Chapter 1

“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the—Jason, you’ve got your ‘Bah, Humbug’ face on again. That’s not going to impress the kiddies. Ortheir parents.” Maggie dumped the sack of presents in the doorway and stood there with her hands on her hips, apparently determined to fill me with holiday spirit by the force of her glare.

“It’s all right for you, isn’t it?” I countered. “All you have to do is put on a festive sweater and bung a bit of tinsel in your hair. I’m the one who has to shove a pillow up my shirt and go out dressed like the Ghost of Too Many Christmas Dinners Past.”

I loved working at the Bright Eyes nursery, don’t get me wrong. Yeah, it was a constant round of cleaning up floors, noses and nappies, but if you’ve never seen the look on a kid’s face when he’s taken his first few steps, well, you’re missing out, that’s all I can say. Sometimes, though, the people who run the place really got on my nerves. I mean, we worked all year round at creating a safe, familiar environment for the babies and toddlers, so they wouldn’t feel bad at being left by their parents and would actually look forward to coming here, and then what did management tell us to do?

We had to feed the kids up on cakes, biscuits, and sugary drinks and tell them something really, really special was going to happen, and when they were all literally wetting themselves with excitement, we had to herd them into another room. Then in would walk a big fat man with a beard and a sack and a scary deep voice going “Ho, ho, ho!”

It usually took about three seconds before the first child started howling in terror, and that would set all the rest of them off, of course. And that was with their parents there, mind, as the nursery always invited the mums and dads to the Christmas party. I think it was so they could see what we had to deal with just before they put the fees up in January.

I’m sure you’ve guessed where all this is going. Yeah, me being our only male member of staff, I was always the one who had to put on the Santa suit. And before you ask, no, it wasn’t much fun having all the kids suddenly hate me on sight. It wasn’t like it was even a decent costume. It must’ve been the cheapest on the market stall, and it hadn’t got any better for living crumpled up in the back of a cupboard 364 days of the year ever since.

“I don’t think this is going to last another year,” I told Maggie, picking at the frayed seams (at least no self-respecting moth would snack on fabric this cheap and nasty) while she made sure my polyester beard was hanging right.

“Just as long as it lasts for the next half hour,” she said with a grin, and gave me a playful dig in the belly. Luckily, the pillow that was standing in for a jolly, well-fed gut absorbed the force easily. Maggie’s digs could be vicious. “Now, do you want me to point out all the new single dads? Although it seems to me there’s only one single dad you’re interested in…” She broke off with a leer.

“Maggie!”

“That’s better.” She smiled. “You’ve got nice rosy red cheeks to go with the costume, now.”

“Um, Maggie, how did you know I was—”

“Women’s intuition.” She tapped the side of her nose. “And don’t worry, love, I wouldn’t dream of saying a word to the dad in question.”

“Anyone,” I corrected hastily. “You mean you won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Don’t be silly.”

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“I’m pretty sure everyone else already knows,” she went on. “Now get along with you. There’s children out there to frighten!”

Swallowing hard, in I walked. And off they went, howling the place down. Still, it was traditional. I sat down on one of the nursery chairs, which isn’t easy when you’re six foot tall and the seat’s designed for the average two-year-old. Parents started dragging their terrified tots up for presents, and giving me embarrassed smiles when the poor little things refused to go anywhere near the scary red man. In other words, it all seemed to be going pretty much as per usual. Except that some of the parents—especially the mums—seemed to be finding it a bit more fun this year. And Poppy’s dad stared at me the whole time. I couldn’t even be sure if was a good stare, like, say, a what a great guy, not afraid to look a prat for the kiddiesstare, or if it was more of a Bloody hell, what an idiotstare.