After Christmas Day came and went, it was pretty much plain sailing. I was soon able to cut back on the undercover work. Our future was in the bag.

45

Rebecca

With Christmas around the corner, Jodi and Taylor decided I needed cheering up. On the Saturday before I was due to start my new job, we drove out to a garden centre on the outskirts of Barnet.

‘A real tree. That’s what you need.’ My friends forced me to join in as they sang Christmas carols. ‘Come on. Cheer up. Let’s have some fun.’

Memories belong to Christmas. Ghosts of Christmases past weren’t far away.

We parked the car and my friends led me through the expansive displays of tinsel and gaudy baubles. It was a bright crisp day and I remember my mood lifting.

‘Here, let’s go to Santa’s grotto. You’re never too old to sit on Santa’s lap.’

‘Jodi, don’t be ridiculous. We’d never be allowed in.’

‘Let’s sneak in then,’ Taylor said. ‘We’ll do a bit of shopping first.’

Jodi and Taylor slung glaring purple and pink tinsel round their necks.

‘Here, don’t be such a spoilsport.’ Jodi pushed my hair back and stuck a pair of reindeer antlers on my head. ‘That’s better.’

Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer blared out through the loudspeakers, flooding the centre with noise.

‘Come on. Let’s queue behind the kids. We can pretend they’re with us,’ said Taylor.

I’d no choice. I got pulled along and it felt good to let someone else make decisions. The magic of Christmas was stubbornly beating at the door. We slipped in behind a straggling line of feverish children. They were agog with excitement. Santa Claus was here.

Up ahead I watched two young children, a boy and a girl, jiggling from foot to foot. They looked alike, same height, both with frizzy brown hair. Twins most likely. They held on to their mother’s hands, one on each side. The woman was pretty, medium height with blonde hair, dressed in a faux fur coat and matching hat. Her red lipstick glossed generous lips.

‘Here will do. These kids are perfect camouflage.’ Taylor and Jodi giggled like a couple of love-struck teenagers playing hooky from school.

We inched our way up towards the grotto.

‘We know he’s not real, Mum,’ whispered the little girl to the lady with the bright lips. Her brother leant over and spoke quietly.

‘Daddy told us we wouldn’t meet the real Santa today. He only comes on Christmas Eve.’

I smiled at the conspiracy. I managed to catch the mother’s fleeting comment before they disappeared behind the wall to collect their five-pound gifts. At the time it was funny.

‘Please don’t let on that it’s your father. It’ll ruin it for the other children.’ She winked at her charges who scurried forward.