A Bumper Christmas by Peter Lingard, a glass of port

After lunch at an out-of-town restaurant, three women window-shopped along the small town’s main thoroughfare. One window displayed a lone dollhouse made of white wood.  The structure was like houses Bettina had seen near the water’s edge in communities dependent on the fishing industry. The widow’s walk on the scaled down version went completely around the top of the building.  A central flagpole jutted from below the balustrade that surrounded the widow’s walk.  The main entrance had stained glass windows.  Curved over the door was the name, Cape Cod Cottage.  There were small white lace curtains on the inside of every window and miniature green painted shutters on the outside.  The front door and all window shutters were the same green color.  Bettina immediately thought the toy dwelling would be the perfect Christmas gift for Katie, the eldest of her two young daughters.  But then she paused; do today’s techno-savvy children still want such toys?  Still, if Katie rejected it, she’d keep it herself.

 

Bettina’s friends continued along the high street, saying they’d either see her later or stop at the store on their way back. Bettina expected to find other dollhouses in the slightly decrepit store but she found the place bare, except for a table on which parts of a new construction lay.  The place smelled of wood and paint. Curled shavings and sawdust lay on the bare floorboards. An old man appeared from the back of the store, presumably in response to the old-fashioned bell activated by the opening and closing of the door from the street.  The white-haired man was drying his hands on a dirty towel. A well-worn leather tool holder surrounded his waist.

‘What can ah do for ya?’ he asked in a slightly gruff voice.  There was a hint of a Scots accent worn away by time absent from the country that must have once been his home.

‘Is the dollhouse in the window for sale?’

‘Nope.  That one is waiting ta be picked up by the buyer.’

Bettina thought the man was going to say something else but he looked down at his hands, inspected his fingers and, obviously satisfied with their cleanliness, threw the towel into the corner of the room where it landed on the floor amidst wood shavings.  He raised his eyes to look inquiringly at Bettina. 

She felt intimidated.  ‘Can I order a dollhouse exactly like the one in the window?’ she asked, half expecting the man to show displeasure at her request.

‘It’ll tack me three months ta mack it, what with the orders I already have.’

‘That’s okay’ Bettina told him. Slowly exhaling her tension.  ‘Just as long as I have it in time for Christmas.  It’ll be a present for my daughter.’

‘I wouldna say three months if I didna mean it.  Today is the eighteenth of September, so it’ll be ready on the eighteenth of December.  Not a day earlier or later.  It will then sit in ma window until you pick it up.  The cost is five-hundred dollars.  Cash only, mind.  Half now and half when you pick it up.’

It would be an expensive gift, but it was an exquisite model house.  Bettina took out her wallet.

 

Bettina returned to the shop on the eighteenth of December and saw what she hoped was her dollhouse in the window. It looked exactly like the one she had so admired three months before. As she entered the store she found the man sat at the table carefully carving a curving staircase.

‘So ya came back exactly on the day, then.  With nary a ‘phone call?’

‘You were so emphatic about the date I didn’t feel a need to check up on you.’

‘Ah could ha bin run down by a bus or something.’ The man smiled, his accent suddenly becoming thicker.

‘True.  That never occurred to me.  Is that my house in the window?’

‘It is.’ The man slid back two bolts that kept the window backing in place and folded the panels to one side.  ‘Where’s ya car?’

‘It’s out front. I’ll open the boot for you.’

‘Before ya do that perhaps ya might like to give me the rest of ma money.’

‘Of course.  I forgot, sorry.’  Bettina withdrew the money from her bag.

‘Ya should never forget about the money woman.  Else, what’s it all for?’

 

Other Christmas gifts littered the floor of Bettina’s and her husband Kenny’s wardrobes and so the doll-house would have to remain in the boot of Bettina’s car until after her daughters went to bed on Christmas Eve.  A toy pram to be purchased for Kristy would soon join it and that thought caused Bettina to suffer another pang of doubt.  Will Kristy want a doll’s pram?  She had dolls, so why not?

 

When Bettina went shopping, bags of groceries and children shared the back seat of the car.  They first thought it amusing but the novelty soon wore off and the inevitable question was asked.

‘Why can’t you put all this stuff in the boot, mummy?’

‘Because the boot is broken.  It’ll get fixed soon but for now you’ll have to put up with the inconvenience.’

 

On Christmas Eve morning Bettina helped feed a traditional Christmas dinner to the city’s homeless people.  The affair went on longer than anticipated and Bettina worried she’d be late for afternoon tea at the city’s leading hotel with her two best friends.  After the last pot was stowed away in the school’s kitchen Bettina looked at her watch and saw she should have been at the hotel five minutes ago. 

