The Magic of Christmas
Chapter 10: I'm a Believer

Travis was exhausted after the morning he had spent with the elves. He knew if he returned home, he would have to confront Bethany and while he might have good news for her, the thought of her bouncing all over the place trying to hurry him up so Gill could come to the village made him inwardly shudder. Besides, Rosie was bound to want him to do something, and a quick forty winks in front of the roaring fire appealed more to him than his bedroom at home.

Dozing in the armchair, stuffed with chocolate biscuits, hot chocolate, and fruit cake, Travis was snoring happily when he received an urgent summons from the Solicitor Elf. Groaning he whisked himself to the Elf’s office, ready to start world war three if the call involved more Elf nonsense.

‘Santa,’ the Solicitor said looking up as Travis entered. ‘Have you spoken to Bethany yet?’ sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

‘Not yet,’ Travis replied, ‘I was having a rest before going home, why?’

‘Because you can’t bring anyone here who is not a believer, and that goes for our prize winners too.’ He said shamefacedly. ‘I was getting the rules out for you as you requested when I noticed a small anomaly in the way the magic works concerning the village and yourself.’

‘Which is?’ Travis said slowly not liking the way this conversation was going.

‘In a nutshell, you can only bring believers here, and then only if they have made a Christmas wish in a letter to Santa to come here. None believers are barred, try and you might injure someone if they are not a true believer.’

‘Well that throws a spanner in the works,’ Travis moaned, ‘why didn’t you say something before the competition was announced? Puts the brakes on Beth’s mate Gill too.’

‘Because I’ve only just seen it when I was getting the rules together for you.’ He replied haughtily, ‘it’s an obscure rule, so obscure I can’t remember ever having seen it before and I’ve been doing this job for six hundred years.’

‘Why is it nothing ever runs smoothly around here?’ Travis muttered under his breath.

‘You know you can’t drink Santa,’ the Solicitor Elf said, obviously mishearing Travis, ‘we’re in Santa’s village, there no such thing as a soothing beer.’

Travis groaned and gave the Elf a long hard stare while he considered screaming or beating him to death with an old reindeer antler that hung on the wall. About to remonstrate with the Elf, Travis was struck with the beginnings of an idea that had him babbling away incoherently in a matter of seconds. He was so excited he reverted to his thick Scouse accent confusing the Solicitor, frightening him, making his already pale green skin, paler, his eyes widening, waiting for Travis to either hit the ceiling or him. He knew what Travis was capable of, the Chief Elf never stopped reminding him.

‘You’re a genius,’ Travis said to the Elf once he had calmed down.

‘I am?’ he queried, ‘why what did I say.’

‘A soothing beer,’ Travis beamed, ’we make Santa beer, and Santa lemonade, Santa ice cream, and sweets. We’ll have a massive advertising campaign leading up to Christmas. For a slogan, we can have something like “Now do you believe,” and promise a gift to all true believers.’

‘I hate to pour water on your excitement Santa,’ the Solicitor Elf said, wincing at what he was about say. He knew what Santa Travis thought about certain Elves, and dreaded his next response. ‘But something of this magnitude must be put before the Council.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Travis smiled, not even the thought of the Chief, the Union Elf and the Tooth Fairy, all together and in the same room could dampen his spirit for this venture. ‘I leave it to you to call them together, I’ll get Rosie and deal with Bethany while I’m home.’

‘Bethany,’ he screamed as he walked down the stairs from his bedroom, still dressed in his Santa Suit. ‘Where are you, and where’s your mother?’

‘Mum went shopping Dad,’ she shouted back, ‘I’m in the kitchen with Gill.’

Travis loved the magic. Gill the epicentre of Bethany and his problem, was in the kitchen with his daughter, and he was striding towards them in his best Santa suit. A wave of his hand and he entered the kitchen dressed in green corduroy trousers and a red I love Santa tee shirt.

‘I’m sorry Gill,’ he said without preamble, ‘but Something’s come up and Bethany has to go out, can you call back later for her?’

‘Of course, Mr McGee,’ she said standing to her feet, ‘I’ve got to go and meet my mum anyway. See you later Beth.’

‘Thanks Dad,’ Bethany near wailed, ‘we’ve only just made friends again and you come in and kick her out, it’s not fair, you never let me do what I want, you’re a mean Santa. I want my Dad back!’ She stopped speaking, folded her arms and sat back, sulking, biting her bottom lip, staring at Travis daring him to contradict her.

‘You can get that look off your face and quick, young lady.’ Travis scolded, ‘I’ve had a morning and a half thanks to you trying to sneak Gill into the village. Do you realise you could have killed her?’

Bethany sat there, open-mouthed and mortified at what her father had said. The quick retort she usually gave froze in her mouth as the realisation she could have killed her best friend hit home. ‘I don’t understand Dad,’ she squeaked.

‘Neither do I,’ Travis barked, ‘well not of all it.’ His voice mellowed as he saw the tears beginning to well in her eyes. ‘It’s OK love, no harm has been done, and I might, and I stress the word might, have a way of getting Gill to the village with you.’

‘But you said…’ she began.

‘Forget what I said,’ he interrupted her, ‘and listen, and listen properly, no moaning about bloody Facebook, or it’s not fair. The only way Gill can come to the village is if she believes in Santa, and then only if she writes to Santa, with a Christmas wish to see the village.’

‘Dad, it’s not fair,’ Bethany wailed all over again, ‘Gill is fourteen and stopped believing in Santa years ago. How am I going to get her to write a letter to someone she doesn’t believe in?’

‘I don’t know, but if it’s that important to you, you’ll find a way. I’ve done what I can love, and I’m sorry, my hands are tied; if I can help somehow, then I will.’

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