the city had been waiting for this moment all year, although she had begun praying hard for it herself about twenty minutes earlier – her neck was stiff from being bent forwards and her shoulders were screaming for relief from her beloved son’s jiggling, kicking weight as they stood awaiting Sinterklaas’s triumphant arrival in the city. Not to mention it was f-f-f-freezing. She had spent the past few minutes watching her own breath make lacy patterns in the air.
‘There’s Zwarte Piet!’ Jasper yelled, waving a red plastic flag excitedly above his head as the first boat in the flotilla passed by. It was laden with bewigged men and women dressed in brightly coloured velvet costumes, with puff sleeves and ruff collars, tossing sweets and gingerbread to the children on the banks. Their very presence here marked the start of the festive season and every child along this canal’s edge believed that, as of now, they – Sinterklaas’s helpers – would be scooting down their chimneys each night for the next few weeks, leaving small gifts for the good and well-behaved, in the build-up to Pakjesavond (or ‘present-giving evening’) on the 5th of December and St Nicholas’ Day on the 6th, the highlight of the Dutch festive calendar. Christmas came a distant second here, although having an English mother meant Jasper reaped the benefits of visits from both Sinterklaas and Santa Claus.
‘He saw me! He waved at me!’ Jasper yelled, drumming his heels painfully against her chest, utterly oblivious to her discomfort.
‘Stop kicking, Jazz,’ she called up, squeezing his shin to get him to calm down.
‘But he looked straight at me and gave me the thumbs up! He’s going to visit, mama. I’ve been good, I’ve been good!’
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘Of course you have. You’re the best little boy in the city, I keep telling you that.’
‘There he is!’ Jasper’s voice rose three octaves and the heel-drumming began again as Sinterklaas’s barge glided past them. The great man had a flowing white beard, was dressed in a red-and-white robe with matching mitre, and was carrying a hooked staff. He was waving beatifically to the great crowds gathered for him, knowing that as he disembarked a few hundred yards further up, ready to ride his white horse, Amerigo, through the streets, they would follow him too. There would be almost half a million out today, joining in the start of the festivities. ‘Let’s follow him!’
‘Okay then.’ She turned away from the water and moved uncertainly through the jostling crowd, her hands gripping Jasper’s skinny calves. He wouldn’t give her his hands, too busy waving frenetically and pointing at all the presents piled atop the barges as the Christmas convoy sailed into town. She slowly climbed the short slope to the humped bridge but it was like wading through treacle, prams and buggies not helping the sluggish flow as parents battled to keep their children both close and under control.
Everyone had come out, it seemed, a carnival atmosphere permeating the cold streets, trumpets blaring intermittently and whistles blowing; even those without kids were leaning from their windows, watching the festivities with beers in their hands, music drifting from narrow apartments in the handsome seventeenth-century black-bricked buildings hooded with white gables.
The congestion eased somewhat as they moved above the water, crossing the bridge. They had to walk down the very centre of it; there was no chance of getting near the edges with these numbers, not with that vantage point. From the sudden cheer, she could tell the boat had docked ahead and that Sinterklaas was disembarking.
‘Can you see him?’ she asked Jasper, who was still wriggling and twisting on her shoulders like she was a swivel seat.
‘He’s getting on Amerigo!’ he pointed, oblivious to the fact that she couldn’t see over most people’s shoulders. Being almost five foot ten didn’t mean much when everyone else was that – or taller – too.
‘Great!’ she cried back, wondering if this would mean they could wrap it up now and go get a hot chocolate with marshmallows somewhere. She was beginning to lose feeling in her fingers and toes. ‘Well, listen—’
But he knew her tone of voice too well. ‘I want to see him on the horse!’
She squeezed his leg again, still unable to see Sinterklaas directly. ‘But that’s probably as good as it’s going to get, Jazz. He’s got all the other kids to see now, hasn’t he? And you said Zwarte Piet saw you, right? So we’re good for him coming over.