Page 2 of Break the Ice

The nieces do this. They will steal their mother’s phone and go into their bedroom and call me on the sly. It’s one of my secret favourite things because we talk about the stinky boys in their class, they show me dances they’ve learned to K-Pop songs and we talk in memes – a language that my older sister doesn’t understand. It gets lots of cool aunty points.

‘Why are you still in bed, Aunty Phoebs?’ Skye asks. I like how they’re both in Christmas onesies. Skye has a woolly hat on, and her mousey curls frame her face.

‘I was at a party last night, it ended late,’ I tell them.

‘Was it a good party? Was there dancing? Was there cake?’ Freya asks. Freya is my sister’s clone, from the shiny brown bob to the way she wrinkles up her nose to ask questions. How do I explain to these girlies that it was a burlesque-themed affair for a high-end fashion brand? There was mistletoe hung from the most dubious of places, an inappropriate elf with tassels, candy canes that doubled as poles.

‘It was very shiny. And there were red velvet cupcakes, they were delish, and a man who did magic tricks,’ I explain. I’ll leave out the bit about how he made playing cards appear from his pants. Their little eyes light up to hear my stories though. ‘Whatcha doing anyways? Where’s Mummy? Daddy?’

‘Mummy is washing her hair and Daddy is putting lights up outside the house and swearing,’ Skye says. ‘I have a wobbly tooth,’ she tells me, putting her face right up to the screen to show me.

It is highly gross but I feign enthusiasm. ‘Ooooh, tooth fairy incoming! And it’s nearly Christmas too, that means more money…’ I say.

‘Really?’

‘Yep, you tell your mum they double teeth money at Christmas. North Pole rules. I read it somewhere.’

‘It’s true.’

At first, I don’t quite know where the voice comes from. Their dad is hanging up their Christmas lights, but that was definitely a man’s voice. Was that my voice? Have I gone hungover husky? But there is suddenly movement. Next to me. In this bed. There is someone lying next to me. I freeze.

‘Aunty Phoebe? Who was that?’ Skye asks. Both of them peer into the screen for a better look.

‘That was me,’ I say, lowering my voice, panicked. I am too scared to turn around because flashbacks of last night are coming back to me. How can I be so bloody hungover that I can forget I slept with someone last night? I have been awake for at least three minutes and haven’t even clocked his weight in my bed. I feel a hand go to my lower back and I do a strange motion where I try to shoo him away with a quick twerk of my buttocks. Please not now. because I am trying to remember your name.

‘Oh my God, is that your boyfriend?’ Freya asks, bouncing up and down on her bed.

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, pouting my lips. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend. I think you must be hearing things. Is the TV on?’

A hand goes to my upper arm, fingers visible on the screen, and my nieces’ jaws drop open. I can’t tell if it’s because they’re excited by this man appearing before them or if they’re shocked that I would lie to them. This is interesting because he is being revealed in real time to all of us. He pushes up, leaning into frame, and all of our eyes widen.

‘Well, hello there… Good morning, kids.’

Fuck-a-duck-a-ding-dong. Skye, the younger sister, sits back, her mouth still open. What the hell? That’s a beard. A big bushy white beard, and I feel it rub against my shoulder. Is that real? I reach back to give it a light tug. Not even turning back but looking at his face on the screen. He has blue sparkly eyes, a luxuriant head of silver hair, and smiles broadly. I don’t deny that he is handsome but he is somewhat older than my 25-year-old self. I can’t freak out in front of the kids. I am also a little annoyed at how he’s popped up to introduce himself to my nieces.

‘Aunty Phoebe… is that… Santa?’ Freya asks.

Oh my life. They think Santa is my new boyfriend. I have no idea what to say. Yes, I bedded the man, to keep you girls on the nice list. The things I do as an aunt. But flashes of last night come back to me. We did hire a couple of Santas. People sat on their knees and told them all manner of things. There was a Santa who was particularly chiselled. There was flirting. He told me he went to the gym five times a week and gave me details of his protein intake and I made a terrible joke about Christmas meat. Oh my life, I think I referred to him as a DILF.

‘Yes?’ Santa says. ‘Hello there! Have you been good this year? Ho-ho-ho.’

What the actual hell is he doing? I reach down and dig my nails into his thigh, off-screen. He flinches and kicks a leg to the air.

‘We’ve been really good,’ Freya says, looking at him like one would a ghost, her sister silent. Yet she’s also frowning, confused. ‘Why are you in my aunty’s bed? Why aren’t you in the North Pole?’

‘Oh… I’m friends with Santa. He was visiting⁠—’

‘The Tooth Fairy,’ Santa intervenes. Wow. Realistic.

‘And he needed somewhere to stay so I said he could stay here.’

‘That’s really kind, Aunty Phoebe,’ Skye says and I smile. I’m super kind. Santa puts a hand to my bum. We’re on screen, St Nick. Keep your hands to yourself.

‘So he’s not your boyfriend?’ Freya says, grinning, hopeful.

‘Of course he’s not,’ I say, laughing. ‘Dating Santa? That’s just weird.’ I clock his face looking a little upset at the indication I’ve given of the future of this dalliance. Could you just disappear for a moment, please?

The door of their bedroom opens. ‘Girls, have you got my phone? I need to…’ Oh dear. My sister bends down to study the screen, squints and then does that angry little rage dance that signals her disapproval. ‘PHOEBE! For the love of… who the… GIRLS!’