Chapter One: Nigel
“Ican’t, Mum. Have to work.”
“Oh, Nigel. Just because you and Siobbhan had a little falling out last Christmas—”
I put down my hammer and hold the phone with my hand instead of trapping it between my chin, fighting down a surge of anger. I want to shout at my mother, but I don’t. I’m a good son—at least when I’m not in the same country.
It’s not just that my mother is wheedling, or that it’s her fault that last Christmas was the worst on record, or that I have a permanent twitch in my right eye whenever I see tinsel or hearWonderful Christmas Time. Even a whiff of eggnog is enough to give me a touch of migraine.
But instead of reminding my mother of all the reasons she should bloody well drop it, I play the unbeatable trump card. “Mum. You know how Father Christmas is a demimortal?”
“I’m no fool, dear. But what—”
“He’s retired. His son has taken over the reins—and he travels to Brightlund to help him with the Christmas rush. What’s more...” I lower my voice, baiting Mum with gossip like an expert angler, “Klaus has remarried after a long widowhood. To an elf, no less. Pretty little thing with plum and silver hair.”
“No! How do you— Hehasn’t! Surely he’s not settled in Pine Ridge?”
“Not in the town, no, but in one of the lodges scattered in the foothills.”
“Oh, my goodness! Do you suppose you could get our Kevin his autograph? I think he’d be ever so thrilled, and if he has timeto— Nigel! What does this have to do with younotcoming home for Christmas?”
“I’ve already told Klaus and Eirwen I would do a very special job for them over Christmas week! Finishing up a nursery.”
My mother’s gasp speeds into a squeal, and I can practically imagine her hooves stamping and prancing in excitement, eager to share this latest bit of gossip with our extended family—what some old-fashioned centaurs still call “their herd.”
“So, you see why I’ll be in the States this month. I can hardly back out of a job on the former Father Christmas—and the current Father Christmas’ dad—now can I?”
“Oh, but... But what about a few days? A quick pop home?”
“There’s no quick pop home! I have to fly out of JFK to get to Newcastle Airport. Binghamton doesn’t offer anything except a British Airways Flight to Heathrow. And we’re five days from Christmas. It’d be a nightmare to get a flight. I’d have to go on standby, and it’d be a fortune.”
“If your little handyman business isn’t doing well, you can always ask your father to—”
“Promises Kept was voted Best of Broome County for the third year running, Mum. It’s just not worth throwing money away when I can come see you at the beginning of March. I’ve already scheduled out a week’s holiday, all right?”
“Ohhhh. Oh, all right. But Elsa will be disappointed that she has to wait to meet you.”
The anger that had faded comes surging back, thick like treacle, sitting in my chest. “Mum. You haven’t. Not after last year.”
“Oh, Siobbhan was different. Flighty. Elsa is just the ticket. A plump, pretty little strawberry roan with freckles. Hold on, let me send you a photo.”
“Please don’t. Please stop. Just stop trying, Mum.” My Geordie accent, faded a little over a decade in the States, isthickening by the second, like it always does when I talk to my family, but also when I’m losing control. My tail swishes angrily, and my back hooves stomp. “Me brothers are all married, and you’ve got bairns underfoot, and none of ‘em live farther than London. Stop working on me!”
“Now, you stop it! Such foolishness. A herd always helps find a good mate. Bride. Sorry.”
“Stop sayin’ things likematewhen you’re talking about a wife! We’re not animals, Mum, just because God got a bit creative with the back end.”
“People treated us like it, didn’t they? Well, back in the days.”
“Literally in the BC times, Mum.”
“Before we scattered! Just because most humans don’t catch on these days and we live lives like any other person, there is no reason to lose your centaur pride, son!”
“I’m... I’m not! I’m—”
Mum is in full flow. “There’s a herd of Centaurs in Pine Ridge. Maybe Dad and I should come to you this March. Meet with their head man. Sort this out. They must havesomeonewho’d suit you. Do a bit of—”
“You do that, and I’m renouncing my dual citizenship, Mum.” I manage to control my breathing with an effort, dropping my voice into something placating. “I’ll come home again when it suits me, when my schedule permits. I’m a grown man—”
