Come Home
by Pat Black
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Maureen dreads hosting her grizzled, spiky father-in-law for Christmas. But when the snow falls, strange things can happen...
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The old man was meant to call them before he got on the train. When he didn’t, nobody panicked. They were well used to his ways.
“Probably just forgot,” Jack said, as he peered out the window at the back garden in the dead-of-winter gloom. Conditions were getting worse, with the trees bordering their property flailing silently in the wind.
Maureen logged into the computer, checking out phone numbers for individual stations on the line. “This was Stage One of the plan, Jack. If he gets Stage One wrong, he’ll get the rest wrong, too.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s travelled by rail before.”
Maureen gave him a look. “That was then. Nowadays he has trouble getting around Sainsbury’s, never mind the rail network.”
On the settee, Kevin prodded and pattered at his hand-held games console. “Is grandad going to be late?”
“No, he’s not,” Jack said.
“Do you think he’ll bring me a present?”
“You don’t get presents this close to Christmas, greedy guts.”
“Umph. He had a present for me last time we saw him.”
Yes, Maureen thought. Bought by your Auntie Liz, at the last minute, no doubt. “You never mind about presents. The cheek I’ve had off you the past few days, you’ll be lucky to get anything, my lad. And you’ll be staying home for Christmas if I hear any more.”
A thought struck Jack, and he dialled a number. “Hmm... no answer at the house.”
“There’s never an answer at the house, Jack,” Maureen sighed.
“I know. Just checking he actually left. I’ll maybe give Liz a call, see if he’s over there...”
“He really is the last man standing without a mobile phone. Even that stubborn guy in my office cracked and got one eventually. Most of the older people I know, too. They’ve all got mobiles. But not your dad.”
“I know. I know this, love.”
They stuck to the plan and prepared to drive out to meet him at the allotted time. Despite the cloud cover it was freezing cold as they got in the car, and the weather reports had warned people to expect snow over the next couple of days.
“Knowing our luck,” Maureen said, shivering in the passenger seat, “we’ll get out there, he’ll be bang on time, then we’ll get snowed in.”
“Are we going to get snow this Christmas?” Kevin beamed in the back seat.
“Hopefully not,” Jack said. “Right, here goes.”
The headlights sliced through the darkness into their garden, exposing the winter-dark trees, the cadaverous garden furniture glittering with frost, and the forlorn sentinel of the wood burner.
The station was filled with people at the end of their tether. Home for the holidays, some laden with bags of presents. Everywhere you looked, there were reunions, hugs and kisses, hoots, whoops and tears. In the shop windows, Santa, snowflakes and tinsel framed the haggard seasonal workers.
The old man’s train was delayed, but not as much as they’d feared. Jack, Maureen and Kevin all had hot chocolate in a cafe while they waited for the notice board to signal his arrival.
The train trundled in, and they waited on the platform as it disgorged a fresh load of travellers, shivering and stamping in the sudden cold.
When Jack’s dad didn’t appear immediately from the coach he’d been specifically booked on – Coach B, the Quiet One, no phones, personal stereos or gurning kids allowed – they still refused to panic.
Jack and Kevin jogged up and down the platform, trying to spot the old man at a window. Soon enough, the platform attendant blew his whistle, the doors beeped closed, and the train moved on. The crowd thinned out; there was no sign of the old man.
What irritated Maureen the most, as the pair of them trudged back up the platform in that similar slouched gait, was that her son looked worried.
“Right. He’s not here. I mean, he didn’t get off that train.” Jack took out his mobile phone, tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. “And Liz says he’s not at the house, for definite. She stuck her head round the door.”
Maureen sighed and pulled out her own phone. “Just as well someone took down the contact numbers for all the stations then, isn’t it?”
“Well, look at it this way. At least he made the journey.”
“Are we sure about that? Did Liz stick her head round the door of the Rusty Duck, too?”
Kevin giggled. “Do you think grandad’s drunk?”
Maureen made some calls. There was no sign of a confused looking older gentleman at any of the previous stations on the line, and – at last - a little bit of panic began to appear.
Jack wondered if they should instigate a genuine missing persons inquiry, and all manner of dark terrors suggested themselves to the seekers.
Maureen asked for announcements to be made on the train and at all stations, urging a Mr Edward Tyneman to get in touch with station staff. This produced a result; after a search of the recently departed train, it turned out Jack’s dad had been in the toilet while it pulled into the station, and he’d missed his stop. They could pick the old man up at the next station.
“Assisted,” Maureen said, hanging up. “They said, ‘he’ll be assisted off the train’.”
“So?”
“They really laboured it. It was italicised. Assisted, they said.”
Jack sighed. “At least we’ve found him. Thank Christ.”
“Can I have a Burger King?” Kevin said.
“No, you bloody can not.”
He was there when they pulled in, pacing up and down the main entrance, a tall, stiff, broad-shouldered man with a shovel-shaped face and a good head of close-cropped snow-white hair. His eyes narrowed as the car turned into the taxi pick-up point, and when he recognised Kevin he flicked his cigarette into the wind and shouldered his bag.
“Remember,” Maureen said, as Jack unclipped his belt. “Do not let him talk down to you. This is his own fault, whatever he says.”
“He’s been standing out in the cold, love.”
“Just make sure you stand up to him.”
“Give over, eh?”
She winced as he slammed the door, then watched the father-son reunion; a couple of terse lines from the old man, a refusal of help with his battered hold-all. No handshakes.
Jack’s dad jerked his thumbs towards the station and made ugly shapes with his mouth, before – deep joy – stabbing a finger towards the car. As they strode forward, she felt her irritation subside. In its place was a sense of dread at the old man’s set features, the overly-confident stride, the tight-pressed mouth, his blank stare.
The door was torn open in the wind and Jack’s dad got in, almost engulfing his grandson with his backside. They said hello, and he grunted in response.
“Do you fancy putting your bag in the back, Edward?” Maureen said. “There’s plenty of room.”
He ignored her, gathering the bag against his chest with a very distinct clink. “Bunch of idiots back there,” he growled. “Talking to me like I’m five years old. They made an announcement on the train! Can you believe it?”
She could smell the drink off him, sour beer and probably something stronger. “They were just wondering where you were,” Maureen said. “We were, too.”
“I was on the bloody train, obviously.”
“You didn’t get off at the right station!” Kevin smiled at his grandad.
The old man cracked a smile. “There are some things a man can’t wait for, kidda.”
“You were in the toilet!” the boy spluttered.
“That’s right. I fought the good fight, wee man. It was a monster. A foot long, if it was an inch.” He leaned in, a conspirator. “I think I left teeth marks in the sink.”
Jack got into the front seat. “Okay, everybody buckled up?”
“Never mind buckles, you,” Jack’s dad roared, clapping his hands. “Let’s get up the road. Hurry up now, I’m bloody starving.”
He fell asleep on the couch, not long after they’d got him settled into the front room. He could not be roused nor moved to his berth in the spare room. Whenever Jack shook a shoulder, the old man literally growled.
“I would get a blanket and leave him to it,” Maureen said. “I’ve got work in the morning. I’m not in the mood to spend half the night shifting an invalid.”
“Maybe we should prod him with a big stick?” Kevin said.
“Not a bad idea,” Jack muttered. He ran a hand through his hair.
“You alright?” she said.
“Hmm. Just flashbacks.”
“I bet.”
They considered the sleeping giant, his hands folded on his lap. “Oh, that reminds me,” Maureen said. “Make sure he doesn’t smoke in the room. Get him told.”
“It’ll be hard to stop him, love.”
“I’ll bloody stop him.” She snatched up the old man’s cigarettes and lighter. “I’m not having him start a fire in this house, Jack.”
“He only did that the once, honey. In his own house.”
“Yeah. Once is enough for anybody. I mean it, Jack. If he smokes in here, he has to go home.”
“Well if he has to go home, you’ll have to drive him, won’t you? It’s Christmas time, now.”
The old man grunted, stretched his neck like a giant turtle, then settled down again.
Maureen’s department had had a little party in the office to mark the last day, Friday the 23rd, and she was in a good mood when she pulled into traffic early that afternoon. Finished up until the 28th, she sang along to Wizzard and Wham! on the radio, scarcely able to believe how she had come to love those songs. It was one of those crisp winter days when the sun hung low in a clear blue sky, and there was still a promise of life and bustle in the air despite the death of the light. She regarded the rows of baggage-laden shoppers unspooling past her with a mixture of sympathy and smugness; she and Jack had finished up all their shopping in the city centre the previous week. There’d even been time to take a wander around the town and check out the ice sculptures and the carol singers, just the two of them; there had been hot chocolate and eggnog from vendors on the street, chestnuts hot in the cup, and one or two thrilling public kisses.
