Chapter Nineteen

 

A Christmas Party

 

Freddie collected his parcel of groceries to take with him to school before the Christmas break.

“I hope this will be my last ‘benefit’ before I go up to Halstead High Maggie. I hate doing this. It’s kid’s stuff,” he grunted and pulled a face, as Maggie busily dusted her freshly made mince pies with the powdered sugar from her silver shaker, (A present from one of Joe’s mates when they got married,) and lifted them carefully from the baking tray, selecting the best shaped one’s for the school benefit. Freddie reached out to help himself and she tapped him on the wrist.

“Be careful Freddie. These can give you a nasty burn when you eat them straight from the oven. Give them a few moments to cool, dear.”

“But I like them hot and fresh Maggie and anyway, whoever eats them after the Christmas party won’t get them hot, will they?”

“No, but they can heat them a little in the oven and that brings back the flavour.”

Maggie selected two dozen of her best shapes and wrapped them individually and with great care in tissue paper before she put them just as carefully into a biscuit tin and Freddie watched her, thinking the pies might ‘explode’ if she treated them in any other way.

“There now . . What else have we got to get?”

She rubbed her hands complacently over her apron as she spoke.

“Oh! Maggie . . Do I have to take them? Couldn’t I just leave them at the old folk’s home and hope that someone finds them. I know I’m gonna get laughed at rotten by my mates at school and that’s only the boys. Don’t know what the girls will think,” Freddie complained and Maggie eyed him with affected pity, but she was resolute.

“No Freddie This has always been a custom at your school and it’s not an old folk’s home, it’s a Residential Centre for Senior Citizens.”

Freddie sulked and scowled at his auntie.

“Well whatever it’s called. I’m gonna be a laughing stock when they see me delivering this stuff, that’s for sure.”

“Nobody laughed at you last year, nor the year before. . . What are you talking about?” she asked. “I thought you liked doing it and inviting a guest to dinner and all that . . .”

“Well, I was only a child then, wasn’t I?”

Maggie smiled and raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“Oh! Of course, I forgot all about that . . you being ten and everything . . It does make a big difference, doesn’t it now?”

Freddie shuffled where he stood and grinned.

“Oh! Alright then. Let me know when you’ve got the stuff ready, will ya?”

“Freddie . . . when you are old and infirm yourself and there’s nobody to look after you, you might be glad of a few things to eat at Christmas and a nice friendly face to greet you. A smile can go a long way, you know.”

“Alright. Alright, I said I’d do it, didn’t I. No need to make a song about it Maggie,” he snarled, but Maggie studied her nails, as if she hadn’t heard that last remark.

“O.K. then, we won’t say any more on that matter and you’ll be a good boy over the holiday now, won’t you? Joe and I have got you something very special for Christmas and I know you’ll like it.”

“Did you write to Santa Claus for it, like you did last year?” he asked and dodged Maggie’s fist as she hit out playfully.

“Well . . now that you’re ten and all grown-up like, we didn’t think that would be necessary but he won’t mind if you write him a little thank you note and Joe can deliver it when he goes back to Frankham’s after the holiday.”

Freddie giggled and shoved his hands in his pocket as he skipped away. He looked at the clock above the fireplace as he was leaving the house and then studied his wrist watch. It was 6.35pm.

“Maybe Joe would like to take the parcel to the old folk’s . . er what was it ? . . . the Residential something-or-other for older whatshisname, too,” he enquired impishly and Maggie squirted him with a puff of her powdered sugar as he went through the door.

“You mind your tongue, young man. You should be wishing you had a grandparent of your own, instead of all this moaning,” said Maggie, but Freddie grunted and left the house whistling.

 

***

 

“I’m home, love. What a lovely smell. What are you cooking?” Joe called out as he sniffed the air and hung his coat on the hook behind the front door, before aiming his cap at it. He never missed a bull’s-eye with that trick and he was quite proud of it.

“Hello Sweetheart,” Maggie replied as she leaned forward to give Joe a kiss, “I’m just doing a bit of baking for the Christmas holiday and a few little bits and pieces for Freddie to take with him to school.”

Freddie overheard her remarks as he stood outside and pulled a face. . . . and Joe took one of the famous mince pies from the neat row that Maggie had arranged and blew on it carefully, before popping it into his mouth in one go.

“I hadn’t powdered that one yet Joe. You should have waited a little while and I had only just told Freddie that it was dangerous to eat them when they’re straight from the oven. Could roast yourself, you could. You men . . always eating.”

Joe ignored her light protest as he reached for another pie and she slapped his wrist.

