She quickly crammed her coat and bag into an empty locker, stripped off her dress, tossed the shredded tights in a bin. There was no time for a shower so she dunked her feet, one at a time, in a basin of warm water to wash off the street dirt, half expecting Pam to burst in with the real elf at any minute.
She didn’t but, until she did, she was grateful for being in the warm and, more importantly, in a very neat disguise.
She dabbed circles of rouge on her cheeks, scattered a few freckles across her nose, then a few more, before removing the nail polish that had been applied at great expense just hours ago. A shame, but clearly elves didn’t have bright red nails.
Finally, she donned the costume, tucking her hair out of sight under the pointy felt hat and regarded herself in a handily placed mirror.
It wasn’t a good look.
The green and white striped tights made her legs look fat and the tunic was doing her bum no favours. Right now, she didn’t care.
Diary update: The day has gone from bad to surreal. I’ve been mistaken for an elf. Not an entirely bad thing since I’m off the streets and I’ve been supplied, free of charge, with a neat disguise. It’s just temporary, of course, like the new name. What I’m going to do when Hastings & Hart closes at eight o’clock is my next problem. But with luck I’ve got three hours breathing space to work on a plan, always assuming the real elf doesn’t turn up in the meantime.
Three hours to get my breath back after a very close encounter with Mr Tall, Dark and Dangerous.
Lucy ran her tongue over her lips to cool them, then shook her head and stuffed her phone and her locker key into the little leather pouch on her belt before presenting herself for inspection.
Pam sighed, adjusted the hat so that a little more of her hair showed. ‘You’ve been a little heavy-handed with the freckles.’ Then, frowning, ‘Is that a bruise?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Someone caught me with a bag,’ she said.
‘The Underground just gets worse…Never mind.’ She took a small camera from her pocket. ‘I’ll just take a picture for your ID. Say cheese…’
‘Cheese.’
‘Great. I’ll log you into the system later. Sort you out a swipe card.’
‘Swipe card?’
‘It’s how we keep track of staff. How we know who is working, how long they’ve worked and that they’ve left the premises at the end of the day. You’ll need it to get out and, hopefully, get in again tomorrow.’
‘Oh, right. Absolutely.’
‘Come on. I’ll take you to meet Frank Alyson, Deputy Manager of the toy department and Chief Elf, and then you can get started.’
She passed her over to a tall lugubrious man wearing a long green tunic. She sort of sympathised with him. It couldn’t be much fun being a middle-aged man with his dignity in shreds, but walking around Santa’s grotto in a suit and tie would undoubtedly compromise the illusion.
‘Louise Braithwaite,’ Pam said, her voice fading to nothing as she introduced her. She cleared her throat, gathered herself. ‘Be nice to this one. Elves don’t grow on trees, you know.’
‘Don’t they? You surprise me. Most of them appear to have sawdust for brains.’ He gave her a look that suggested he had no hopes that she had anything but wood pulp between the ears before turning back to Pam. ‘You look ghastly. Go home. You’ll be no use to anyone if you’re ill.’
‘And ho, ho, ho to you, too,’ she said as she walked away.
‘You could have handled that better,’ Lucy said without thinking. She was good at that. Saying the first thing that came into her head. According to her file—the one she wasn’t supposed to ever see—it had been her most usable asset. That and her passion. People would, apparently, “…instantly warm to her enthusiasm, her natural openness and lack of guile…”
They’d nailed that one.
It was saying the first thing that came into her head without thinking that had got her into this mess in the first place and now Frank was staring at her, clearly unused to criticism. Or maybe he was wondering where he’d seen her before.
‘So, what happened to the last elf?’ she said to distract him.
‘She asked too many questions and I fed her to a troll,’ he replied.
Sheesh…
‘Anything else you’d like to know?’
She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
‘Fast learner,’ he replied with satisfaction. ‘Keep it up and we’ll get on.’
‘Great.’ She couldn’t wait.
‘So, Louise Braithwaite, what can you do?’
Do?
Wasn’t standing about in a pointy hat and stripy tights enough?
Obviously not. Through a small window in his office, she could see an army of elves busily ‘constructing’ toys in Santa’s workshop. They were dressing teddies and dolls, test-driving remote-controlled cars and encouraging children to join in and help them while they waited their turn to see Santa.
Otherwise known, if you happened to have a cynical turn of mind—and she’d just had a crash course in cynicism from a world master—as try-before-you-buy.
‘Have you any experience?’
‘Of being an elf?’ Was he kidding? ‘No,’ she admitted quickly, ‘but I am used to working with children. They tend to throw up when they get over-excited. Just tell me where the bucket and mop are kept and I’ll cope.’
That earned her something that might have been a smile. ‘Well, I have to admit that you’re less of a fool than the last girl Pam brought me. She couldn’t see past her mascara.’
Lucy resisted the urge to bat her expensively dyed eyelashes at him, but it was harder to keep the smile from breaking out. And why not? She was safe.
Without a pre-booked ticket, no one, not even Rupert’s bodyguards, would be able to get beyond the entrance. More to the point, they’d realise that she couldn’t either and wouldn’t even bother. For the moment, at least, she could relax.
And what about grey eyes?
The thought popped, unbidden, into her head. The thought of those eyes, a mouth that gave her goosebumps just thinking about it.
For heaven’s sake, Lu…Louise Braithwaite, get a grip!
What would a man on his own be doing in Santa’s grotto? And why would she care? He was the last person on earth she wanted to see.
Not that he’d recognize her dressed like this.
Even if, beneath the rouge and abundant freckles, someone spotted a passing resemblance to the face that had been on the front cover of Celebrity magazine a dozen or more times in the last few months, they would dismiss it. Why, after all, would Lucy B, aka Cinderella, be working as an elf in a department store?
‘You can start by tidying up, straightening shelves while you find your way around. When you’ve done that you can take the empty space on the bench, dressing dolls and teddies. You’ll have to fit in a break with the rest of the staff.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking a look around, familiarising herself with the layout before launching herself into the mix of elves, children and parents.
This was all new to her. Shunted around the care system all her life, she’d never been taken to see