The smell of cigarette smoke, strong even in the doorway, dispelled her reverie. She followed the scent like a shark nosing after a trail of blood.
There was bedlam in the living room, with Jack, Kevin and Kevin’s friend, Hal, playing the games console. All three of them shrieked as they battered and swung the control pads. On the screen, immodestly dressed sprites clobbered each other with swords in a medley of digitised thuds, groans and crashes. The baubles on the Christmas tree in the opposite corner shuddered with their activity.
“Um. Jack. Where’s your dad?”
“Oh, hello. Uh, he’s outside taking some air.” Jack barely looked away from the screen.
“I can smell smoke, honey.”
“He was standing in the door.”
“Grandad didn’t smoke in the house, mum,” Kevin said. “He knows it’s not allowed.”
“Well hello to you too, mister. The girls in the office got you a selection box and a little present; you and Hal can have the sweets now, if you like.”
“Cool!”
“Hello, Mrs Tyneman,” Hal said. Little cheeky chops – Maureen had to restrain herself from tweaking the dimples in his cheeks every time he smiled.
“Hiya Hal. Are you round for tea tonight?”
“Ah no, I was round to drop off some presents and things for you.”
“Oh that’s a shame – Kevin’s cousins are coming round tonight. Well, you’re very welcome if you want to stay...”
She felt his terrible uncertainty. Knowing that he really wanted to, but had to be home at his mum’s. His eyes darted from his friend to Jack and back again. When was it that men lost this openness? Maureen wondered.
She found the old man out by the wood burner in the garden. Not content with the smoke in his lungs, he had a fire going. In the cold, still air, the smoke was a steady grey plume in the sky, and the kindling blazed in the dark.
He ignored her approach, staring out at the garden toward the line of trees at the end of their lawn.
“It’s bleak out here,” he said. “Very flat.”
“Oh, I don’t mind it. I quite like it at this time of year. I love nice fresh winter days like this one. I sometimes sit out here with a coffee if the weather’s not too bitter.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“I see. Well. How’s your day been?”
“Excellent. I tightened up those nuts.”
“Nuts?”
“Yeah, in your bathroom. Back of your crapper. The wall behind it was a little bit damp. I fixed the shelf in the little guy’s room, too. The one he keeps his soldiers on. It was off-square. That husband of yours always was useless with the tools.”
“That husband of mine has been looking forward to you coming over, you know. So has Kevin; hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks.”
“Ha! He’ll be wanting topped up with cash, the little bugger. He’s his father’s son, right enough.”
She folded her arms and bit down hard on a response. “I suppose you’d know, Edward. Well. I’m going to put a coffee on before I start the dinner. You want one?”
“I’m just fine out here.”
“You do know we’re having my brother and his wife round, tonight?”
“Aye, Jack told me. Has he got kids, your brother?”
“Yes. Alan and Daniel.”
“Young kids?”
“Round about Kevin’s age. One older, one younger. They’re the absolute best of pals. You know how cousins are.”
“Yeah, I know how kids are. That pub you’ve got around here... what is it, The Green Dragon? The Red Dragon?”
“The Green Dragon.”
“Walking distance from here, is it?”
She couldn’t stop the sigh escaping. “Ed... it’s Christmas, mate.”
“Yep. So it is. Every bloody year.”
“Look, Ed. We love this time of year in this house. It’s fun. You could have fun, too, you know. If you wanted to.”
“You know, I’m perfectly happy out here, darling. You don’t need to mother me.”
“Nobody’s mothering you, Ed. And you can stay here as long as you like.”
“I might even get a bigger fire going. It’s rare, out here.”
“Sure, you can do that. There’s lots of kindling in the shed. You’ll have found that, too, I’m guessing. Or did you chop up a wardrobe? Take a few inches off my bed legs?”
“Ah. You’re lightening up. That’s what I like to see.” A smile at last; he showed her his chipped, painful-looking teeth, yellow fading to black, right to the quick. “I’m only messing with you, love. I’ll have plenty of fun, don’t you worry. If you’ve got beer in the fridge, I’ll be all the fun in the world.”
She snorted. “I’ll get you a coffee to start with. How about that?”
“That’d be nice.” The old man returned to the fire, the glow softening his features. “It’s starting to cloud over. They say snow’s on the way. Won’t that be something?”
At the sink, Maureen rinsed out a cup, biting her lip, willing the tears away.
Mark, Ellen and the two boys came around at seven on the dot. It was a noise grenade, a sound collage, feedback whines and distortion at the end of a rock n’ roll show. The boys crashed and blustered their way through video games; Mark and Jack shared a beer, while Ellen took a soda water and lime. Mark’s wife was beautiful; not quite as athletic as she had been before the kids, but still tall and elegant. The extra flesh looked really good on her, much as she hated it, and her hair was that lovely auburn it had always been.
Ed had been entranced by Ellen when she first arrived, and had even turned on a little bit of charm which had reminded Maureen, jarringly, of her husband. Soon, though, the noise from the youngsters began to tell. The old man had gone to the fridge to top himself up several times during dinner, and soon he began to cultivate that blank look.
“So tell me, Ed,” Mark said to the old man, “is it true you worked on the QE2?”
“I did indeed.” He drained a can.
“Phenomenal. You know, I’ve still got this mental picture of it being launched. I can’t imagine what it must have been like working on something like that.”
“Hardly anybody knows what it’s like, nowadays. They’ve closed most of those yards down. Sent all the work to India, China and God knows where.”
“When did you retire from the shipyards, Edward?” Ellen asked.
“Technically, I didn’t, love. I was made redundant in the eighties. Was a postie after that for a few years.” He grinned. “Got a nice pension, all the same. That was one thing I got right.”
“It’s terrible what happened to the heavy industries in this country,” Ellen said, nodding in sympathy.
“And can I ask what you do for a living, honey?”
“Um, I don’t work at the minute. I look after the two boys. But I’m an accountant.”
“An accountant! Just like number one son, here?” The old man jerked his head towards Jack.
“Yes – we all worked at the same firm, Jack, Mark and I. That’s how we all...” She interlocked her fingers.
“Oh, that’s nice. You must be doing alright, not having to work, then?”
“Uh, we do alright, I suppose. I’m thinking about going back, taking a couple of qualifications. Maybe get into chartered accountancy. Once Alan and Daniel are older.”
Ed frowned. “You know, it’s amazing. My wife Peggy, she never took any time off her work, when she was expecting. There was no such thing as maternity leave, then, either. Well, there may have been. But she had to get the money in to help out. She went up that hill to the biscuit factory on her own. Big as a bloody house each time she was pregnant. Never missed a day. Morning sickness, blizzards, you name it – she went into her work. She went there all her days, right till the very last ones, in fact.”
“That’s amazing.”
Ed flinched at a sudden noise from the front room, where the boys were playing a cacophonous racing game. “Yeah. Isn’t it just?”
Jack nodded. “I remember she did that. In all kinds of weather, too.”
“That’s right, son. She was a hard worker. She helped out in the house all the time. Encouraged you to go to school, too. Best thing for you, o’ course. I knew you’d be useless with your hands. Ham-fisted. I spotted it when he was a baby, you know.”
Mark laughed and said: “You’re not wrong. This summer, we had a barbecue. And Jack came along with a batch of this lighter fluid...”
The rest of the table erupted in laughter. Jack covered his face in mock shame, while Mark recounted a well-worn tale of singed eyebrows and exploding sausages tinged with the taste of accelerant.
“... You should have heard the boom when he put light to it. I remember saying, ‘Jesus, did we miss the four-minute warning?’”
Ed simply shook his head at his son. “Dumpling. You could have killed somebody.”
Jack grinned. “You know something? I think that fuel added something to the flavour.”
The laughter sustained. Ed sniffed, stood up and went out into the garden.
The three little boys joined him later, drawn by the fire’s glow. There was a slight wind, but with the cloud cover and the heat from the burner it was bearable, if not cosy.
“Grandad, aren’t you cold out here?”
Sat on a chair on the decking, he watched the three of them come closer with a wary eye. “Cold? This isn’t cold. Forty years ago, now that was a cold Christmas, kidda. If you peed on the ground, you could snap it off and throw it away.”
They giggled. Daniel, Mark’s youngest boy, a devilish-looking child with hair swept back from his head like Dracula, approached without fear and warmed his hands. “Can you make toast out here?” he said.
“Toast? I can do better than that. I’ll tell you what I can make out here – roast longpig.”
“Roast longpig?”
