents.”

He tried to keep smiling.

“Oh… I see. Yeah, that’s cool.”

“Turns out most his friends are getting a stonking great games console for Christmas. Who would have thought it?” Alianne chipped in with a knowing smile.

“Dad, are you sure Santa can bring the same present to so many kids? Isn’t he gonna run out of them?“

Graeme chuckled.

“Of course, he can. He’s Santa Claus! He can do anything.”

Zack ran into his room – “Bye mum!” – leaving Graeme and Alianne stood on the threshold of the house.

“Last thing, I got him a set of Star Wars action figures collection for Christmas. The brand new one, twelve dolls, he’s gonna love it.”

“Brilliant.”

“You bet.”

“Well, we’re all sorted, then.”

“Merry Christmas, Graeme.”

“Merry Christmas to you, Alianne.”

Waving her off and closing the door, he shivered. There was no money in the bank, he was living on benefits and his credit card had been frozen: there was no way he could buy his son the present he was expecting.

Zack was emptying his holdall out and brandishing a scraper as Graeme went into his room.

“What’s that for, Zack?”

“It’s for Santa,” he said, heading for the front door.

Graeme followed him outside.

The sun was trying, but there wasn’t much it could do. Snow and frost clung to the earth. Zack was scraping the frost from the steps.

“What’re you doing mate?”

“Santa is coming tonight,” Zack said, without stopping.

“Oh, right. We don’t want Santa to fall down our stairs and break a leg.”

“Exactly, and don’t forget that he’s VERY old.”

“Right, spot-on. I should have thought about that myself.”

“I know,” said Zack.

Graeme smiled as Zack moved on to another step, every scrape of the scraper echoing in Graeme’s mind as he was mulling over what to do.

“I’m sure that with your skills and experience,” his boss had told him back in March, “you won’t be out of a job long.” Yeah right, Graham thought, watching Zack move on to the last step.

“Great job, mate.”

“Thanks.”

“He won’t fall over now, that’s for sure. Let’s have a rest now. We can sit here and have a little chat. What do you think? Are you cold?”

“No.”

They sat on the last step of the stair.

“Listen, do you know that these are crisis times? Have you heard anything about the crisis?”

“Yes.”

“What have you heard?”

“That there’s a crisis.”

“Which is correct. Perfectly correct… the thing is, that when there’s a crisis people have less money to spend, so they buy less stuff…”

“Mum’s not in crisis, then, is she? She buys a lot of clothes.”

“Well, mum is fine, good for her. I was talking in general… our country is in crisis, the other countries in Europe are in crisis. Now, when there’s a crisis all governments run an economic policy called austerity.”

“What is authority, dad?”

“Austerity, well, it basically means that a lot of people lose their jobs.”

“Mum hasn’t lost her job.”

“No, she hasn’t. But, as I said, I was talking in general. So, the problem is that when people have less money, they spend less and buy less stuff, even Christmas presents, and so…

as a result –.”

“But Santa Claus brings Christmas presents, people don’t have to buy them!”

Graeme winced. He wanted to say he’d lost his job and couldn’t afford Christmas presents, not tell Zack that Santa Claus didn’t exist!

“See what I mean, dad? It’s Santa, everybody knows it.”

Graeme felt lost. Children believe in Santa Claus, who was he to take away their right to dream?

“Yes, of course, it’s Santa,” he answered at last.

“So, even with the crisis children still get their Christmas presents, don’t they?”

“Well, the point is that in crisis times many, many people lose their jobs, you know…”

“Okay.”

“It can literally happen to anyone, anyone in the world, you understand?”

“Yes, dad, anyone in the world.”

ANYONE in the world! Graeme paused, nodding.

“Exactly, really anyone. So, unfortunately, this Christmas a very, very famous person, a celebrity, so to speak, has lost his job.”

“Who is it, dad?”

“It’s Santa Clause, Zack…”

“Noo! Santa!? How is that possible?”

