Chapter Fifty-six
Three coffees and two hours later, Harry had entertained at least a dozen kids. Although the caffeine had boosted his energy, he was in need of food and a toilet break. Harry had one more little girl to see. She was six years old and suffered Down Syndrome. The elf took the girl by the hand. Her mother held her other hand, and together they strolled towards Santa Harry.
“Hello,” said Harry, as he took the girl’s hand. “What’s your name?”
“Christina,” replied her mother.
“Hello, Christina.” He lifted the girl onto his knee. “How old are you?” The little girl wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck and smiled at him dolefully, her big, sad eyes staring into his.
“She’s very shy,” said her mother, an attractive brunette. “She’s six.”
“Well, Christina, who’s six, let me see if I can find you a present. Would you like that?”
Christina laughed. She had a gap in her front teeth where one had fallen out. Harry reached into the sack on his left and pulled out a small box. He passed it to Christina before delving back into it. The second box he had was much larger than the first. “Now then, Christina! What do you think of these?”
The little girl lunged forward, excitedly. The girl tightened her grip. The force of her charge pushed him backward. She was stronger than he’d imagined. Christina screeched loudly into his ear, and Harry detected an odour of Coco Pops on her breath. He tried to remove her arms, but she seemed to be caught on something. Christina jumped around on his thighs, narrowly missing his genitals. The little girl let go, and Harry felt a sharp pain on the left side of his neck.
“My, my, she is excited.”
“I’m so sorry,” replied her mother, smiling, lifting Christina off Harry’s knee. “I’ve never seen her like that before.”
“Don’t worry about it,” scoffed Harry, wiping his neck with a handkerchief. As he inspected the piece of cloth, he noticed a speck of blood. The girl must have scratched him.
Harry stood up to straighten out his robe. He was sweating. With the heat and the lights and Christina jumping around, he’d grown weary.
Christina’s mother strolled away, the girl holding her hand, gazing up at her. She clutched both of her presents tightly to her chest with her other arm. Christina’s mother was talking to her, smiling. They glanced back at Harry. He watched, continuing to wipe sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck.
Harry started to shake. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Checking his watch, he realized it had been sixteen hours since he’d last eaten. It was high time he paid the canteen a visit. As Harry was about to move, his pulse raced. His heart was pounding, as though it was too big for his body. He also noticed his breathing had changed. He had to sit down. He’d gone longer without food in the past. It must have been all the alcohol.
Harry sat on his sleigh. His breathing quickened, making his vision blurred around the edges. The pressure inside his head was slowly building, as though his skull was shrinking. Then the pins and needles started. His toes, his fingers, his arms; even inside his head. Within seconds, the pain grew more severe, red-hot needles on the inside of his skin.
Harry managed to stand up. One of the elves approached and asked if he was all right.
Harry’s breathing was so erratic he couldn’t calm himself down enough to reply. He opened his mouth, but the sound that came out was a restricted gurgle. He heard the elf shout for assistance.
Another two quickly appeared. They all fussed around Harry, asking stupid questions he couldn’t answer. Concerned customers had now gathered at the entrance to the marquee, their curiosity mounting.
Harry staggered blindly around the grotto-like Frankenstein’s monster, clutching his chest. His entire body felt as if it was on fire. Searing pain raced through every muscle. His nerve endings tingled. He slumped to his knees, his hands gripping the sides of his head, his eyes screwed tightly shut.
Harry suddenly bellowed. His deep, guttural roar startled curious shoppers. Women and children screamed hysterically. Mothers pulled at their offspring, covering their eyes. The elves scattered in all directions. “Oh, Jesus! For Christ’s sake, help me!”
Harry raised himself to his feet. He opened his eyes and saw the pizza-faced manager pushing his way through the crowd. Harry thought he was going to explode. Blood charged around his body like an express train. He trembled violently and lost the use of his legs again. He was aware of Pizza-face talking to him, shaking his hands and pointing his finger. He then tried to shield Harry from the shoppers with the flaps of his jacket.
Harry had passed the caring stage. The tremors in his body were now so savage he could neither see nor hear the manager.
Chapter Fifty-seven
Gardener heard the near hysteria as he entered the store. What should have been a happy throng of Christmas shoppers was more like a mob of extras in a disaster film. Two mothers ran past him, clutching their crying children, their faces a mask of confusion. A well-dressed woman smashed into a nearby display of crockery in a frenzied attempt to escape.
As Gardener quickened his pace, he could see a man dressed as Father Christmas on his knees in the middle of the grotto. He’d covered his face with his hands, and he was screaming. At his side, a man dressed in a suit glanced round anxiously. Gardener climbed the steps into the grotto, flashed his warrant card. “Stewart Gardener, Major Crime Team. What’s happening? Who are you? Who’s he?”
He stared down at the man in the Santa suit, hoping, praying it wasn’t Harry Clayton.
“I’m Andy Farlow, store manager. This is Harry Clayton.