“Yeah. That’s where you take a wee boy... maybe about your size... though I prefer fatter... you put him on a stick... and you roast him alive for a wee while...”
“They do that in the jungle, I’ve heard.” Alan, his mother’s darling, was a handsome child with hair she had kept long for him.
“Oh, do they? Would that be those cannibal fellows, maybe?”
“Yeah. They’re really remote tribes, in the Amazon basin.”
“Whoah. The Amazon, eh?”
“It’s the world’s biggest river by volume,” Alan said.
“That’s great. You must be the brains of the operation, here. Listen, did you ever hit upon the magic formula for going for a haircut?” He belched, as the two younger boys broke up laughing. Alan chewed the side of his mouth.
“How about a science lesson?” the old man said, cocking his backside. “You think maybe if I aimed a fart at the flames, I can set light to it at this distance?”
“Do it!” Kevin yelled.
“I dare you!” shrieked Daniel.
“Oh, wait a minute...” The old man strained, gritting his teeth. A long, tuneful fart sounded, changing key half-way through.
“Urgh!” The boys wheeled away, holding their noses.
“Whoops... Better watch, lads. I’m sure I left something in here... I might have pulled mud.”
All three of them laughed, delighted.
“If you follow through on your stroke, well... it can be a disaster if you wear light trousers, like these. Imagine if I sat down on that lovely sofa your mother has, Kevin. It’ll be like dropping a black forest gateau.”
A stifled snigger from the patio door brought all four heads around. The adults were framed in the doorway, indistinct in the gloom. They had drinks in their hands, watching the exchange.
Ed darkened. “Go on, it’s cold out here. Your mothers’ll be on to the social about me if you catch a sniffle. Away you go, now!” He winced as the boys thundered back up the path to the house, returning to the fire.
Whispers in the bedroom, much later.
“She was going to leave him, you know. She told Liz, maybe a year before she died. She’d just had enough.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
On Christmas Eve the clouds banked up, swollen and ready to drop, the air strangely warm after the sun had set.
“Snow,” Ed said, gazing up at the sky from the patio. “I know it. It’ll snow this year.”
“I hope so, grandad,” Kevin said, following his gaze. “It would be so cool.”
Maureen poured herself a gin in the kitchen and joined them outside.
The old man frowned at her. “Bit early for that, isn’t it?”
“Oh that is classic, Ed. It really is.” She took a sip.
“Haven’t you got dinner to be getting ready for tomorrow?”
“No. We’re all going to my mother’s, remember? There’s tea for tonight. But it’s all in hand. Jack made most of it, in fact.”
“Proper little servant, eh?”
“Not at all,” Maureen said. “It’s what husbands and wives do these days. They help each other out. They muck in together.”
“You trying to say something, pet?”
“Nothing at all, Ed. Just telling you how things are in this house.”
“Well. You get to my age, ‘how things are’ can look a little bit different, honey.”
Kevin frowned at his grandad, unsure of the exchange. “Are you coming to the service tonight?”
“Service? What?”
“The church service. Midnight mass.”
“Midnight mass? Seriously?”
Maureen took another sip. “It’s a little service round at the local church. Quite a big event in the village.”
“I bet it is. Sounds a riot,” he cackled.
“It is quite lively, actually. They have a brass band playing outside. They get actors in from the local amateur dramatics society and do a little nativity play. It’s really good, in fact.”
“And they give you free hot chocolate,” Kevin said.
“Unless there’s a fully licensed bar, son, I couldn’t care less.”
“And that suits us all down to the ground,” Maureen said.
Kevin frowned. “Aww, grandad, you’d like it.”
“No. I don’t do churches, and I don’t do Christmas.”
Maureen said: “And that’s absolutely fine, Ed, as I say. We, however, do do Christmas. I’ll leave you to your fire. We won’t get in your way.”
“Watch you don’t have too many of those, Maureen.”
“Oh, I might just push the boat out, Ed... I told you. It’s Christmas, old son.” She tipped back the glass. “Can I get you one?”
“I’m just fine.” He poked at the kindling.
“Great. Come on, Kevin. Toy Story’s on the telly.”
The boy followed her back into the house. He turned back to say something to the old man, but Ed had already turned away from them to restock the burner with wood.
Inside the church, the only light was that cast by the shivering candles. The vicar was young and softly-spoken, the choir’s singing transcendent. Soon - with the story narrated by a schoolgirl - the tale of the nativity was acted out.
“What the hell is this?” Ed growled. The old man had been fidgety and growly ever since he had set foot in the church with Jack, Maureen and Kevin.
“I told you,” Jack said from the corner of his mouth. “It’s amateur dramatics. They’re actors.”
“I can see that, dumpling. I doubt the actual second coming would happen here. I want to know what they are saying.” His eyes were bloodshot. Before he had appeared, stunning them all, in a shirt and tie just as they were preparing to head out of the door for midnight mass, he had broken into the bottle of Good Stuff. He had sank a lot of it.
“You’re drowning them out, dad. Come on, now.”
“I can’t hear what they’re saying. God’s sake, how long is this going to last?”
“Another half an hour. Dad, please. There’s kids here.”
“Kids! Don’t I know it.” He burped. “Hey – is that her ox or her ass I can see?”
On the improvised stage area, the Virgin Mary – a beautiful sixteen-year-old lass with an alabaster complexion and glossy black hair protruding from beneath her white veil – was busy being told by an inn-keeper that there was no room for herself or Joseph. Joseph turned to the audience, looking suitably aghast, and his pimply cheeks clashed horribly with the chequercloth teatowel draped over his head. He mumbled something to Mary.
“Speak up, Spotty, for Christ’s sake!” Ed bellowed.
Several people sniggered, including Kevin.
Maureen gritted her teeth, clutching the pew in front of her.
Later, the Virgin and Joseph huddled together in the manger, and the choir began to sing Silent Night. The congregation joined in, and the old man was silent, eyes red-rimmed, standing tall and straight, face completely blank.
“Here it is!” the old man bellowed as they made their way back home. “I told you, the snow’s coming!”
“It is! It is, too!” Kevin clapped his hands, gazing up at the streetlight-shaded sky as the first soft flakes began to fall. The boy reached out to catch one in his gloved hands, gazing at it with the reverence of a prelate for a sacred text.
Other people out on the street at the end of the service joined in the discovery, looking up to the heavens. Delighted laughter carried far into the night. Someone shouted, “Merry Christmas!” and they returned the compliment, waving.
“Do you think there’s enough for a snowball soon, grandad?”
Ed said, “Ah, give it time, yet, kidda. All in good time. I’ll be buggered - a white Christmas!”
Jack beamed at this, utterly unselfconscious. Maureen leaned close into him, entwining her arm in his.
“You know, this is almost, almost perfect,” he whispered.
Later, in bed: “He hated it, you know.”
“What? Humanity?”
“Christmas. Absolutely loathed it.”
“I could have guessed that, Jack.”
“It’s as if he didn’t want anyone else to enjoy it, either. Some of the worst thrashings he ever gave me were at Christmas time. On Christmas morning, he wouldn’t even get out of his bed. Couldn’t bear to watch us all opening our presents. We had to take them into his room, to show him what Santa had brought us.”
“He had a tough upbringing. He maybe resented the fact that you all got presents and got spoiled. He didn’t get any of that as a child.”
“Maybe so. But it was no harder than mum’s upbringing. She had to look after her brothers and sisters when her own mother died. That wasn’t easy.
“But she loved Christmas. Loved to see us getting up, all excited. Even when it was three in the morning with a howling wind outside.” He swallowed. “No-one can touch that, you know. I’ve got those memories. No-one can steal those from me.”
“Who would want to?” She kissed him. “Hey. Do you think Rudolph enjoyed a nibble of the carrot we left out for him?”
“You mean... That was really Rudolph? It wasn’t you? Oh my God!”
“Wonder if he fancies some pudding?”
“Aaaaand the bells were ringing out... For Christmas day.”
Outside, the world had changed. The quality of the light seeping in through the curtains was different, long before the dawn.
Jack padded over to the window and peeped out. “My God,” he whispered. “You need to see it outside.”
Maureen stretched. “Nice?”
“Think of a Christmas card.”
Perhaps alerted by the voices, Kevin rat-a-tatted their bedroom door. “You have to get up!” he yelled.
The old man didn’t appear dressed as Santa; there was no Damascene conversion; street urchins went unrewarded. In fact, he didn’t appear at all.
Kevin was too preoccupied with tearing wrapping paper, quivering in excitement at each new wonder, barely pausing for labels, breath, or much else. Half-a-Crunchie from one of his selection boxes was crushed into the carpet already. The collateral damage of joy.
Finally the absence hit him. “Where’s grandad?”
