The 497th Santa

Mabel patted her hair, fingered underneath the back, then switched the hairdryer off and set it down on the dresser. Silence rushed in. She put one hand on the wall to steady herself and bent over to turn off the mains before unplugging the gadget. She would let it cool down before putting it back in the drawer later today.

When she stood up, she was eye level with one of the teddies perched on the long shelf above her daughter’s bed. She tried to read some message in those glass amber eyes, felt she might get some insight, maybe one word to guide her today, but nothing came across. But then, Emily wasn’t here to translate teddy talk and, as a teenager, had mostly forgotten how.

She turned away, came unexpectedly face-to-face with her reflection in the full-length mirror. Absolutely ridiculous in the long-sleeved red thermal top and matching bottom with her hair a fluffy cap of grey from being dried too quickly.

Pale faced without makeup, her mouth a straight line which she attempted to bend into a smile so that she could be polite if anyone spoke to her. Maybe just say hello, actually, that would be safer. Daft idea, but she worried her face would split apart if she kept trying to smile.

Silence hung in the room as if waiting for her daughter to enter, talking, laughing, maybe singing one of those modern songs she liked.

Mabel swallowed with difficulty, her mouth dry, but didn’t dare get a glass of water. No facilities on the route of the Santa 5k and a distinct scarcity of bushes to hide behind to relieve herself. Did she have any Polo mints left in her handbag? She would check when she went downstairs.

She sat on Emily’s bed and carefully pulled on the red felt trousers, standing up to pull them up to her waist. A rectangle of white paper with the number 497 was secured to the back of the red felt top trimmed with thin white fur.

She put it on gingerly, careful not to rip anything as the fabric was only cheap and due to be recycled afterwards apparently. At least if anywhere tore, she had the red thermals on underneath although the two colours of red didn’t exactly match.

Nobody would be looking. She would be lost in a sea of Santas, though naturally not among the runners at the front but with the stragglers walking at the back.

She picked up the flimsy white beard and pulled the elastic string over her head. What was she thinking? No need to worry about smiling. She got to her feet and, looking in the mirror, adjusted the beard, felt satisfied with how much of her face was hidden.

She sat again to put on the sturdy walking boots. These did not look like they belonged with the Santa suit, but she needed them to go the distance. 5k was just over 3 miles. She needed to raise money for Sue Ryder Manorlands Hospice who had been so very helpful when her husband was ill. Although some friends told her they would donate money if she didn’t participate at all, she would feel like she cheated them out of what they were, in effect, paying for.

Not that anyone would be watching. But she would know.

Or rather she hoped nobody would stand there among the onlookers. She had told everyone not to bother. “Every Santa looks the same as any other,” she’d told them. “You’ll never find me.”

She picked up the Santa hat and pulled it on, checking in the mirror that it was on straight, pleased that this concealed her currently fluffy grey hair. She glanced around at the audience of teddies, tempted to speak to them, but no words came. Instead, she marched out of her daughter’s room and down the stairs, a woman on a mission.

Mabel knew she could do this. She had been training since early June and this was almost the end of November. Mostly on the treadmill at the gym as that kept track of the kilometres for her, but last weekend, she did walk the Santa 5k route with a friend.

Easier somehow because they could talk while they walked, though their conversation stuttered and stalled a few times. Her feet hurt afterwards and her leg muscles protested, but she had the best sleep that night that she’d experienced in six months.

When she reached the living room, she studied her reflection in the octagonal mirror. She could barely recognise herself, not only because of the Santa hat and beard, but also the unusual feeling of victory. So many times, she had almost given up. When she sprained her ankle. When heavy rain discouraged her from going to the gym. When younger people were racing on the treadmills to either side of her, chatting to each other across her as if she was invisible.

Despite smothering grief and loneliness, Mabel had somehow managed to make her comeback. Not, of course, rediscovering the fit and healthy body she had a decade ago before she got too busy to take long walks. But so much fitter than she was to start with back in June.

Her only regret was that she hadn’t chimed in when Emily registered for the Santa 5k Fun Run. But she had never been a runner and didn’t know, back then, that people could walk or even wheelchair the distance or a 3k version if that matched their abilities better.

As soon as she went out the front door, she felt a cold wind on her hands, amused that the beard kept her face warm. Those thermals had been a good idea. She glanced up at the mostly blue sky with its stray cloud sheep.

After locking the door, she secured the spare house key to the hem of her thermal top with a large safety pin. Unbidden, she remembered pinning it to her daughter’s clothing back in the mists of childhood. She felt a massive urge to travel back in time and blooming well stay there, but shook her head at the unusual thought and started walking downhill along the terrace.

Mabel interrupted her progress briefly, remembering she had wanted a Polo mint for her dry mouth. Even if she had one left screwed up in her handbag, it wouldn’t do that much good. She continued walking, deciding she could stop at the corner shop and buy some, then remembered she didn’t have a penny on her. Never mind, she had no pockets to keep a roll of mints in anyway.

Curiously liberating to leave without all her keys, without a coat, without even a coin purse, almost as if she had become a different person, but she couldn’t define what the difference was. Luckily, she lived in Skipton so she didn’t need to drive or ask for a lift. She preferred to be as independent as possible, always had. Fortunate, really, as she often gave lifts to widowed friends who had never learned to drive.

Which neighbours might be watching behind their lace curtains and what they would be saying? And why, oh why, must she always wonder how people judged her behaviour? They were only human, like she was, after all.

Since the 5k was for charity, she had knocked on every door along both sides of the street. Most signed up. A few were already sponsoring other Santas. One said they only gave to their church. She didn’t understand that as she liked to be generous herself, but each to their own.

She felt very self-conscious when she turned on to Sackville Street and saw people in winter coats walking toward her. What must they think of this odd woman pretending to be Santa when it wasn’t even December yet?

But when she got to Keighley Road, she saw a handful of people getting into their Santa gear outside Harrison Boothman. “Great day for it,” she told them.

Jumbled agreement answered her. She must remember to thank Mr Harrison for sponsoring the event when he next came in to get a sandwich. She had been a fan of his since he’d helped sell their last house and find the current one.

Mabel tried to push aside the thought that it was too big for just her on her own now. Maybe she would get a lodger to help pay the bills. The last thing she wanted to do was move out. She preferred to have all the memories to hold close.

Since she wasn’t a solitary Santa Mabel walked with more confidence. What was the saying? Safety in numbers.

A taxi driver standing beside his vehicle gave her a big smile, raising a thumbs up.

She smiled, realised her fake beard hid this, so nodded instead.

When she caught her first glimpse of High Street, splotches of red in several places cheered her further. She looked both ways and crossed the road, mindful of how distracted she always was. It was like a large part of her mind continued to busy itself trying to fathom what happened on the 23^rd of May, but a child dying before a parent was unfathomable.

With the street closed to traffic, she didn’t need to focus as much. A smile briefly twitched her lips under the beard at the clusters of Santas milling about. Her tribe for today. Big and small, adult and child, even a black Labrador wearing a Santa hat. All here to make a difference for whatever charity they had chosen.

Mabel blinked back tears and pressed her lips tightly together, recognising that Emily would be proud that Mum had taken on the challenge of the Santa 5k in her place. She glanced up at the mostly blue sky and noticed a few sparkling flakes falling almost like magic.