LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      Being an out-of-work actress is never easy.

      You don’t know where the next role is coming from, if you’ll ever get your “big break” that’ll catapult you to stardom or even if your agent will ever call you again.

      It’s even harder though, when you have to take the job from hell to make ends meet.

      For me, that came in the form of dressing in a gaudy green and red outfit, wearing huge pointed ears and saying ‘welcome to Santa’s grotto’ fifty times a day. As someone who hates Christmas and has committed to never celebrating it again, pretending to live and breathe the festive spirit was my idea of hell.

      But an out-of-work actress had to do what an out-of-work actress had to do.

      I leaned against the wobbly cardboard structure that passed for Santa’s grotto, wondering how it had all come to this. I’d gone from the bright lights of Broadway to wearing massive shoes with bells on in the town I grew up in.

      Then I remembered exactly what had happened for me to come home again. The salty tang of tears stung the backs of my eyes and I took a deep breath, pushing the burgeoning memories to the back of my mind. Now wasn’t the time for a trip into the past. As long as I didn’t think, everything would be OK.

      A hand on my shoulder startled me. I turned round to see Frank, the scruffy, pot-bellied store Santa Claus standing next to me. His fluffy white beard had slipped slightly and the acrid odour of stale sweat and beer wafted my way.

      ‘Do me a favour and stick the costume on for a bit, will you? I’m not feeling too clever.’

      My eyes widened in alarm. ‘Me?! No, no, no, I’m an elf! I-I can’t play Santa, for God’s sake!’

      Frank lurched forward, bringing his questionable odour further into my personal space. I noticed his skin had turned an odd shade of grey and his eyes were bloodshot. This, I guessed, wasn’t a man to be messed with.

      ‘Listen, unless you want me to turn this place into a disaster area, stick the beard and red coat on and listen to what the little brats want for Christmas. It’s not rocket science.’

      ‘But I—’

      Frank didn’t give me the chance to argue further. He slipped off his costume, thrust it into my hands and stalked off in the direction of the staff area.

      Oh shit.

      I looked down at the grubby red velvet coat and greying beard I was holding and realised I didn’t have any choice: I was going to have to play the man himself. I craned my neck to see Frank’s retreating figure sloping away from the shop floor and his responsibilities. There was nothing else for it, I decided. I sneaked into the grotto, pulled the beard over my head and slipped the coat on. It smelled like roadkill, but if the store manager came and found the grotto unmanned, there’d be trouble.

      I took a seat on the large comfy armchair and took a sharp breath inwards, instantly regretting my decision as eau de Frank stung my nostrils. All I had to do was listen to some kids telling me what they wanted for Christmas.

      Easy right?

       Wrong.

      I had very specific reasons for hating the festive season; spending my days dressed up as an elf was bad enough, but playing the big man himself and pretending to grant dozens of children’s Christmas wishes was quite another.

      It’s OK, I said to myself, the store’s pretty quiet; you can do this. You can let the world in, even for the briefest moment.

      Switching from my fairly anonymous role of elf, where all I had to do was welcome children to the grotto to actually engaging with people was going to be quite a challenge. I kept people at arm’s length and rarely struck up conversations with anyone besides my family. My world was small and insular, just the way I liked it. Pretending to be happy and jolly and gregarious would be a stretch, even for an actress such as myself.

      I didn’t have much time to dwell on my thoughts. A little boy of around six was dragging his mum towards the grotto, pulling her hand with all his might. With no elf outside to welcome him, he let go and ran right in, skidding to a halt at my feet.

      I cleared my throat and let out my best ‘Ho ho ho, merry Christmas’, making him giggle. His mum caught up with him, flashed me a quick smile and lifted him onto my lap.

      ‘Go on, Harry.’ She was a little bit breathless from trying to keep up with her son and flicked some dark blonde hair out of her face. ‘Tell Santa what you’d like for Christmas.’

      The little boy looked up at me with huge blue eyes filled with hopes and dreams. It was as though all his festive wishes hinged on me and me alone.

       Yikes, don’t mess this up, Alice!

      ‘What can I get you for Christmas this year, Harry?’ I said in my deepest, jolliest voice.

      He thought for a moment, his face twisting into different expressions of deep thought. Once he’d finally reached a decision, he clapped his hands.

      ‘I want a new bike, a pair of roller-skates and…’ He trailed off, hiding his face behind his chubby little hands.

      His mum crouched down and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, darling, you can tell Santa Claus.’

      ‘Is it an extra-special present?’ I asked. ‘I promise, no matter what it is, I’ll add it to my list. In fact, I’ll put it right to the top!’

      His mum gently prised the little boy’s hands away from his face and kissed his head. This seemed to convince him to open up again; he turned his attentions back to me with a flicker of a smile.

      ‘I…I want my daddy to come home.’

      All at once, the mood in the grotto turned very sombre. Harry’s mum took in a sharp breath and pursed her lips, letting out a small hollow chuckle.

      ‘That’s a big ask for Santa, Harry. A-are you sure you wouldn’t like to choose something else?’

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