“Your grandad doesn’t do Christmas morning, son.”
“Why not? We’ve got him loads of presents. I want to give him the big one.”
“It’s just his way,” Maureen said.
“Why doesn’t he like Christmas? That’s mad.”
“I wonder what he’s got us?” Maureen whispered.
Jack made two fists. “He used to say to me, ‘I might give you the left one, seeing as it’s Christmas. Later, if you’re good, you’ll get the right one as well.’”
She sniggered. “It’s a wonder you turned out as well as you did, Mr Tyneman.”
“Don’t laugh. It’s my biggest fear, that.”
“What is?”
Jack watched as his son exclaimed loudly, bearing a video game aloft like a trophy. “Taking after him.”
When the old man appeared, he looked as rough as Maureen had ever seen him, bad even in comparison to the days after the funeral. He had Christopher Lee eyes and a similar pallor, with that slightly dazed look common to those still drunk. Once through the door, he carried straight on past the family and the tree and the presents towards the dining room door.
“Morning,” he said. “Thought I’d maybe fix you all some breakfast.”
“That’d be swell, Ed,” Maureen said, surprised. “There’s lots of breakfast stuff there, uh, eggs, bacon, coffee, orange juice... Are you absolutely sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. If I don’t eat, I die, isn’t that so?” He scratched his head.
Kevin – by now clad in a farcical jumper, like his parents; a tongue-in-cheek tradition in their house – took his dad’s signal, and turned to the pile of presents. “Uh, grandad? There’s one here for you.”
He stopped short. “Oh? Santa been good to me, has he?”
“Yeah. In fact, here – it – is.” The youngster heaved up a massive, flat, square package, tied up with a silver bow and covered with bright blue star-spangled paper. The boy struggled to hold it up; Jack moved to hold it steady as Kevin struggled forwards.
Ed looked downwards. “Ah, I’m busy, kidda. I can get it in a minute.”
Maureen was open-mouthed. “Ed! That’s from Kevin to you. That’s his gift. To his grandad.”
“Well... Okay then. If it stops your mum having a canary.” The old man took the package, sizing it up. He unfastened the bow and then tore open the paper at one corner. He had it the wrong way round, and read the dedication on the back (‘To grandpa, love Kevin. Happy Xmas xxx’) before turning it around and tearing the wrapping completely off.
“Well,” he said. “That’s something, that is.”
“We had it painted for you, specially,” Kevin said, “and we got a special frame for it and everything.”
“Well,” the old man said again. He ran a hand over the smooth glass. Beneath it was an epic vision of the River Clyde, waters drizzled with colour from the lights of the city. In the background, the great cranes bent their saurian necks towards the waterfront. In the foreground, its hull glistening, was the great beast, in dry dock. Workers hung off gantries and scaffolding clung to the sheer bronzed hide of the monster; here and there, welders’ torches spat sparks and cool blue flames over its skin.
“I think I’ll find a nice place for that. Yes. Well.” Ed reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “You know, I think I might have something for you too...” The old man reached into his pocket. Kevin tried to hide a smile, astonished.
The old man brought out a small package, crudely wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. He helped his grandson unpick the string, then watched dispassionately as the lad tore open the packet.
Inside, there was a red-handled object. “It’s... what is it?”
“Open it out, kidda, and see.”
“It’s a knife,” Maureen said.
“Swiss Army Knife,” Ed said. “Best thing you can get a lad. Best present you can ever get.”
“A knife! Cool!” The boy began to fidget with it; his grandad helped him withdraw the blade.
“Now, you can take that camping, fishing, out on your paper round – anything.”
“Cool!” The boy was genuinely delighted. He made frenzied stabbing gestures with it, legs braced like a fencer. “This is amazing!”
“Be careful with that,” Jack said. “Let’s see it here.”
“Now, whether your mum and dad might like it, that’s another thing,” Ed said. “Might not be a very... what’s the term? Politically correct thing to get a lad, these days. Probably they think just having a knife makes you a criminal.”
“If a cop stops him with that, he might be a criminal at the end of the day,” Jack said.
“Of course,” the old man went on, grimly, “your dad was never a man for Swiss Army Knives or anything of that sort. He wasn’t the outdoors type, you see. Bit of a weakling, know what I mean?”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Watch yourself, Ed,” Maureen said.
“Yeah, your dad wasn’t exactly a hard case. Sickly as a boy, you know? So many allergies. Always off the school with something. We wondered if maybe he was being bullied or something. That he was trying to dodge the school. If he’d only gotten himself out into the fresh air now and again, he might have been different, eh?”
The boy was still entranced with his gift, tracing the curves of a corkscrew before testing the point on his fingertips. “This is brilliant. Thanks so much, grandad.”
He ran forward and hugged the old man. Ed staggered back, too astonished to react for a moment.
“Uh! Calm yourself! Christ almighty.” He freed himself, then staggered towards the patio. “I think I’ll have a smoke before I start breakfast. Oh, by the way, thanks for the picture. It’s really, uh, swell.”
Maureen leapt out of her chair and followed him.
The wood burner was an alien object now, stoppered up with the snow that still fell. In the deep white around him were traces of Kevin and Jack’s footprints, where they’d had a snowball fight half an hour earlier. A Kevin-sized snow angel was imprinted on the ground.
Maureen didn’t stop to put on shoes, crunching out into the snow in her slippers. She was a small, slight thing as she approached, shivering in her jumper, arms wrapped around herself.
“You better watch yourself, darlin’,” Ed said, without turning around. “You’ll catch a sniffle out here.”
“Son of a bitch,” she said. “You nasty, horrible old man.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart.”
“You coward. Coward! Turn around and look at me.”
Inside, Kevin and Jack watched as the old man and his daughter-in-law faced each other in the snow. The battle was one-sided. At times, Maureen pointed and snarled; at others, Ed’s head sagged.
“It’s just because he’s sad, isn’t it?” Kevin said. “That’s why he’s so mean.”
“I suppose so,” Jack said, chewing the side of his mouth.
“Why don’t you go out and talk to him?”
“Because if I do, we’ll never speak to each other again.”
“Why does he think you’re weak?”
“You know, that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
There was a heavy silence when Maureen, Jack and Kevin came back from Maureen’s parents’, much later. The old man was slouched in an armchair, watching a sitcom on the television, the sound down low. He said nothing as they filed in, Maureen and Jack flushed with drink, Kevin smudged and wan after a long day.
“’Lo, grandad.”
“Hello, kidda,” he said. “Did you get anything nice at your grandparents’?”
“I got book tokens and a new football strip.” He leaned closer, and whispered: “It wasn’t as good as your present, though.”
“Hah! Glad to hear it.”
“How are you feeling now, Ed? Did you heat that food up?” Maureen asked.
“I wasn’t very hungry. Sorry.”
“Albert and Margaret were asking after you,” Jack said. “They hope you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” Maureen said, pouring a sherry. “They said that there’s been a right nasty bug going about.”
“Mmm.” The old man got up out of his seat.
“Stay there,” Maureen said. “Shall I get you a sherry? Would you manage that?”
“I was going to head outside, actually.”
“Oh, right.” She sighed. “The wood burner. Carry on, then.”
“And I was wondering if Jack and Kevin could give me a hand?”
“What with?”
They followed him into the kitchen. Opening the cupboard door, he brought out the shovel. “I thought I’d make myself useful and clear your path. I started a wee snowman.”
“You’re kidding!” Jack cupped his hands over the glass of the patio door, staring out into the gloom.
“He has,” Kevin said, following suit by Jack’s side. “There’s his body, out there!”
Out on the white lawn there was a massive ball of hard-packed snow, about three feet high. Two ragged branches waved at them from either side.
“I think we’ve got time to finish it,” Ed said. “What do you guys say?”
They gathered hats and scarves.
Maureen watched them from the patio, sipping a sherry. The boys were wrapped up in ski jackets and boots, laughing and shouting. Snowballs looped through the air, one or two of them bulleting their way over to the patio. Soon, they raised a head onto the snowman’s neck, topped off with Jack’s beanie hat. Ed and Jack lifted Kevin up between them, allowing him to put in a carrot and to curve a smile across the snowman’s face.
The snow got heavier, and the three of them grew indistinct as they chased each other around what they had made.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Maureen dreads hosting her grizzled, spiky father-in-law for Christmas. But when the snow falls, strange things can happen...
_____________________________________________________________________
The old man was meant to call them before he got on the train. When he didn’t, nobody panicked. They were well used to his ways.
“Probably just forgot,” Jack said, as he peered out the window at the back garden in the dead-of-winter gloom. Conditions were getting worse, with the trees bordering their property flailing silently in the wind.
