How about a visit to The Square Peg?

I’m not wearing the sodding Santa hat. I’m not. Look a right bloody plonker, wouldn’t I? Not saying I’ve got a reputation to keep up, because Benedict’s made it crystal clear I’m not to go thumping the punters even when they’re rowdy, but people know not to mess with me.

One look at me in what Patrick’s holding and they’d still be laughing by New Year. It’s red with white trim, standard enough, but the bobble on the top lights up and spins. Not only that, but it plays Christmas music as it does it.

I mean, I ask you!

Patrick's wearing one in green. Says he’s an elf and Benedict and I are both Santa. One of us takes care of the nice list, one the naughty. I don’t ask which job he has me down for. Me and Benedict, we’re discreet about the way we play, but Patrick’s got a look in his eyes that tells me he knows I like it hard and painful when it’s my Benedict dishing it out.

So to shut him up, I wear the damn thing. Walk out into the Peg’s bar, daring anyone to comment, and flick the switch that starts it spinning and singing. The room cracks up, everyone snickering, even the man who’s supposed to love me more than life, and I grit my teeth and smile.

Santa’s elf is doing a double shift tomorrow. Count on it.

Then I catch his eye and soften. He’s beaming at me, the bobble on his hat twirling, and by some miracle the songs our hats are playing are perfectly in time.

I transfer my gaze to Benedict and mouth the words of the song, knowing he’ll hear me even over the racket in the bar, knowing our wedding in the spring will change everything and nothing at the same time.

Look to the future now, it’s only just begun…