“There’ll be none left for anybody if you go on like that , will there?” she complained playfully and Joe smacked his lips as he licked his fingers.

“You don’t appreciate appreciation, that’s what,” he muttered.

“Mind you don’t knock that cake off the table as you pass Joe . . Joe, you great oaf

I’ve still to ice that yet and I don’t want it in pieces before I do . . if you don’t mind . . .” said Maggie with fire in her eyes and Joe minced past with the deft movements of a ballet dancer.

“When will it be ready for eating then?” he enquired as he darted upstairs to the bathroom to wash his hands . . the piquant aroma of Maggie’s cooking still in his nostrils.

“Christmas day and not a minute before,” came her answer.

“What’s for dinner, love?” he called downstairs as he ran the cold water into the hot, in the bathroom sink and plastered his hands with soap.

“Veal and ham pie, but not the shop kind . . I’ve made it myself. Are you hungry?” she called out, but before Joe could answer a Voice sounded in his ear.

“I’m starving and my mouth has been watering ever since I woke up.”

Joe looked around.

“Where are you this time Bertie?”

“Just a little to your right, by the window, dear boy . . Ouch! Watch your elbows, I might have a black eye after that.”

“Oh! now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

“Well you could make up for it, if you just nip down and get me one of them mince pies, eh? Be a good boy Joe. Just a little taster, if you know what I mean. Things like that should always be tasted in case they aren’t cooked properly, you know.”

“I’ve already tasted one and they’re perfect. You can take my word for it.”

“Two crowns are better than one, they say.”

“Heads, Bertie, Two heads are better than one.”

Bertie paused and licked his lips as he listened to the correction.

“But when you’re nearly Royal . . . Crowns sound better . . Tee Hee,” he giggled and as Joe rinsed his hands under the cold tap and shook then into the basin, a towel came towards him just as he was about to turn round.

“Thanks Bertie, but you’ll have to wait . . . just like the rest of us. There’s no priorities in this house and you should have learned that by now,” said Joe, with the air of superiority of a school headmaster, but Bertie did not answer. He seemed to have disappeared.

“Bertie . . Bertie, where are you? Did you hear what I said?”

“Wow! . . That’s hot, that is . . . I burnt my tongue on that mince pie,” the Voice cried out and Bertie appeared on the landing scoffing a hot pie and licking his fingers. “I’m here, dear boy and aren’t these pies simply delicious . . .Mmmmmmh!”

“You’re a self-willed old . . .”

“Careful, dear boy. You’ll have a heart attack if you get yourself into a state like that. Pies is meant to be eaten . . . that’s the law of nature.”

“Are meant to be eaten Bertie . . .” Joe corrected. “And you’re ANYTHING BUT NATURAL, so don’t talk to me about nature and it’s laws. You’re a law unto yourself, old man,” Joe shouted at the top of his voice and Maggie called from the kitchen downstairs.

“Are you alright Joe? Did you call for something?”

“No . . I’m fine, love. The water was hotter than I thought, that’s all. Be down in a jiffy.”

“You should speak with your mind, dear boy. I keep telling you that,” whispered Bertie, as he stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked it. “It saves a lot of embarrassment, you know and besides, I’ve been standing by the kitchen window ever since that cooking business began and watching all those lovely activities going on . . and the scientific gestures with that oven of hers. Not being able to touch a thing . . . excruciating it was, I can tell you. Truly maddening. Makes one want to spit, it does. . . and I say again, Pies like that is meant to be eaten . . so there.” Bertie stamped his foot again when he came to his conclusion.

“Serves you jolly-well right. You shouldn’t be so nosy.”

“Nosy? Nosy? Me nosy. I never am, dear boy. I’m just . . well, interested, and what’s that parcel for the old folks I hear about? Does that include me. I’m old enough, aren’t I?”

“Retired Senior Citizens,” said Joe, “Not the old folks . . But yes, Bertie. You’re old alright. Very old and very nosy, but you don’t live in a home and you’ve never paid any taxes . . so you get NOTHING . .”

Bertie’s face fell and his tongue started to flip about in fast, darting movements.

“What’s it all about anyway Joe. This giving things away to the old folk . . .er Retired Senior Citizens?”

“Mind your own business, NOSY,” shouted Joe as he started to go downstairs, but this time he did it with his mind and the old man followed him, jumping about from foot to foot and gnashing his gums . . for he still had no teeth.

“I just like to know what’s going on, that’s all. It’s called . . having an interest in current affairs, if you don’t know. That’s what it is KNOW-ALL.”

