Everybody except Jones drank sparingly and acted with decorum at the office party on Christmas Eve afternoon. Decorum is the last thing Tim and I like at parties, so, once we persuaded Melanie and April to accompany us, we high-fived our friends and important bosses, wished them whatever they wished for themselves, and headed for the bars. The girls like a bit of fun so it was no surprise when they went topless at Pete’s Place around nine-thirty. Their frivolity earned them too much attention and so Tim and I, heroes without hidden agendas, had to help them escape. Well, Tim didn’t have any hidden agenda – he’s married with kids. I hoped to get horizontal, vertical or askew with either or both of our companions. When it turned out that the girls were inseparable, I told Tim to tell his wife not to expect me too early the next day.
June, Tim’s wife, said I looked bad. ‘You look like death warmed up, Harry.’
‘I feel like it, too. How’s Tim?’
‘The same. Merry Christmas, by the way.’
‘Oh yeah! Sorry.’ I gave her a hug. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too.’
‘Phew!’ she said. ‘You smell like a brewery.’
‘I smell like Christmas cheer,’ I said.
She gave me an insincere smile. ‘A rose by any other name.’
The children realised I was at the door. ‘Harry!’ they cried with painful enthusiasm.
‘Shhhhh,’ I said, ‘you’ll wake the baby Jesus.’
‘That’s silly,’ said Diana. ‘They killed him last Easter.’
‘They couldn’t kill him before he was born,’ said Charles. ‘They’ll kill him next Easter.’
‘Actually, they claim it was a few years later,’ I said as I handed each a present. Charles looked askance at his sister’s much larger gift. ‘Size isn’t everything,’ I said.
They ooohed and aaahed and said ‘thank you’.
‘That has to be assembled,’ I told Diana. ‘I’ll help you do that later. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ she said with a disappointed air.
I shook hands with Tim’s dad and kissed his mum on the cheek. I found Tim in the kitchen, sweat rolling down from under a floppy red hat with a damp white fringe.
‘That’ll improve the taste of the gravy.’
‘You’re late.’
‘I did say.’
‘You know how to carve?’
‘I’ve been known to.’
‘So do a guy a favour and take that thing apart, will ya.’
I found the tools and started slicing.
‘How’d it go with April and Melanie?’
‘Good. They’re a fun couple.’
‘I don’t wanna know.’
‘You just asked,’
‘I know I did. But now I don’t want to know.’
‘Bad day?’
‘Nah. How can Christmas Day be a bad day?’
‘But you don’t wanna know.’
‘No.’
‘Okay.’
‘Speech. Speech.’
‘I just want to say how nice it is to have friends and family here on Christmas Day. It’s been a good year. We paid off the mortgage, had a great vacation...’
‘The turkey’s getting cold.’
‘Come on, Dad. We wanna eat.’
‘Yes, well, as consensus of opinion seems to be I should shut up, I will. Dig in folks.’
‘This wine is good.’
‘I’m glad you like it. I’ve got some special port for afters.’
‘Jeeze, I’m stuffed. Great meal, June. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, Harry. Why don’t you plonk yourself on the settee next to mum and relax.’
‘I’ll help you clear away first. Tim and I’ll do the washing up.’
‘Did you check that with Tim? What am I saying? I accept. Thanks. I’m so glad you offered before you saw the kitchen.’
‘Come on, Uncle Harry. You said you’d help put my pressie together.’
‘I know I did, Di but you gotta let me take five. I’ll get to it later. You’ve got plenty other stuff that Santa bought.’
‘Leave him be,’ said June.
‘Muum!’
‘Leave him. Go on; off with you.’
‘Thanks, June.’
‘The taxi’s here, Harry.’
‘What? What time is it?’
‘Ten. The children are in bed. You owe Diana a date to assemble her present.’
‘Oh, God. What must she think? Next weekend?’
‘Next weekend’s New Year, Harry. I think you’re celebrating with Melanie and April.’
‘What? Oh yeah. Well, the weekend after that. I promise.’
Melanie and April weren’t around the following Christmas. Celebrating Christmas Eve with Tim didn’t happen as one, it was a Saturday and two, June made him and the kids attend a carol singing session. Poor sod. I had acquired a semi-permanent companion who preferred sober celebrations. Semi-permanent because she wanted us to be permanent and I didn’t. She told her friends she was working on me and felt she’d achieved some success when I invited her to Tim and June’s place on Christmas Day.
‘You actually don’t smell like a brewery,’ June said by way of greeting. She turned to the semi-permanent one. ‘You must be doing something right. Merry Christmas!’
The kids laughed and clapped when I gave them presents that the semi-permanent one had helped select. Tim said she had a nice arse. June said she was delightful. The woman was amassing points at an alarming rate.
After the meal and after the semi-permanent one and I washed and dried the dishes, Tim unpackaged some indoor fireworks. ‘Where’s Diana?’ he said. She won’t want to miss these.’
‘She went down to the cellar,’ Charles informed him.
‘I’ll go and tell her,’ I said. I strode to the door, opened it and proceeded down the carpeted steps. Diana was on her knees singing ‘Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you’ in her sweet melodic voice and I thought she was singing to the baby Jesus until I saw she was looking at the yet unassembled gift I had given her last Christmas.
About the author
Peter Lingard, 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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