‘Just joking,’ she laughed. ‘Go ahead and look all you want. Would you like me to show you around?’
‘That’s kind of you, if you can spare the time.’ He would have felt very odd going in on his own.
‘I was on my way to the Grotto anyway, so it’s no bother.’
She led him back across the yard, and when they reached the entrance to the Grinch’s Grotto where another elf was checking children and their parents in, Dulcie said in a low voice, ‘Carla, can you put the rope across for five minutes? Walter needs a break.’ Then she ushered him inside.
Mark hadn’t known what to expect when he stepped into the barn, so he was pleasantly surprised to see it as exuberantly decorated as the yard. More lights, more bunting, and more lavishly decorated trees surrounded by mounds of fake snow, formed a path which led deeper into the barn. It was quite magical, despite being over-the-top, but as they ventured further in and turned a corner, the lights became less twinkly, the bunting disappeared, and the trees lost their decorations.
It was a gradual thing, and Mark didn’t notice at first, not until a structure that had been painted to look like a cave came into view. ASanta Stop Heresign was in front of the door, and someone had written ‘Don’t’betweenSantaandStop.
Three families were waiting to see the Grinch and as Mark and his guide approached, the door opened and a green face topped by a Santa hat, peered out.
‘Bah! I hate Christmas!’ it growled, then disappeared back inside and slammed the door shut. A second later, the door opened again, and the Grinch beckoned the nearest child forward. Mark caught a glimpse of a badly decorated and extremely bent Christmas tree, and a haphazard pile of presents stacked in the corner. Lying by the door and gnawing on a bone, was a black and white sheepdog wearing felt antlers.
The theme was green, red and white, and rather well done, but Mark’s festive-ometer still didn’t budge. The Grinch had originally been drawn in black, white and red. It wasn’t supposed to be green, andthiswas why he was having somuch trouble writing a Christmas book – because he couldn’t get his head around the way everything about Christmas was so distorted. Take St. Nicolas, for instance…
Dulcie waited until the Grinch had seen all three children and the families had left the grotto, then said, ‘Break time, Walter?’
The Grinch sagged a little. ‘Thank God.’ He pulled off the mask and took a deep breath, and Mark saw that underneath it was an elderly gentleman with grey hair and a lined face. He looked exhausted.
Dulcie helped him out of the costume. ‘Are you okay to carry on, Walter, or would you like me to take over?’
‘You have enough to do,’ he said. ‘How long have I got?’
‘Ten minutes, but we can make it longer.’
He blew out his cheeks. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not. I’ll let Carla know.’ She hurried towards the entrance, leaving Mark alone with Walter.
The elderly gent said, ‘This is the first time she’s done this. Just a couple of teething troubles, that’s all. I’m sure everything will work out fine.’
Mark wasn’t so sure; Walter didn’t look too good and as Mark watched him leave, he wondered whether he should say anything to Dulcie or whether he should mind his own business.
But when Dulcie returned to the grotto, he could tell by her face that she already knew.
She picked up the discarded costume and sighed. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for Walter to carry on. It’s too much for him. Right, I’d better do it. Have you seen enough, or do youneed more time to find your Christmas spirit?’ Dulcie froze, her eyes widening. Then a smile spread across her face as she stared at him.
Mark guessed what was coming, and he shook his head as he backed away. ‘Nuh-uh. Not a chance.’
‘Aw, go on,’ she pleaded. ‘Just think of all those hopeful little faces – and you can indulge your inner Grinch at the same time. I’ll even pay you,’ she added, and he realised she was serious.
‘You’d trust me with this?’ He waved an arm at the grotto.
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
Dulcie fished around in the pocket of the pixie skirt and brought out a phone. ‘I looked you up.’
‘When?’
‘Just now. You’ve made appearances in schools and libraries. Youlikekids.’
‘I do, but I don’t like Christmas. Anyway, I’m here to write,’ he protested.
‘Research is writing.’