“It’s possible, Zack, anything can happen in such crisis times.”

“So no kid in the world will get any presents?”

“Well, not exactly. You see, since Santa Claus brings presents to all the children of every country in the world, he’s hired by the governments of each of this countries. As for us, the government has made cuts to its public spending, so Santa will only go to some areas of London.”

Zack turned the scraper over in his hands.

“And he’s not coming to our house?”

“Unfortunately, no. This area isn’t very wealthy – the Council decided to give Santa the sack.”

“No presents, then? Nothing?”

“I’m sorry, Zack, not this year. It’s the crisis.”

“I was so waiting for Christmas, dad.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Zack.”

He gave his son a hug and kissed him on his head.

****

The living room was as Christmassy as possible, in the circumstances: decorations were pinned from wall to wall; brightly coloured balloons hung in the corners and garlands of tinsel were wrapped around the furniture. Pride of place in the corner near the window was the large, lush green Christmas tree, covered with baubles and snowflake swirls.

Father and son had just finished their Christmas Eve dinner. Zack was collecting all the bread crumbs on the table and gathering them into a circle around his glass like a kind of pagan ritual. Graeme was looking at a photograph on his phone that Alianne had sent for Zack to see: a dozen guests laughing and smiling as they tucked into a feast. Graeme sighed. Once his life was like that.

“Hey Zack,” he tried. “Happy Christmas, son.”

Zack looked up from his pagan temple.

“Happy Christmas, dad.”

As they looked at each other in silence, there was a loud bang and the lights went out.

“Dad!”

The door of the house slammed. Graeme dashed over to Zack and hugged him.

“It’s all right, sweetie. It’s all right. I’m here.”

“What’s happened?” called out Zack, nearly crying.

“Don’t worry son – maybe a fuse blew?” said Graeme and caressed his hair.

“It’s so dark… can we turn on the light?”

“Yes, I’m going to check the meter… just a second.”

“Can I come with you, dad? I’m scared.”

“Of course. Give me your hand… let’s go.”

As soon as he took the child’s hand, a glistening light illuminated the room. The Christmas tree was flooded with thousands of small lights, each pine needle seemed to have become a source of light itself.

“Wow!”

As if drawn by an invisible force, father and son walked towards the tree. Graeme could feel his boy’s hand shaking in his. He held it tighter and walked on.

The intensity of the light was growing and lighting up the whole room. When they stopped before the tree the light was so strong they couldn’t look at it.

“It’s – it’s warm,” Graham whispered.

Zack put his hand to his eyes and looked down. There was something blinking at the base of the tree.

He crouched and saw a wrapped box. He gasped at the sight, and frantically unwrapped it.

“My games console!”

Graeme sank to his knees in wonder.

“Dad, they gave Santa the job again! Santa is back,” shouted Zack.

“Yes, apparently they did.”

“Look, papa! There’s another box,” called out Zack, pointing – a second blinking light had appeared under the tree. “I think this is for you, dad,” said the boy handing it to his father.

Graeme tore up the wrapping and opened the box. There was a mobile phone inside, of a model he had never seen before, red and gleaming. He took hold of it warily and observed it. It rang.

Graeme and Zack looked at each other.

“Answer, dad,” Zack urged

A big round button at the centre of the phone was blinking. Graeme touched it as softly as he could.

“Mr Graeme Scraub?”

“Yes…”

“I’m Mr.Fezziwig, HR Manager of Jeffreys Inc. I’m pleased to say that we have reconsidered your application and have decided to accept your candidature… Mr Scraub? Are you there?”

“Yes… does this mean that… I got the job?”

“Exactly, precisely, spot on, Mr Scraub. You got the job. You start next Monday, 9 pm, sharp.”

“Well, it’s great, thanks, but… it’s a bit strange, you know, it’s Christmas and…”

“Yes, it is, Mr Scraub. Happy Christmas.”

THE END