1. A Perfect Night

Bill Vokes stepped onto the balcony of the village hall and looked out at the festive scene.

It had stopped snowing, and from up here the night sky looked brilliant and clear, the clouds moving on for now. All around, the rooftops sparkled white under the rising moon.

Wood smoke drifted lazily from chimney pots.

He breathed deep, a wonderful mix of scents drifting up from the High Street below: pine needles, toffee apples, cinnamon, mulled wine .

Hmm, was that doughnut too? Or perhaps that delicious German cake, what the devil did they call it? Ah yes, Stollen, that was it. Must remind Emily to pick one up this evening!

His wife loved that cake almost as much as he did.

He looked down at the High Street: good Lord, what a rare view from up here! Dammit, the parish council should open this balcony all year round. We could charge those day-trippers a fortune!

He rested his hands on the old sandstone parapet, and looked out across the village.

The Christmas Market stretched all the way down to the Ploughman's and Cherringham Bridge Road, and he could see throngs of people lit by the warm, orange glow from the strings of lights hanging on the stalls.

Locals, tourists, visitors from other villages, children everywhere (throwing snowballs, of course, but who cares? Let them have their fun!). People chattering, laughing, smiling, carrying balloons, buying gifts, sipping the mulled wine, sharing bags of piping hot chestnuts.

Immediately below him he could see the shape of this year's big Christmas tree, its fairy lights still dark, the switch soon to be thrown.

To one side, the village's very own impromptu brass band was making a pretty decent attempt at Jingle Bells.

In front of the players, a handful of very small children danced with the total abandon of giddy kids at Christmas time.

Bill watched them, delighted. Every now and then one would lose balance and fall in the fresh snow, then - just too excited to cry - would pick themselves up for another go.

Another perfect Cherringham Christmas! he thought. Does life get any better than this?

Of course, it was no surprise to see such a magnificent crowd - there were just twenty minutes to go before the ceremonial switching on of the Cherringham Christmas lights.

And then the handing out of presents to all the children. An early treat from Santa! The main event! His very own starring role!

He couldn't quite remember how he'd first been persuaded to dress up as Santa for this Cherringham tradition. Though the size of his tummy might have had something to do with it - least that's what dear old Emily said.

But he'd never, ever once regretted it. Ten years as the Cherringham Santa, and each year more fun than the last.

"Fantastic turnout - isn't it, Bill?"

Bill turned to see Praveer Singh, Chair of the Rotary Club and dear friend, stepping out onto the balcony.

"Oh, yes. Somebody up there is looking after the weather," said Bill shaking his hand.

"That's for sure," said Praveer. "If the snow holds off for the evening, we should clear a pretty sum."

"Night like this? And for such a good cause? You'd have to be a miserable sod not to put your hand in your pocket."

"Exactly."

"Best Christmas lights in the Cotswolds, I reckon," said Bill. "Course with Todd we've got a head start - best electrician this side of Oxford!"

"Couldn't agree more," said Praveer. "Have you seen him, by the way?"

"He just popped down for one last check," said Bill. "I think he's a bit nervous about the new set-up."

Bill gestured towards the small table with a laptop and microphone.

"Aha - Cherringham goes digital, hmm?" said Praveer.

"I must admit - I rather miss the old brass lever," said Bill. "Sense of power, seeing the tree go 'up', then the lights go all the way down the High Street."

"I'm surprised you never went up with it," said Praveer. "Right old death trap that switch was."

"At least we'll still be doing the countdown - computer can't do that yet," said Bill. "Talking of which - how long have we got?"

He saw Praveer check his wrist watch.

"Half an hour, I make it. You all organised?"

"Don't you worry, old boy," said Bill. "Costume's down in the caretaker's office. Only takes me a couple of minutes to slip it on."

"Beard too?" said Praveer. "Sure you don't need a hand?"

"Got it down to a tee," said Bill. "Years of practice."

Bill saw two more figures emerge onto the balcony through the open glass doors.

"Roger! Cecil!" he said. "What a pleasure to see you both!"

That's a damn lie, thought Bill, without taking the welcoming smile off his face.

Roger Reed, manager of Cherringham's only bank, had treated Bill like dirt when he'd first arrived in the village all those years ago.

And Cecil Cauldwell - boss of Cauldwell's Fine Properties and a first rate snob (according to Emily) - had patronised him all the way through the purchase of his first cottage.

But live and let live, thought Bill. After all, 'tis the season .

"Got your eye on the clock?" said Roger, tapping his watch. "Cutting it a bit fine, aren't you?"

"Timing's of the essence, you know, Bill," said Cecil at his side. "We've never been even a second late."

As if I'd disappoint the village, thought Bill. However: "You're right chaps," said Bill. "Better go and get into character, hadn't I?"

"Hmm, yes, well," said Cecil, puffing out his jowly chin even more than usual, "don't want to let the kiddies down."

With a sneaky wink to Praveer, Bill headed back through the big glass double doors into the upper room of the village hall, and made his way to the stairs.

*

Bill peered into the mirror and carefully gummed the fluffy white beard onto his chin.

The smell of the glue always took him back to his school days in West London, that tight backstage room crammed with sixteen-year-old boys made up as unlikely Shakespearian kings and noblemen.

Fifty years ago, he thought. Hard to believe.

He reached down into the costume box, took out the big red hat with its white fur trim and bobble and carefully put it on over the white wig.

Then - he stepped back from the mirror and scrutinised the whole outfit.

Not bad, he thought. Maybe a little . saggy.

He adjusted the stuffing under his red tunic, and tightened the belt.

"Ho, ho, ho!" he said.

There we are! Perfect.

He checked that the white gloves were in his trouser pockets, then glanced at his watch. Twenty to six.

Hmm, he thought, just time for a quiet ciggie . especially out of Emily's scolding purview.

He reached into his jacket pocket, took out his lighter and a single cigarette from the pack. Then he stepped out of the caretaker's storeroom and headed down the hallway. He remembered from last year, the little door they used for deliveries. Fingers crossed it wouldn't be locked.

At the door, he lifted the latch and tugged hard.

Yes!

He pulled the creaking door open and stepped straight out onto the pavement.

Quiet here, away from the expectant hubbub.

A nice moment.

He was careful not to shut the door behind him.

Don't want to get stranded out here while the show goes on!

He popped the cigarette into his mouth, lit up and looked around. The village square was dark: all the street lights had been turned off to show off the strings of Christmas lights, looped from one side of the High Street to the other.

Needs me to turn 'em on first though! he thought.

The Bell Hotel was lit up of course, across the road. And some light spilled out of the Angel on this side.

Shame I can't pop in there now for a quick pint, he thought.

Have to sneak down to the Ploughman's soon as I've handed out all the prezzies .

There were no market stalls at this end of the High Street - just parking for all the vans that belonged to the stall holders.

Standing here all alone, Bill could hardly believe the hubbub of activity just the other side of the village hall.

He took another deep drag on the cigarette, and blew the smoke up into the night air. He shivered with the cold, getting even chillier under the clear sky.

He took a moment to just gaze at the street and pavements, hard with flattened snow, the ice crystals twinkling with the light from the pub.

More snow was predicted but, so far, so good.

Wouldn't want to be driving home on these roads tonight, he thought.

And, as if on cue, a van crept down the High Street towards...