Maureen logged into the computer, checking out phone numbers for individual stations on the line. “This was Stage One of the plan, Jack. If he gets Stage One wrong, he’ll get the rest wrong, too.”
“He’ll be fine. He’s travelled by rail before.”
Maureen gave him a look. “That was then. Nowadays he has trouble getting around Sainsbury’s, never mind the rail network.”
On the settee, Kevin prodded and pattered at his hand-held games console. “Is grandad going to be late?”
“No, he’s not,” Jack said.
“Do you think he’ll bring me a present?”
“You don’t get presents this close to Christmas, greedy guts.”
“Umph. He had a present for me last time we saw him.”
Yes, Maureen thought. Bought by your Auntie Liz, at the last minute, no doubt. “You never mind about presents. The cheek I’ve had off you the past few days, you’ll be lucky to get anything, my lad. And you’ll be staying home for Christmas if I hear any more.”
A thought struck Jack, and he dialled a number. “Hmm... no answer at the house.”
“There’s never an answer at the house, Jack,” Maureen sighed.
“I know. Just checking he actually left. I’ll maybe give Liz a call, see if he’s over there...”
“He really is the last man standing without a mobile phone. Even that stubborn guy in my office cracked and got one eventually. Most of the older people I know, too. They’ve all got mobiles. But not your dad.”
“I know. I know this, love.”
They stuck to the plan and prepared to drive out to meet him at the allotted time. Despite the cloud cover it was freezing cold as they got in the car, and the weather reports had warned people to expect snow over the next couple of days.
“Knowing our luck,” Maureen said, shivering in the passenger seat, “we’ll get out there, he’ll be bang on time, then we’ll get snowed in.”
“Are we going to get snow this Christmas?” Kevin beamed in the back seat.
“Hopefully not,” Jack said. “Right, here goes.”
The headlights sliced through the darkness into their garden, exposing the winter-dark trees, the cadaverous garden furniture glittering with frost, and the forlorn sentinel of the wood burner.
The station was filled with people at the end of their tether. Home for the holidays, some laden with bags of presents. Everywhere you looked, there were reunions, hugs and kisses, hoots, whoops and tears. In the shop windows, Santa, snowflakes and tinsel framed the haggard seasonal workers.
The old man’s train was delayed, but not as much as they’d feared. Jack, Maureen and Kevin all had hot chocolate in a cafe while they waited for the notice board to signal his arrival.
The train trundled in, and they waited on the platform as it disgorged a fresh load of travellers, shivering and stamping in the sudden cold.
When Jack’s dad didn’t appear immediately from the coach he’d been specifically booked on – Coach B, the Quiet One, no phones, personal stereos or gurning kids allowed – they still refused to panic.
Jack and Kevin jogged up and down the platform, trying to spot the old man at a window. Soon enough, the platform attendant blew his whistle, the doors beeped closed, and the train moved on. The crowd thinned out; there was no sign of the old man.
What irritated Maureen the most, as the pair of them trudged back up the platform in that similar slouched gait, was that her son looked worried.
“Right. He’s not here. I mean, he didn’t get off that train.” Jack took out his mobile phone, tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. “And Liz says he’s not at the house, for definite. She stuck her head round the door.”
Maureen sighed and pulled out her own phone. “Just as well someone took down the contact numbers for all the stations then, isn’t it?”
“Well, look at it this way. At least he made the journey.”
“Are we sure about that? Did Liz stick her head round the door of the Rusty Duck, too?”
Kevin giggled. “Do you think grandad’s drunk?”
Maureen made some calls. There was no sign of a confused looking older gentleman at any of the previous stations on the line, and – at last - a little bit of panic began to appear.
Jack wondered if they should instigate a genuine missing persons inquiry, and all manner of dark terrors suggested themselves to the seekers.
Maureen asked for announcements to be made on the train and at all stations, urging a Mr Edward Tyneman to get in touch with station staff. This produced a result; after a search of the recently departed train, it turned out Jack’s dad had been in the toilet while it pulled into the station, and he’d missed his stop. They could pick the old man up at the next station.
“Assisted,” Maureen said, hanging up. “They said, ‘he’ll be assisted off the train’.”
“So?”
“They really laboured it. It was italicised. Assisted, they said.”
Jack sighed. “At least we’ve found him. Thank Christ.”
“Can I have a Burger King?” Kevin said.
“No, you bloody can not.”
He was there when they pulled in, pacing up and down the main entrance, a tall, stiff, broad-shouldered man with a shovel-shaped face and a good head of close-cropped snow-white hair. His eyes narrowed as the car turned into the taxi pick-up point, and when he recognised Kevin he flicked his cigarette into the wind and shouldered his bag.
“Remember,” Maureen said, as Jack unclipped his belt. “Do not let him talk down to you. This is his own fault, whatever he says.”
“He’s been standing out in the cold, love.”
“Just make sure you stand up to him.”
“Give over, eh?”
She winced as he slammed the door, then watched the father-son reunion; a couple of terse lines from the old man, a refusal of help with his battered hold-all. No handshakes.
Jack’s dad jerked his thumbs towards the station and made ugly shapes with his mouth, before – deep joy – stabbing a finger towards the car. As they strode forward, she felt her irritation subside. In its place was a sense of dread at the old man’s set features, the overly-confident stride, the tight-pressed mouth, his blank stare.
The door was torn open in the wind and Jack’s dad got in, almost engulfing his grandson with his backside. They said hello, and he grunted in response.
“Do you fancy putting your bag in the back, Edward?” Maureen said. “There’s plenty of room.”
He ignored her, gathering the bag against his chest with a very distinct clink. “Bunch of idiots back there,” he growled. “Talking to me like I’m five years old. They made an announcement on the train! Can you believe it?”
She could smell the drink off him, sour beer and probably something stronger. “They were just wondering where you were,” Maureen said. “We were, too.”
“I was on the bloody train, obviously.”
“You didn’t get off at the right station!” Kevin smiled at his grandad.
The old man cracked a smile. “There are some things a man can’t wait for, kidda.”
“You were in the toilet!” the boy spluttered.
“That’s right. I fought the good fight, wee man. It was a monster. A foot long, if it was an inch.” He leaned in, a conspirator. “I think I left teeth marks in the sink.”
Jack got into the front seat. “Okay, everybody buckled up?”
“Never mind buckles, you,” Jack’s dad roared, clapping his hands. “Let’s get up the road. Hurry up now, I’m bloody starving.”
He fell asleep on the couch, not long after they’d got him settled into the front room. He could not be roused nor moved to his berth in the spare room. Whenever Jack shook a shoulder, the old man literally growled.
“I would get a blanket and leave him to it,” Maureen said. “I’ve got work in the morning. I’m not in the mood to spend half the night shifting an invalid.”
“Maybe we should prod him with a big stick?” Kevin said.
“Not a bad idea,” Jack muttered. He ran a hand through his hair.
“You alright?” she said.
“Hmm. Just flashbacks.”
“I bet.”
They considered the sleeping giant, his hands folded on his lap. “Oh, that reminds me,” Maureen said. “Make sure he doesn’t smoke in the room. Get him told.”
“It’ll be hard to stop him, love.”
“I’ll bloody stop him.” She snatched up the old man’s cigarettes and lighter. “I’m not having him start a fire in this house, Jack.”
“He only did that the once, honey. In his own house.”
“Yeah. Once is enough for anybody. I mean it, Jack. If he smokes in here, he has to go home.”
“Well if he has to go home, you’ll have to drive him, won’t you? It’s Christmas time, now.”
The old man grunted, stretched his neck like a giant turtle, then settled down again.
Maureen’s department had had a little party in the office to mark the last day, Friday the 23rd, and she was in a good mood when she pulled into traffic early that afternoon. Finished up until the 28th, she sang along to Wizzard and Wham! on the radio, scarcely able to believe how she had come to love those songs. It was one of those crisp winter days when the sun hung low in a clear blue sky, and there was still a promise of life and bustle in the air despite the death of the light. She regarded the rows of baggage-laden shoppers unspooling past her with a mixture of sympathy and smugness; she and Jack had finished up all their shopping in the city centre the previous week. There’d even been time to take a wander around the town and check out the ice sculptures and the carol singers, just the two of them; there had been hot chocolate and eggnog from vendors on the street, chestnuts hot in the cup, and one or two thrilling public kisses.
The smell of cigarette smoke, strong even in the doorway, dispelled her reverie. She followed the scent like a shark nosing after a trail of blood.
