Free Bryant & May and the Secret Santa by Christopher Fowler Page B

glass coffin. She’s a hefty lass.’
    Just then Father Christmas came back on to the Arctic set doing up his flies. ‘Ah, the rozzers,’ he said, rolling his Rs in a plummily theatrical brogue. ‘I suppose you want to know how the magic happens. Of course, I’m just filling in doing this. Normally I’m treading the boards. I had to come out of a
major
role, but who can resist helping out at Christmas?’
    ‘What were you doing?’ asked May.
    ‘The Duke of Ephesus,
Comedy of Errors
, “Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia…” ’
    ‘Whereabouts?’
    ‘Crawley Rep. It’s a nice short play and I was in a toga so I could be in the pub by ten.’
    ‘Can you talk us through what happened?’ asked May.
    Father Christmas pulled down his white beard and scratched his chin with the end of a biro. ‘Sorry, these things get damnably hot. It was the day before yesterday, just before six o’clock, wasn’t it, Mickey?’
    The dwarf nodded.
    ‘This lad, Sebastian Carroll-Williams, about eleven, small for his age. I saw him come in with his mum. She was fussing around him something chronic. Normally that’s my cue to take over and have a chat with them about what they want for Christmas. I always tell the same joke.’
    ‘What sort of a joke?’ asked Bryant.
    ‘
What did the elf get while he was working in Santa’s toyshop? Tinsellitis
. We don’t sit them on our knees anymore, not since Jimmy Savile. We’re all very carefully vetted. And we’re on camera.’
    ‘Last year we had a Father Christmas with creeping hands,’ said Mr Carraway. ‘Dreadful.’
    ‘Then we get them ready for their selfies,’ said Santa.
    ‘What selfies?’ Bryant asked.
    ‘They get a choice of outfit: polar bear, Santa’s helper or toy soldier,’ said Mickey. ‘Princess gown for a girl. The girls only get one choice. Me and the other dwarves put the costumes over their heads. It just takes a few moments. Velcro. We’re on turnover.’
    ‘Then what?’
    ‘The photographer takes his shot,’ said Santa, ‘I give them their gift and they’re slung back on the sleigh. It’s like processing hamburgers.’
    ‘What did the boy pick for his outfit?’ asked May.
    ‘He didn’t have a preference. He didn’t want to be here at all. I think his mother pushed him into it, so he finally went for a polar bear. A real sense of entitlement about him. Dead stroppy. Mickey had to help him get into his outfit because he was angry and got all tangled up in it.’
    ‘They’re hyperactive at that age,’ said Mickey. ‘And they fart a lot. Nerves.’
    ‘What did he ask Father Christmas to bring him?’
    ‘A machine gun.’ Santa rolled his eyes. ‘Kids. So he got a gift from the sack and was sent on his way. He took the sleigh ride back to the tunnel exit.’
    ‘What was the gift?’ asked May.
    ‘I’ve no idea,’ Santa admitted. ‘We just work from the colour-coded boxes. The girls get tiaras and cuddly toys and games, the boys get more gadgety stuff. It all comes from China. Mind you, some of the gifts are pretty good. I never got things like that when I was a kid. We encourage them to open their presents after they’ve left Wonderland, just so they don’t get bits of cardboard all over the place.’
    ‘Do you know anything about what happened after the boy left?’ Bryant asked.
    Santa shrugged. ‘You’ll have to ask Mr Carraway about that.’
    ‘I saw him just as he came out of the tunnel, back into the main store,’ said the floor manager. ‘He was holding the torn-open box in his hand and appeared to be in a state of distress. His mother was nowhere in sight. You get an instinct about trouble.’ He touched a plucked eyebrow as if securing it in place. ‘I started walking towards him and suddenly he threw the box across the china hall. Luckily, nothing broke. I went after him but by this time he had reached the escalator. I got there as quickly as I could, but it was