“Well, if you must know,” Joe called out, but with his mind again, of course. “It’s a custom every year from the school that Freddie attends. The children take a parcel of foodstuffs that are prepared by the parents and they visit the Residential Home for the Senior Citizens and each child adopts a grandparent for the day . . SATISFIED?”

Bertie scratched his head and his white, lank hair fell about his shoulders as his eyes narrowed and he stroked his chin with scraggy fingers.

“How do you qualify to be a Senior . . whatever they call themselves, in this ‘ere home, Joe? Tell me . . please do, dear boy,” Bertie pleaded, but Joe ignored him as he continued to describe the Christmas ceremony, making Bertie even more annoyed. . .

“And the children sing carols and give each of the old people a parcel. Then they invite them home to dinner either on Christmas day or on Boxing day, whichever suits them best.”

“Will all the old people crowd into your house then Joe?”

“No, not that stupid. Each child adopts a grandparent for the day and takes the old person to his parents’ home.”

Bertie thought for a few moments.

“Joe . . about the question I asked you. How do you qualify . . Oh! I love carol singing too. I can do some lovely verses. Quite a good voice I have too. Want to hear?”

Joe laughed cruelly at Bertie’s offer.

“You’re too late Bertie and besides, there’s a lot of red tape attached to getting into one of these places. You have to prove that you have no relatives to look after you,” he announced with renewed authority on this kind of thing as Bertie’s eyes took on a strange look . . almost as though they were crossed in his head.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well what?” Joe enquired.

“Well I don’t have a living relative, do I?”

“No . . that’s true . . you don’t.”

Bertie sighed with relief and licked his lips.

“So I qualify then . . don’t I?”

Joe shook his head slowly and smiled.

“You don’t stand a chance old boy . . You don’t come up on the register for voters. You just don’t exist as far as our bureaucracy is concerned,” Joe announced and Bertie’s mouth tightened into a thin line and his ears went red.

“And what do I have to do to get a slice of this bureau-what’s-its-name?”

“You can’t . . . You’re not here. You’ve gone out of this world a long time since, according to how we humans think,” replied Joe as Bertie ran back into the bathroom and poked his tongue out at the face in the mirror. It took only a few seconds before the face became clear and he could see himself properly.

“I’m here Joe. I’m here, dear boy. Come and look for yourself,” he called out and Joe went back to see what his old friend was screaming about.

“What is it? I should be downstairs for dinner by now. Maggie will be wild if I let it get cold, so hurry up. What is it you want?”

“Look . . Look here in the mirror.”

Joe looked.

“Well?”

“Look at the handsome one Joseph . . . Never mind that other old face you can see in there.”

Bertie turned to show his profile as he spoke. His best side, of course.

“Thanks Bertie. It is nice to know that you appreciate me. I can’t help being a cracker, can I?”

Bertie screamed again . . with his mind, of course.

“It’s not you I’m talking about. . . . It’s ME . . . . .Look!”

Joe looked again, with an indifferent attitude in his eye.

“It’s no use Bertie. You just can’t go around appearing and disappearing just as you want and expect society to accept that. You’re . . you’re . well, unusual. Let’s put it that way and no old folks home or Residential establishment will ever accept you.”

“But you do Joe . . don’t you. You accept me,” Bertie cried and a little tear formed at the corner of his right eye. Just a wee bitty one, you see as he sulked and blinked twice.

“Couldn’t I have some of those goodies before Maggie makes up her parcel then? No-one will ever know, will they? and my mouth’s watering something awful . . . and those mince pies is . . sorry, are just waiting down there to be eaten. THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE MADE FOR, JOSEPH” He screamed again . . (With his mind, of course, so that Maggie wouldn’t hear.) but it gave him a bad headache as his hair fell down around his angry face and if things had been different, Bertie would have gone to have a lie-down . .

“Keep your hair on, old chap and don’t get excited. I’ll see what I can do, but you know when women make these things, they count them all. Maggie will know exactly how many she has made.”

Bertie sucked his gums and his right eye twitched.

“Maybe she can’t count very well, eh Joe? Maybe she’s like me and her arithmics aren’t too good, eh?”

“Oh she can Bertie . . She can. Arithmetic and mathematics were her best subject at school.”

Bertie scratched his head and paused to think again for a moment.

“Yes, but it’s a long time since she was at school, isn’t it?”

Joe laughed, without his mind and Maggie called up to him from the kitchen.

“What’s going on up there Joe. Are you talking to yourself in that mirror, or what?”

“Be down in a jiffy Darling,” he called out as he turned to Bertie and smiled.

“You try telling Maggie her mathematics are rusty . . . . Better you than me, old friend,” he said and went down to dinner.