IVY
Snow drifted through the air, which was surprising for it still being early in December, but I liked the way it looked when it fell to the ground.
There was something peaceful about it. Though there was going to be nothing peaceful about the day ahead.
Whether we liked it or not, the Cringle marketing assets were in dire shape, and I needed to make sure that anything I suggested would help combat that.
It didn't help that my boss had scheduled a meeting later to ask for an update on the account, and I wasn't sure she was going to like what I had to say.
I pushed the thought aside and juggled the folders in my arm so I could open the door that let me into the building. Somehow, I managed to drop my pass and I cursed even as I tried to work out how to get it.
"Let me get that for you," a familiar voice said.
I turned to see Nick approaching, the snow landing on the shoulders of his suit and making him look even more dashing than usual. With his silver-grey hair, he almost looked more like Jack Frost than the images I was used to of Father Christmas, though I knew from what he said that wasn't true.
He crouched down and picked up my pass, handing it back to me.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." He pulled out his own and swiped it through the card reader on the outside of the door. Once it clicked, he pushed it open and let me through.
"Thanks." I flashed him what I hoped was a grateful smile. "I should have brought a bigger bag."
"Maybe, but then I'd have had no reason to hold the door open for you."
"Ah, no wonder that's why you had non-automatic doors put in."
He chuckled. "I can't claim credit for that. The main reason is that the building is too old and built from solid brick. Putting automatic doors in would cost a small fortune and I'd prefer to spend it on other things."
"Like fancy coffee machines for your staff?"
He nodded. "And regular pay raises. Automatic doors won't keep my staff happy, extra money in their pockets, and free presents for their children, do."
"You give all of your employees presents for their kids?"
"Of course. As you so accurately surmised, I am Santa."
"How did that even happen?" I asked as we walked down the corridor.
"I was always a toymaker. It was what five generations of my family had already been doing.
And my grandfather liked to give children gifts when he could, especially those whose parents couldn't afford it.
I was following in his footsteps already when I became immortal.
And then the normal stuff that happens when someone becomes a god. "
"I get that part, but how did you go from a toymaker to one of the most celebrated figures in the Western world?"
"Oh, right. Well, I don't know how much you know about my history?" he asked.
"Nothing more than everyone else knows. Your suit was green at some point, now it's red."
"Ah. That's very recent," he said. "If you're free now, you could come with me to give me a hand, and I can tell you about it?"
I should say no. Not because I had work to do, or even because I thought it wasn't worth doing whatever it was he had in mind, but because I didn't think it was wise to spend too much time with him. "All right."
He opened another door for me and let me through. "You're going to need these before we go through the factory," he said, gesturing to a dispenser of earplugs.
"Thanks." I pulled out a couple of them and pushed them into my ears.
He didn't take any from the dispenser and instead reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
He popped it open and pulled out some much fancier-looking earplugs, twisting them into place.
He saw me watching and offered a genuine smile.
"They work better and are better for the environment than the disposable ones.
Lots of the factory floor workers have their pairs too.
The disposable ones are really just for visitors. "
"Ah." The sound was more muffled than I'd like, but I imagined it wouldn't take us long to get through the factory so I could take them out. Maybe if I was going to be working at Cringle for a while and I kept finding myself on the factory floor, I'd get myself a fancier pair of earplugs too.
Nick pushed open the next door, and even with the ear protection, a whole cacophony of noise assaulted me. I was careful to stay on the clearly marked path. The loud whir of saws and the rush of air from heaters came from all directions, along with the shouts of the workers.
Several of them stopped to call a greeting towards Nick and he smiled and waved at all of them, using their names.
It was hard to tell from just seeing one interaction, but it was clear that he'd spent enough time down here that he knew the staff and they knew him.
That was always a good sign when it came to the work environment of a company.
It had taken me six months to even meet the CEO of the firm I worked at.
I doubted that was going to be the same here.
We got to the end of the factory and he pushed open another door, gesturing for me to make my way through. After how loud the factory was, it was almost deafeningly quiet now we'd left.
"Through here," Nick said, removing his earplugs as he did and clipping them back into the box.
I pulled my own out, squishing them between my fingers for a moment before shoving them in my pocket. I had no idea what else to do with them, and until I did, this was my solution.
Nick showed me to a small workshop that made me feel as if I'd stepped back in time a hundred years or so. Maybe more. A heavy wooden workbench with scorch marks and so many scratches that there was no doubt it had been used for years dominated the space, and racks with all manner of tools.
I drifted closer to it, my attention caught by an exquisite doll sitting on it. I set my files down so I could look at her properly. She was everything I'd expect from a China doll, with delicately painted features and curly brown hair.
"Ah, you've found Annabelle," Nick said.
"She's beautiful," I said.
"She is." He smiled sadly at the doll.
"What's her story?"
"How do you know there is one?" he asked.
"Your face."
"Mmm." For a moment, I didn't think he was going to tell me anything about it.