She dialed Nadine’s number, turned on the ignition and spun the wheel as she speedily backed out of her parking space. 

Nadine’s voice came on the line.  ‘Hello?’

‘Oh, hi Nadine.  I just called to tell you…’

Thump.  The car stopped dead after hitting some unseen object.

‘Shit!’

‘Bettina?  What happened?  Are you OK?’

‘I’ve just hit something with my car.  Hang on while I get out and take a look.’

Still holding the phone to her ear, she went to the back of the car she saw the tree stump she’d hit.  A short protruding limb had smashed into the boot’s lock. ‘Oh this is too much!’ she yelled into the ‘phone.  ‘Just a sec.’

Bettina got into her car and moved it forward a couple of metres.  She then tried to insert the key into the boot lock but was unable to do so.

‘This is just fucking perfect,’ she shouted into the ‘phone.  ‘Katie’s dollhouse and Kristy’s pram are in the boot and the boot is broken.  What the hell am I going to do?’

‘Jimmy the boot?’ Nadine suggested half-heartedly.

‘No, don’t do that.  That’s just the excuse her insurance company would need to refuse the claim.’ Bettina heard Pauline interject.

‘Who’s your insurance company?’ Nadine asked. ‘Maybe you could call them.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ screamed Bettina, ‘It’s three-thirty on Christmas Eve.  They’re all partying or have gone home for the holiday already.’

‘What about Kenny?’ Pauline asked.  ‘Has Bettina called him?’

‘That’ll get me nothing but grief.  All my caring husband will want to know is how much damage was done to the car.  He’ll probably suggest that we give the girls each a note telling them that they had another Christmas present coming once the boot has been fixed.  That could be half way through January!’

‘Listen.  Will the car get you here?’ Nadine wanted to know.

‘Yeah, I think so.  Why?’

‘Come and have your afternoon tea.  Calm down a little.  We’ll work something out.’

 

Bettina was a little breathless as she sat at the table.

‘Here, I ordered you a glass of port to sooth your nerves,’ said Pauline as she pushed the glass across the table.

‘Thanks.’ Bettina smiled in gratitude.

After a sip, she told the two women she had called her insurers only to hear a recording state the company had closed for the holidays, and one should dial such-and-such a number in an emergency or call again after the third of January.  ‘I can hardly call my situation an emergency, so do you have any brain waves.’

‘Sort of.’ Nadine grinned.  ‘You must have heard of someone asking if there’s a doctor in the house.  Well, I propose we give our sexiest smiles to the Maître D’ and ask him to page any insurance assessor who might be in the hotel.’

‘You must be joking!’ Bettina nearly spluttered her second sip of port across the table.

‘Why not?  It’s worth a try.’

 

The waitress induced the Maître D’ to visit their table.  ‘We have rather a strange request,’ Pauline ventured.  ‘We’re in urgent need of an insurance assessor and wondered if there’s one in the hotel.’

‘An insurance assessor?’

She nodded.  ‘Yes, an insurance assessor.’

‘And how would I know that?’

‘Well, don’t you have one of those boys with the jaunty hat who stroll around the hotel with someone’s name chalked on a miniature blackboard?  A page?’

The man smiled.  ‘The days of boys with jaunty hats are long gone.  We do however have a modern day version. What do you suggest we write upon his miniature blackboard?’

‘Insurance assessor.’

‘Insurance assessor?’

‘Well, yes, if you can.’

The Maître D’ nodded.  ‘I’ll see what can be done’

‘You’re so kind.’

‘It must be the season.’

 

A short while later a young man dressed in the hotel’s livery, wound his way through the bar, lobby and dining room calling out, ‘Looking for an insurance assessor.  Insurance assessor.  Any insurance assessor.’

 

The Maître D’ arrived at their table with a thin, bespectacled woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties.  Behind them the young man carried a chair.

‘May I introduce Mrs. Kennedy?  I’m advised that this good lady works in the claims department of one of the country’s leading insurance companies.’

Bettina ordered another pot of tea and another round of scones and cream.  ‘Thank you for responding to our call,’ she said.  ‘Would you like something a little stronger to drink?’

‘No, thank you.  How could I refuse such a dramatic plea?  And that handsome young man clearly had no idea who or what he was summoning.  What is it you want to speak to me about?’

