Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Maggie sat contentedly with little John Paul on her knee when Joe arrived back at the house. “That was lovely Dear,” she said, “I’m so glad we had the two of them together to dinner and not just Violet on her own. She bucked up so completely when Bertie arrived, didn’t she? and they looked so happy together too. Shall we pick the tree now Darling? Come on Freddie, bring John Paul from his high chair, that’s a good boy. It’s present time.”

 

***

 

Joe slipped out quietly into the kitchen to be alone for a few moments to recollect his thoughts as he was totally confused. His mind was in turmoil.

“Bertie. . . Bertie are you there? Come on Bertie, don’t hide from me. I want to know what this is all about. Bertie . . Bertie. “ He called again but there was no answer and Maggie shouted from the lounge.

“Come on Joe. We don’t want to pick the tree until you’re here. Leave whatever you’re doing in there and come in here with us.”

She held John Paul on her arm as she spoke and Freddie left his musical ear plugs in his trouser pocket as Joe came into the lounge very quietly and sat down.

“Did you see Bertie at the Home when we went there with the presents on Thursday, Freddie?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I did but I didn’t speak to him then. I thought he was one of the entertainers as he was doing a kind of funny little jig in the corner, just near the Christmas tree . . . that little one, remember?”

***

 

The presents were opened to whoops of joy and more champagne was passed around. . Even Freddie had a glass and he felt very grown-up and mature as he drank it slowly . . . and imagined himself to be a man at last. . Everyone was happy and wished each other the joys and blessings of the Holy Season, with many more of them to come.

Only Joe went up to bed sadly that night, still wondering and confused about everything and as the moon streaked across the pink and white bedroom walls, he secretly called out to Bertie. . With his mind, of course, so that Maggie wouldn’t be disturbed as she slept soundly by his side . . . but still there was no answer.

It was in the morning, after a restless night, that Joe came down to the lounge before anyone else was awake and a funny old cock crowed somewhere outside in the lane. He looked around the room with nostalgic memories of the evening before, which seemed to him to be years away. . before his eyes settled on the Christmas tree. The presents had all gone and only wrinkled wrappings in gay colours were scattered across the soft carpeted floor. The tinsel and the baubles hung in silence as his eye caught a glimpse of a small wooden box, lying on the floor under the tree. . and he lifted it carefully to examine it. As he opened the box, Joe’s eyes filled with tears. In it, he found an old woolly balaclava helmet, a pair of gloves without fingers, a rusty thing that looked like a pair of scissors, a spy glass, two sea shells, an old pocket watch with the glass face cracked. . . . an old piece of dirty string.

As he turned the contents over with trembling fingers, a little rabbit’s paw fell out onto the floor . . . but the thing that touched him most and broke him completely, so that he had to sit down, was a tiny scrap of paper. . a page from an old diary. . a well-fingered and soiled page with words written on it that would be hardly distinguishable to the naked eye. But Joe knew them only too well.

 

The words read . . . . FOREVER AN’ EVER AN’ EVER.

 

 

The End