There was bedlam in the living room, with Jack, Kevin and Kevin’s friend, Hal, playing the games console. All three of them shrieked as they battered and swung the control pads. On the screen, immodestly dressed sprites clobbered each other with swords in a medley of digitised thuds, groans and crashes. The baubles on the Christmas tree in the opposite corner shuddered with their activity.
“Um. Jack. Where’s your dad?”
“Oh, hello. Uh, he’s outside taking some air.” Jack barely looked away from the screen.
“I can smell smoke, honey.”
“He was standing in the door.”
“Grandad didn’t smoke in the house, mum,” Kevin said. “He knows it’s not allowed.”
“Well hello to you too, mister. The girls in the office got you a selection box and a little present; you and Hal can have the sweets now, if you like.”
“Cool!”
“Hello, Mrs Tyneman,” Hal said. Little cheeky chops – Maureen had to restrain herself from tweaking the dimples in his cheeks every time he smiled.
“Hiya Hal. Are you round for tea tonight?”
“Ah no, I was round to drop off some presents and things for you.”
“Oh that’s a shame – Kevin’s cousins are coming round tonight. Well, you’re very welcome if you want to stay...”
She felt his terrible uncertainty. Knowing that he really wanted to, but had to be home at his mum’s. His eyes darted from his friend to Jack and back again. When was it that men lost this openness? Maureen wondered.
She found the old man out by the wood burner in the garden. Not content with the smoke in his lungs, he had a fire going. In the cold, still air, the smoke was a steady grey plume in the sky, and the kindling blazed in the dark.
He ignored her approach, staring out at the garden toward the line of trees at the end of their lawn.
“It’s bleak out here,” he said. “Very flat.”
“Oh, I don’t mind it. I quite like it at this time of year. I love nice fresh winter days like this one. I sometimes sit out here with a coffee if the weather’s not too bitter.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“I see. Well. How’s your day been?”
“Excellent. I tightened up those nuts.”
“Nuts?”
“Yeah, in your bathroom. Back of your crapper. The wall behind it was a little bit damp. I fixed the shelf in the little guy’s room, too. The one he keeps his soldiers on. It was off-square. That husband of yours always was useless with the tools.”
“That husband of mine has been looking forward to you coming over, you know. So has Kevin; hasn’t stopped talking about you for weeks.”
“Ha! He’ll be wanting topped up with cash, the little bugger. He’s his father’s son, right enough.”
She folded her arms and bit down hard on a response. “I suppose you’d know, Edward. Well. I’m going to put a coffee on before I start the dinner. You want one?”
“I’m just fine out here.”
“You do know we’re having my brother and his wife round, tonight?”
“Aye, Jack told me. Has he got kids, your brother?”
“Yes. Alan and Daniel.”
“Young kids?”
“Round about Kevin’s age. One older, one younger. They’re the absolute best of pals. You know how cousins are.”
“Yeah, I know how kids are. That pub you’ve got around here... what is it, The Green Dragon? The Red Dragon?”
“The Green Dragon.”
“Walking distance from here, is it?”
She couldn’t stop the sigh escaping. “Ed... it’s Christmas, mate.”
“Yep. So it is. Every bloody year.”
“Look, Ed. We love this time of year in this house. It’s fun. You could have fun, too, you know. If you wanted to.”
“You know, I’m perfectly happy out here, darling. You don’t need to mother me.”
“Nobody’s mothering you, Ed. And you can stay here as long as you like.”
“I might even get a bigger fire going. It’s rare, out here.”
“Sure, you can do that. There’s lots of kindling in the shed. You’ll have found that, too, I’m guessing. Or did you chop up a wardrobe? Take a few inches off my bed legs?”
“Ah. You’re lightening up. That’s what I like to see.” A smile at last; he showed her his chipped, painful-looking teeth, yellow fading to black, right to the quick. “I’m only messing with you, love. I’ll have plenty of fun, don’t you worry. If you’ve got beer in the fridge, I’ll be all the fun in the world.”
She snorted. “I’ll get you a coffee to start with. How about that?”
“That’d be nice.” The old man returned to the fire, the glow softening his features. “It’s starting to cloud over. They say snow’s on the way. Won’t that be something?”
At the sink, Maureen rinsed out a cup, biting her lip, willing the tears away.
Mark, Ellen and the two boys came around at seven on the dot. It was a noise grenade, a sound collage, feedback whines and distortion at the end of a rock n’ roll show. The boys crashed and blustered their way through video games; Mark and Jack shared a beer, while Ellen took a soda water and lime. Mark’s wife was beautiful; not quite as athletic as she had been before the kids, but still tall and elegant. The extra flesh looked really good on her, much as she hated it, and her hair was that lovely auburn it had always been.
Ed had been entranced by Ellen when she first arrived, and had even turned on a little bit of charm which had reminded Maureen, jarringly, of her husband. Soon, though, the noise from the youngsters began to tell. The old man had gone to the fridge to top himself up several times during dinner, and soon he began to cultivate that blank look.
“So tell me, Ed,” Mark said to the old man, “is it true you worked on the QE2?”
“I did indeed.” He drained a can.
“Phenomenal. You know, I’ve still got this mental picture of it being launched. I can’t imagine what it must have been like working on something like that.”
“Hardly anybody knows what it’s like, nowadays. They’ve closed most of those yards down. Sent all the work to India, China and God knows where.”
“When did you retire from the shipyards, Edward?” Ellen asked.
“Technically, I didn’t, love. I was made redundant in the eighties. Was a postie after that for a few years.” He grinned. “Got a nice pension, all the same. That was one thing I got right.”
“It’s terrible what happened to the heavy industries in this country,” Ellen said, nodding in sympathy.
“And can I ask what you do for a living, honey?”
“Um, I don’t work at the minute. I look after the two boys. But I’m an accountant.”
“An accountant! Just like number one son, here?” The old man jerked his head towards Jack.
“Yes – we all worked at the same firm, Jack, Mark and I. That’s how we all...” She interlocked her fingers.
“Oh, that’s nice. You must be doing alright, not having to work, then?”
“Uh, we do alright, I suppose. I’m thinking about going back, taking a couple of qualifications. Maybe get into chartered accountancy. Once Alan and Daniel are older.”
Ed frowned. “You know, it’s amazing. My wife Peggy, she never took any time off her work, when she was expecting. There was no such thing as maternity leave, then, either. Well, there may have been. But she had to get the money in to help out. She went up that hill to the biscuit factory on her own. Big as a bloody house each time she was pregnant. Never missed a day. Morning sickness, blizzards, you name it – she went into her work. She went there all her days, right till the very last ones, in fact.”
“That’s amazing.”
Ed flinched at a sudden noise from the front room, where the boys were playing a cacophonous racing game. “Yeah. Isn’t it just?”
Jack nodded. “I remember she did that. In all kinds of weather, too.”
“That’s right, son. She was a hard worker. She helped out in the house all the time. Encouraged you to go to school, too. Best thing for you, o’ course. I knew you’d be useless with your hands. Ham-fisted. I spotted it when he was a baby, you know.”
Mark laughed and said: “You’re not wrong. This summer, we had a barbecue. And Jack came along with a batch of this lighter fluid...”
The rest of the table erupted in laughter. Jack covered his face in mock shame, while Mark recounted a well-worn tale of singed eyebrows and exploding sausages tinged with the taste of accelerant.
“... You should have heard the boom when he put light to it. I remember saying, ‘Jesus, did we miss the four-minute warning?’”
Ed simply shook his head at his son. “Dumpling. You could have killed somebody.”
Jack grinned. “You know something? I think that fuel added something to the flavour.”
The laughter sustained. Ed sniffed, stood up and went out into the garden.
The three little boys joined him later, drawn by the fire’s glow. There was a slight wind, but with the cloud cover and the heat from the burner it was bearable, if not cosy.
“Grandad, aren’t you cold out here?”
Sat on a chair on the decking, he watched the three of them come closer with a wary eye. “Cold? This isn’t cold. Forty years ago, now that was a cold Christmas, kidda. If you peed on the ground, you could snap it off and throw it away.”
They giggled. Daniel, Mark’s youngest boy, a devilish-looking child with hair swept back from his head like Dracula, approached without fear and warmed his hands. “Can you make toast out here?” he said.
“Toast? I can do better than that. I’ll tell you what I can make out here – roast longpig.”
“Roast longpig?”
“Yeah. That’s where you take a wee boy... maybe about your size... though I prefer fatter... you put him on a stick... and you roast him alive for a wee while...”
“They do that in the jungle, I’ve heard.” Alan, his mother’s darling, was a handsome child with hair she had kept long for him.
“Oh, do they? Would that be those cannibal fellows, maybe?”
“Yeah. They’re really remote tribes, in the Amazon basin.”