"She was the doll who changed it all. I know she doesn't look it, but she's an old lady now.
I made her in the late eighteen hundreds for a little girl who lived down the road from me.
Her mother was a kind woman, but she barely had enough money to pay for the basic food and lodgings, especially after her husband died.
At one point, I employed her as a cook. I didn't really need one, it was just that I couldn't stand seeing her destitute like that. "
I tried to imagine what that must have been like, but I couldn't. It was so far from the world I'd grown up in that I didn't even know where to start.
"That was when I met Annabelle. The girl, not the doll," Nick said.
"She was a bright child, always asking questions.
Sometimes, she'd help me when I was stuck with something on a toy.
She played with a lot of my prototypes, but she never had a doll of her own.
I didn't know the methods the best nineteenth-century dollmakers were using at the time, but I knew she desperately wanted a doll like that, but that her mother couldn't afford one. "
"That must have been hard." I looked down at the doll's face. She looked exactly like I'd expect from a Victorian doll. Perfect and poised.
"It was. But I was determined, so I started learning the techniques I'd need to make the doll she wanted, and that's when I started working on this doll for her," Nick said. "But then Annabelle got sick." His voice cracked as he said the word.
"She died, didn't she?"
He nodded. "Before I'd finished the doll." He reached out to touch the fabric of the doll's dress. "I wished she'd gotten to see it."
"I'm sorry she didn't."
"Me too. After that, I increased the number of toys I gave to children.
Before, it had just been a handful of children whose families I'd met over the year.
After Annabelle died, I decided to make more of a thing of it and filled a sack with toys to take down the street.
It started with the toys that I didn't want in the shop anymore.
But then as manufacturing became more of a thing, I could do more. "
"You still do it, don't you?" I wasn't sure what made me so certain of it, maybe it was just something in his voice.
"Yes," he responded. "Every year. But you can't use that for any marketing you do," he warned me.
"Why not? People love to support conscientious businesses."
"Because I don't do it for the business. The business exists because I want to do this, not the other way around."
"Ah." I studied his face, noticing the slight pain in his eyes and the determination in the set of his jaw.
He wasn't going to budge on not letting this become part of the company's marketing, and I could respect that.
But it was interesting to hear what had brought him to that point.
"You said that was how you became Santa like we know him now? " I asked.
"Not quite. Santa actually came over from America.
I was just Father Christmas. But yes, that's how I became known for giving out presents.
The children would tell their friends about the man with the sack of presents who came at Christmas time, and then they'd tell their friends, and so far.
I travelled around Europe at other points and did similar things there, which is how a lot of their traditions started.
And before I knew it, I was Father Christmas as everyone thinks of him today. "
"But that was only the eighteen-hundreds, right? What about before then?" I asked, leaning closer than I should. There was something so captivating about him that I wasn't able to get out of his orbit, even if I wanted to.
"Ah, before that it was all about feasting. I was the Lord of Misrule."
"I don't even know what that is," I admitted.
"It was something the Church came up with. They'd make one of the low-down members of the clergy into the Lord of Misrule to watch over the Feast of Fools."
"That all sounds made up," I said.
"Everything is made up, that doesn't mean it isn't real," he responded. "By the time I was made immortal, the Feast of Fools had become something bigger, it was done at court, at least up until the reformation, then it was the same thing, but a different title."
"All right, tell me. What else did they call you?" I asked.
He stroked his beard as he thought about it. "Oh, let's see if I can remember. It was things like the Prince of Christmas, the Christmas Lord, or Captain Christmas."
I snorted, going to cover my mouth with my hand after I did. "Sorry, it's just, Captain Christmas sounds like a superhero."
He chuckled. "I guess it does, but I can assure you, that's what they called me. It was all about feasting and making merry."
"That does sound nice," I admitted.
"You should come this year."
"What? To a feast?"
"Yes, absolutely. It's on Friday. You can bring your friends."
"Is it going to be decked out like a Tudor court?" I asked.
He laughed, the sound lightening the previous mood. "Yes and no. People aren't going to be walking around in hoods and ruffs, if that's what you mean. But some of the dishes will look just like they did. The atmosphere won't be that different than it used to be."
"That sounds like a lot of fun."
"It is," he said. "I'd certainly enjoy having your company there," he murmured, making me realise we'd been moving closer together without intending to. There was something magnetic about him that just made me want to get closer.
"I'll think about it," I said, not wanting to rush too quickly into it, especially when it felt like playing with fire. Though it wasn't technically fraternising if there were other people in the room and it wasn't a date. It still felt like it might be pushing it a little too far.
"That's fair," he said.
"So, you needed help here?"
"Ah, right. Well, I was going to wrap these toys." He gestured to a pile of boxes.
"I have a meeting at two, but I can help until then," I responded, even though I knew that I shouldn't. It was better if the two of us spent less time together, not more, because I was growing increasingly aware of his every movement. And yet I couldn't help myself from lingering longer.