Bettina told the tale of the gifts trapped in the damaged boot of her car.  ‘I have to get them out of the car tonight but I don’t want to give my insurance company an excuse to refuse the claim because they weren’t given the chance to view and assess the damage.’

‘Well, speaking as a medical claims assessor, I suggest we take the car to the emergency room at the local hospital,’ the woman said with a grin.

‘You’re a medical person!’ The three women laughed.

‘At your service.’

They quickly calmed and Nadine asked, ‘Can you still help?’

‘Possibly.  Why don’t you show me the car?  I’ll take some pictures and give you my business card.’ She handed one to each of the three friends.

‘Then you can jimmy the boot and I’ll assist you with your claim in January.’

The three friends divvied up the money to cover the bill for tea and drinks and then they all went to the stricken car.

 

The children finally went to bed around nine-thirty. They placed a glass of milk and a plate of cookies under the tree, kissed the dog, then their parents, said goodnight and went up the stairs to bed.

‘Do you think you could get the kids to kiss the dog after they’ve kissed us in the future?’ Kenny asked his wife.

‘Hey, they’re your kids too.  Why don’t you take care of it?  ‘Fraid of what the dog might have been licking?’

‘I don’t even want to think about it.’

Bettina got up from the settee and went to the drinks cabinet to pour a generous measure of single malt whisky for her husband.

 

The dog was forgotten and the whisky half drunk.

‘Had a slight bump in the car today, hon.’

‘What!  How much damage?’

‘Oh, I’m fine.  The kids weren’t in the car at the time.  Just a little dent in the boot.  Nothing really.’

Her husband put down his drink, stood and strode through the kitchen to the garage door.  He yanked on the dangling brass chain that switched on the garage light and shuffled sideways in a crab-like motion towards the rear of the cramped area.

‘You have to be kidding me!  You call this a little dent?  There’s maybe a grand’s worth of damage here.  What the hell happened?’

Bettina told him.

‘Didn’t you call the insurance company?’

‘I did but they’d gone home for the holidays.’

‘Gone home!  What does someone do in an emergency?’

‘They gave an alternate number for emergencies, but this is hardly an emergency.’
‘That’s all right for you to say.  You don’t pay the bills around here.’
‘What bills?  It’ll be an insurance claim.’

‘Yeah, but you know they’ll put the premiums up next year.’

‘Kenny, we won’t be making a claim until January so next year is thirteen months away.  Stop bitching.’

‘Okay, okay.  Can you manage without the boot until January?’

‘That’s the next thing I want to talk about.  I need you to jimmy the boot open.’

‘Are you nuts?  They’ll never pay out on a claim on which they weren’t given the opportunity to view the damage.  The boot’ll have to stay like it is until January.’

‘Kenny, darling.  I’ve taken care of that.  I found a claims agent who took photographs and gave me her card so that when the time comes we’ll be able to show the insurance company the extent of the original damage and have the statement of one of their kind to back it up.’

‘Does she work for the same company?’

‘No, but she’s still an insurance assessor.’

‘Auto claims?’

‘Er, no.  She’s in medical claims.’

‘Oh, okay.  You found some bimbo who works for a different company in the medical claims department who guarantees our insurance company, auto claims division, will pay the claim without any hassle.  Great!  I don’t know why I was so worried.’

‘Stop being such a prima-donna, Ken and jimmy the goddamn boot!’

‘Tell me, Bet, how will you explain to the insurance company why the pictures of the damaged boot look completely different from the boot itself?’

‘We’ll take more pictures.’

‘But what does that do to the statement from the medical claims woman?’

‘Just jimmy the boot, Ken.  We’ll claim for the total damage.  Given that the boot was so damaged what possible difference will it make if the thing has been jimmied open?  The lock is shot anyhow.’

‘All right.  All right.  But don’t blame me if the bastards refuse to pay.’

 

The unharmed dollhouse and pram joined the cookies and milk.  The couple brought gifts from their wardrobes and placed as many as possible under the tree.  Others spread onto the carpet.  Kenny finished his scotch while Bettina lefthandedly wrote a ‘thank you’ note from Santa and wondered if it was time to admit she was the Santa for their family. She ate the two biscuits, drank the milk and left the note, powdered with crumbs, on the plate.  

 About the author 

 Peter Lingard, plingaus@bigpond.com, born a Brit, served in the Royal Marines, was an accountant, a barman and a farm worker. He once lived in the US where he owned a freight forwarding business. An Aussie now because the sun frequently shines and the natives communicate in English. 

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