“Whoah. The Amazon, eh?”
“It’s the world’s biggest river by volume,” Alan said.
“That’s great. You must be the brains of the operation, here. Listen, did you ever hit upon the magic formula for going for a haircut?” He belched, as the two younger boys broke up laughing. Alan chewed the side of his mouth.
“How about a science lesson?” the old man said, cocking his backside. “You think maybe if I aimed a fart at the flames, I can set light to it at this distance?”
“Do it!” Kevin yelled.
“I dare you!” shrieked Daniel.
“Oh, wait a minute...” The old man strained, gritting his teeth. A long, tuneful fart sounded, changing key half-way through.
“Urgh!” The boys wheeled away, holding their noses.
“Whoops... Better watch, lads. I’m sure I left something in here... I might have pulled mud.”
All three of them laughed, delighted.
“If you follow through on your stroke, well... it can be a disaster if you wear light trousers, like these. Imagine if I sat down on that lovely sofa your mother has, Kevin. It’ll be like dropping a black forest gateau.”
A stifled snigger from the patio door brought all four heads around. The adults were framed in the doorway, indistinct in the gloom. They had drinks in their hands, watching the exchange.
Ed darkened. “Go on, it’s cold out here. Your mothers’ll be on to the social about me if you catch a sniffle. Away you go, now!” He winced as the boys thundered back up the path to the house, returning to the fire.
Whispers in the bedroom, much later.
“She was going to leave him, you know. She told Liz, maybe a year before she died. She’d just had enough.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
On Christmas Eve the clouds banked up, swollen and ready to drop, the air strangely warm after the sun had set.
“Snow,” Ed said, gazing up at the sky from the patio. “I know it. It’ll snow this year.”
“I hope so, grandad,” Kevin said, following his gaze. “It would be so cool.”
Maureen poured herself a gin in the kitchen and joined them outside.
The old man frowned at her. “Bit early for that, isn’t it?”
“Oh that is classic, Ed. It really is.” She took a sip.
“Haven’t you got dinner to be getting ready for tomorrow?”
“No. We’re all going to my mother’s, remember? There’s tea for tonight. But it’s all in hand. Jack made most of it, in fact.”
“Proper little servant, eh?”
“Not at all,” Maureen said. “It’s what husbands and wives do these days. They help each other out. They muck in together.”
“You trying to say something, pet?”
“Nothing at all, Ed. Just telling you how things are in this house.”
“Well. You get to my age, ‘how things are’ can look a little bit different, honey.”
Kevin frowned at his grandad, unsure of the exchange. “Are you coming to the service tonight?”
“Service? What?”
“The church service. Midnight mass.”
“Midnight mass? Seriously?”
Maureen took another sip. “It’s a little service round at the local church. Quite a big event in the village.”
“I bet it is. Sounds a riot,” he cackled.
“It is quite lively, actually. They have a brass band playing outside. They get actors in from the local amateur dramatics society and do a little nativity play. It’s really good, in fact.”
“And they give you free hot chocolate,” Kevin said.
“Unless there’s a fully licensed bar, son, I couldn’t care less.”
“And that suits us all down to the ground,” Maureen said.
Kevin frowned. “Aww, grandad, you’d like it.”
“No. I don’t do churches, and I don’t do Christmas.”
Maureen said: “And that’s absolutely fine, Ed, as I say. We, however, do do Christmas. I’ll leave you to your fire. We won’t get in your way.”
“Watch you don’t have too many of those, Maureen.”
“Oh, I might just push the boat out, Ed... I told you. It’s Christmas, old son.” She tipped back the glass. “Can I get you one?”
“I’m just fine.” He poked at the kindling.
“Great. Come on, Kevin. Toy Story’s on the telly.”
The boy followed her back into the house. He turned back to say something to the old man, but Ed had already turned away from them to restock the burner with wood.
Inside the church, the only light was that cast by the shivering candles. The vicar was young and softly-spoken, the choir’s singing transcendent. Soon - with the story narrated by a schoolgirl - the tale of the nativity was acted out.
“What the hell is this?” Ed growled. The old man had been fidgety and growly ever since he had set foot in the church with Jack, Maureen and Kevin.
“I told you,” Jack said from the corner of his mouth. “It’s amateur dramatics. They’re actors.”
“I can see that, dumpling. I doubt the actual second coming would happen here. I want to know what they are saying.” His eyes were bloodshot. Before he had appeared, stunning them all, in a shirt and tie just as they were preparing to head out of the door for midnight mass, he had broken into the bottle of Good Stuff. He had sank a lot of it.
“You’re drowning them out, dad. Come on, now.”
“I can’t hear what they’re saying. God’s sake, how long is this going to last?”
“Another half an hour. Dad, please. There’s kids here.”
“Kids! Don’t I know it.” He burped. “Hey – is that her ox or her ass I can see?”
On the improvised stage area, the Virgin Mary – a beautiful sixteen-year-old lass with an alabaster complexion and glossy black hair protruding from beneath her white veil – was busy being told by an inn-keeper that there was no room for herself or Joseph. Joseph turned to the audience, looking suitably aghast, and his pimply cheeks clashed horribly with the chequercloth teatowel draped over his head. He mumbled something to Mary.
“Speak up, Spotty, for Christ’s sake!” Ed bellowed.
Several people sniggered, including Kevin.
Maureen gritted her teeth, clutching the pew in front of her.
Later, the Virgin and Joseph huddled together in the manger, and the choir began to sing Silent Night. The congregation joined in, and the old man was silent, eyes red-rimmed, standing tall and straight, face completely blank.
“Here it is!” the old man bellowed as they made their way back home. “I told you, the snow’s coming!”
“It is! It is, too!” Kevin clapped his hands, gazing up at the streetlight-shaded sky as the first soft flakes began to fall. The boy reached out to catch one in his gloved hands, gazing at it with the reverence of a prelate for a sacred text.
Other people out on the street at the end of the service joined in the discovery, looking up to the heavens. Delighted laughter carried far into the night. Someone shouted, “Merry Christmas!” and they returned the compliment, waving.
“Do you think there’s enough for a snowball soon, grandad?”
Ed said, “Ah, give it time, yet, kidda. All in good time. I’ll be buggered - a white Christmas!”
Jack beamed at this, utterly unselfconscious. Maureen leaned close into him, entwining her arm in his.
“You know, this is almost, almost perfect,” he whispered.
Later, in bed: “He hated it, you know.”
“What? Humanity?”
“Christmas. Absolutely loathed it.”
“I could have guessed that, Jack.”
“It’s as if he didn’t want anyone else to enjoy it, either. Some of the worst thrashings he ever gave me were at Christmas time. On Christmas morning, he wouldn’t even get out of his bed. Couldn’t bear to watch us all opening our presents. We had to take them into his room, to show him what Santa had brought us.”
“He had a tough upbringing. He maybe resented the fact that you all got presents and got spoiled. He didn’t get any of that as a child.”
“Maybe so. But it was no harder than mum’s upbringing. She had to look after her brothers and sisters when her own mother died. That wasn’t easy.
“But she loved Christmas. Loved to see us getting up, all excited. Even when it was three in the morning with a howling wind outside.” He swallowed. “No-one can touch that, you know. I’ve got those memories. No-one can steal those from me.”
“Who would want to?” She kissed him. “Hey. Do you think Rudolph enjoyed a nibble of the carrot we left out for him?”
“You mean... That was really Rudolph? It wasn’t you? Oh my God!”
“Wonder if he fancies some pudding?”
“Aaaaand the bells were ringing out... For Christmas day.”
Outside, the world had changed. The quality of the light seeping in through the curtains was different, long before the dawn.
Jack padded over to the window and peeped out. “My God,” he whispered. “You need to see it outside.”
Maureen stretched. “Nice?”
“Think of a Christmas card.”
Perhaps alerted by the voices, Kevin rat-a-tatted their bedroom door. “You have to get up!” he yelled.
The old man didn’t appear dressed as Santa; there was no Damascene conversion; street urchins went unrewarded. In fact, he didn’t appear at all.
Kevin was too preoccupied with tearing wrapping paper, quivering in excitement at each new wonder, barely pausing for labels, breath, or much else. Half-a-Crunchie from one of his selection boxes was crushed into the carpet already. The collateral damage of joy.
Finally the absence hit him. “Where’s grandad?”
“Your grandad doesn’t do Christmas morning, son.”
“Why not? We’ve got him loads of presents. I want to give him the big one.”
“It’s just his way,” Maureen said.
“Why doesn’t he like Christmas? That’s mad.”
“I wonder what he’s got us?” Maureen whispered.
