‘You have your own costume,’ Sue observed. Jago had worn the same costume for over thirty years. It was in surprisingly good nick, though, having had what amounted to only a month’s worth of wear during its lifetime, and she had been rather hoping to continue the tradition.

‘I think of it more as a uniform,’ the prospective Santa said. His voice was deep and sonorous, rich and rather plummy. He sounded exactly like Sue always imagined Father Christmas would sound, jolly and kind all at once. His very realistic white beard was luxuriant, along with his curls, which peeped out from under his jaunty hat. ‘And I have more than one, actually. You’d be surprised exactly who much mud can get on your boots, even when you are flying through the air.’

‘So sweet.’ Tamsyn smiled at him. ‘Are you a real Santa fan or a bit delusional?’

‘A fan, no,’ the man chuckled. ‘But a real Santa, yes. For I am he! Ho, ho, ho!’

‘So delusional, then.’ Tamsyn smiled pleasantly. ‘No offence, and to be fair delusional doesn’t entirely rule you out. Not round these parts.’

‘Are you receiving any treatment for mental illness?’ Sue asked him. ‘It doesn’t mean you wouldn’t get the job, I just think it’s best to have all the cards on the table.’

‘Ho, ho, ho,’ he said again. ‘I am not. Fear not, young lady, for I am perfectly sane.’

‘So you’re just what we’d call a classic English eccentric then,’ Tamsyn said. ‘Well, we love those in Poldore.’

‘Yes,’ Sue said. ‘You’ve got the part on a trial basis – we’ll see how you do in training.’

‘Excellent,’ he boomed. ‘Training! What larks!’

‘Quite, so what’s your name, and number. One of the requirements of the role is that I need to have you on twenty-four hour call between now and Christmas Day.’

‘Really? Twenty-four hours does seem a bit extreme,’ Tamsyn said.

‘Well, you know what I mean. We’ve got a lot of work to do to make sure he provides us with a quality Santa. So your name is?’

‘Santa.’ The man nodded. ‘Claus. Or St Nicholas, if you prefer. Although I rather like Father Christmas, myself, being something of a traditionalist.’

‘Ha, yes, very funny. Your name is?’ Sue repeated herself.

‘Santa Claus.’ The man nodded again.

‘I am actually not amused now,’ Sue said, although Tamsyn was so very amused that she was crying slightly and cracking open another mini Baileys.

‘Nick,’ the man conceded with a shrug. ‘You can call me Nick.’

‘And your mobile number?’ To Sue’s infinite relief, Nick didn’t claim to only communicate via reindeer antler or jingle bells, or something. Instead he produced a very up-to-date smartphone from his pocket and reeled off a number.