Jack made two fists. “He used to say to me, ‘I might give you the left one, seeing as it’s Christmas. Later, if you’re good, you’ll get the right one as well.’”
She sniggered. “It’s a wonder you turned out as well as you did, Mr Tyneman.”
“Don’t laugh. It’s my biggest fear, that.”
“What is?”
Jack watched as his son exclaimed loudly, bearing a video game aloft like a trophy. “Taking after him.”
When the old man appeared, he looked as rough as Maureen had ever seen him, bad even in comparison to the days after the funeral. He had Christopher Lee eyes and a similar pallor, with that slightly dazed look common to those still drunk. Once through the door, he carried straight on past the family and the tree and the presents towards the dining room door.
“Morning,” he said. “Thought I’d maybe fix you all some breakfast.”
“That’d be swell, Ed,” Maureen said, surprised. “There’s lots of breakfast stuff there, uh, eggs, bacon, coffee, orange juice... Are you absolutely sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. If I don’t eat, I die, isn’t that so?” He scratched his head.
Kevin – by now clad in a farcical jumper, like his parents; a tongue-in-cheek tradition in their house – took his dad’s signal, and turned to the pile of presents. “Uh, grandad? There’s one here for you.”
He stopped short. “Oh? Santa been good to me, has he?”
“Yeah. In fact, here – it – is.” The youngster heaved up a massive, flat, square package, tied up with a silver bow and covered with bright blue star-spangled paper. The boy struggled to hold it up; Jack moved to hold it steady as Kevin struggled forwards.
Ed looked downwards. “Ah, I’m busy, kidda. I can get it in a minute.”
Maureen was open-mouthed. “Ed! That’s from Kevin to you. That’s his gift. To his grandad.”
“Well... Okay then. If it stops your mum having a canary.” The old man took the package, sizing it up. He unfastened the bow and then tore open the paper at one corner. He had it the wrong way round, and read the dedication on the back (‘To grandpa, love Kevin. Happy Xmas xxx’) before turning it around and tearing the wrapping completely off.
“Well,” he said. “That’s something, that is.”
“We had it painted for you, specially,” Kevin said, “and we got a special frame for it and everything.”
“Well,” the old man said again. He ran a hand over the smooth glass. Beneath it was an epic vision of the River Clyde, waters drizzled with colour from the lights of the city. In the background, the great cranes bent their saurian necks towards the waterfront. In the foreground, its hull glistening, was the great beast, in dry dock. Workers hung off gantries and scaffolding clung to the sheer bronzed hide of the monster; here and there, welders’ torches spat sparks and cool blue flames over its skin.
“I think I’ll find a nice place for that. Yes. Well.” Ed reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “You know, I think I might have something for you too...” The old man reached into his pocket. Kevin tried to hide a smile, astonished.
The old man brought out a small package, crudely wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. He helped his grandson unpick the string, then watched dispassionately as the lad tore open the packet.
Inside, there was a red-handled object. “It’s... what is it?”
“Open it out, kidda, and see.”
“It’s a knife,” Maureen said.
“Swiss Army Knife,” Ed said. “Best thing you can get a lad. Best present you can ever get.”
“A knife! Cool!” The boy began to fidget with it; his grandad helped him withdraw the blade.
“Now, you can take that camping, fishing, out on your paper round – anything.”
“Cool!” The boy was genuinely delighted. He made frenzied stabbing gestures with it, legs braced like a fencer. “This is amazing!”
“Be careful with that,” Jack said. “Let’s see it here.”
“Now, whether your mum and dad might like it, that’s another thing,” Ed said. “Might not be a very... what’s the term? Politically correct thing to get a lad, these days. Probably they think just having a knife makes you a criminal.”
“If a cop stops him with that, he might be a criminal at the end of the day,” Jack said.
“Of course,” the old man went on, grimly, “your dad was never a man for Swiss Army Knives or anything of that sort. He wasn’t the outdoors type, you see. Bit of a weakling, know what I mean?”
Jack’s jaw tightened.
“Watch yourself, Ed,” Maureen said.
“Yeah, your dad wasn’t exactly a hard case. Sickly as a boy, you know? So many allergies. Always off the school with something. We wondered if maybe he was being bullied or something. That he was trying to dodge the school. If he’d only gotten himself out into the fresh air now and again, he might have been different, eh?”
The boy was still entranced with his gift, tracing the curves of a corkscrew before testing the point on his fingertips. “This is brilliant. Thanks so much, grandad.”
He ran forward and hugged the old man. Ed staggered back, too astonished to react for a moment.
“Uh! Calm yourself! Christ almighty.” He freed himself, then staggered towards the patio. “I think I’ll have a smoke before I start breakfast. Oh, by the way, thanks for the picture. It’s really, uh, swell.”
Maureen leapt out of her chair and followed him.
The wood burner was an alien object now, stoppered up with the snow that still fell. In the deep white around him were traces of Kevin and Jack’s footprints, where they’d had a snowball fight half an hour earlier. A Kevin-sized snow angel was imprinted on the ground.
Maureen didn’t stop to put on shoes, crunching out into the snow in her slippers. She was a small, slight thing as she approached, shivering in her jumper, arms wrapped around herself.
“You better watch yourself, darlin’,” Ed said, without turning around. “You’ll catch a sniffle out here.”
“Son of a bitch,” she said. “You nasty, horrible old man.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, sweetheart.”
“You coward. Coward! Turn around and look at me.”
Inside, Kevin and Jack watched as the old man and his daughter-in-law faced each other in the snow. The battle was one-sided. At times, Maureen pointed and snarled; at others, Ed’s head sagged.
“It’s just because he’s sad, isn’t it?” Kevin said. “That’s why he’s so mean.”
“I suppose so,” Jack said, chewing the side of his mouth.
“Why don’t you go out and talk to him?”
“Because if I do, we’ll never speak to each other again.”
“Why does he think you’re weak?”
“You know, that might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
There was a heavy silence when Maureen, Jack and Kevin came back from Maureen’s parents’, much later. The old man was slouched in an armchair, watching a sitcom on the television, the sound down low. He said nothing as they filed in, Maureen and Jack flushed with drink, Kevin smudged and wan after a long day.
“’Lo, grandad.”
“Hello, kidda,” he said. “Did you get anything nice at your grandparents’?”
“I got book tokens and a new football strip.” He leaned closer, and whispered: “It wasn’t as good as your present, though.”
“Hah! Glad to hear it.”
“How are you feeling now, Ed? Did you heat that food up?” Maureen asked.
“I wasn’t very hungry. Sorry.”
“Albert and Margaret were asking after you,” Jack said. “They hope you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” Maureen said, pouring a sherry. “They said that there’s been a right nasty bug going about.”
“Mmm.” The old man got up out of his seat.
“Stay there,” Maureen said. “Shall I get you a sherry? Would you manage that?”
“I was going to head outside, actually.”
“Oh, right.” She sighed. “The wood burner. Carry on, then.”
“And I was wondering if Jack and Kevin could give me a hand?”
“What with?”
They followed him into the kitchen. Opening the cupboard door, he brought out the shovel. “I thought I’d make myself useful and clear your path. I started a wee snowman.”
“You’re kidding!” Jack cupped his hands over the glass of the patio door, staring out into the gloom.
“He has,” Kevin said, following suit by Jack’s side. “There’s his body, out there!”
Out on the white lawn there was a massive ball of hard-packed snow, about three feet high. Two ragged branches waved at them from either side.
“I think we’ve got time to finish it,” Ed said. “What do you guys say?”
They gathered hats and scarves.
Maureen watched them from the patio, sipping a sherry. The boys were wrapped up in ski jackets and boots, laughing and shouting. Snowballs looped through the air, one or two of them bulleting their way over to the patio. Soon, they raised a head onto the snowman’s neck, topped off with Jack’s beanie hat. Ed and Jack lifted Kevin up between them, allowing him to put in a carrot and to curve a smile across the snowman’s face.
The snow got heavier, and the three of them grew indistinct as they chased each other around what they had made.
About the Author
Pat Black is a thirtysomething writer, journalist and bletherer, born and raised in Glasgow. He says he has made that difficult transition from aspiring novelist to failed novelist, although he has had a couple of short stories published. He’s the author of Snarl, a completed novel about a monster that tries to mount the Houses of Parliament. Holyrood emerges unscathed, for now.
If you enjoy Pat’s short stories, you’ll find a whole compendium of them – three dozen, in fact – in his Kindle collection, Suckerpunch, which can be downloaded at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.
If you enjoy Pat’s short stories, you’ll find a whole compendium of them – three dozen, in fact – in his Kindle collection, Suckerpunch, which can be downloaded at these links on Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com.