Haunted Christmas

by Pat Herbert

  He saw the colour rise in Bernard’s cheeks and knew he’d got the answer he was expecting. His friend had obviously been smitten.

  “I – I don’t know what you mean,” said Bernard, unconvincingly.

  “I think you do,” Robbie replied, a little sadly.

  Bernard bridled. “I don’t, I tell you.”

  “Look, it’s okay if you like Dorothy too. I don’t blame you. All’s fair and all that. May the best man win, et cetera. We won’t let it spoil our friendship, will we?”

  Bernard relaxed into a smile. “No, nothing can do that, Robbie. Yes, I do like Dorothy, but you saw her first. Anyway, I’m sure she prefers you.”

  “I’m not sure she does. I saw the way she was looking at you last night.”

  “Oh, you must be mistaken,” protested Bernard, unsure whether to be pleased or not by this. It was true he had felt a connection with Dorothy, but he didn’t have the confidence to think it meant anything very significant. Robbie was tall and handsome, just the kind of man women went for. He, on the other hand, was at least six inches shorter and, while not exactly Quasimodo, wasn’t any woman’s idea of the perfect male specimen.

  “Have it your own way. Anyway, we’re seeing each other tomorrow night,” said Robbie, standing up. It was time he was in the church hall. The cleaning up must be finished by now, he thought.

  Bernard gave one of his nervous coughs. “Er, yes I know. She asked me to come too.”

  Robbie felt his stomach plummet at this. “When did you make that arrangement?” he asked, almost with a snarl in his voice.

  “She called me earlier this morning. We were just chatting and then she mentioned she was going to the pictures with you and asked me to come too.”

  Was it true? Robbie wondered. Had Dorothy asked Bernard, or had it been the other way around? Without another word, he left the room and headed out of the vicarage to the church hall.

  

  He turned up at the hall just as Mrs Harper was leaving it, and she handed over the key to him. “Don’t know what you want to get up to in there,” she sniffed. “But make sure you leave it as you found it. We’ve been working very ’ard this morning, and we don’t want any Tom, Dick or Harry mucking it up.”

  “No, Mrs Harper, of course not.” He pocketed the key.

  “And make sure you lock up when you leave,” she told him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, doing a mock salute at her retreating back. Bloody woman, he thought to himself. Doesn’t she ever smile? Not at him, obviously.

  Anyway, that wasn’t his concern right now. He stared at the Christmas tree. Despite its decorations, it was beginning to look quite threadbare, with many of its needles littering the floor. Mrs Harper’s broom had still a lot of work to do. Every time he moved near it, more pine needles hit the floor. Was this the tree under which he had seen those poor children?

  He drew up a chair near to it and sat down, trying to clear his mind of all thoughts. They were cluttered with visons of Dorothy and Bernard dancing together, kissing, and he knew no spirits could get through that muddle.

  Armed with pen and paper, ready to write down as carefully as he could what the children might say, he made himself comfortable, prepared to wait as long as necessary. He had seen one of the children the night before, he was certain now, and he was also certain that they would try to contact him again. He just had to be patient.

  It was now nearly one o’clock, and he realised he was hungry. He almost wished he’d had his dinner before coming to the hall, but he had been too eager to see the children again. As he continued to sit there, staring at the tree, he began to feel a little foolish. What man in his right mind spends his afternoon staring at a Christmas tree, no matter how pretty it is?

  After about twenty minutes, he suddenly felt a draught of cold air. He turned swiftly, thinking that someone had come into the hall. But there was no one. He turned back to the tree to see a little blond-haired child standing there, looking at him with a soulful expression.

  The little boy started to speak, and Robbie tried to write it down, but he was going too fast for him. He gestured with his hands, indicating that he wanted him to slow down. Halle stopped mid-flow, watching the doctor’s hands move in and out, looking puzzled. Suddenly, there was a little girl beside him. She couldn’t have been more than five or six and, she was so pretty, Robbie wanted to cry.

  The two little children chatted together for a moment or two, then Halle turned back to Robbie. It seemed he and the little girl realised what he meant, because the boy began speaking very slowly now. Robbie still struggled to write it all down, holding up his hand every so often to indicate he wanted the child to stop so that he could catch up, but he managed it to get it all down at last.

  As the boy finished speaking, he took his little companion by the hand, and they both smiled at Robbie. He smiled back at them, wishing he could reassure them that he was going to do everything in his power to help them. But, somehow, he knew they understood. He looked down at his notepad and the incomprehensible writing, wondering if it would be intelligible to someone who knew the Norwegian language. He fervently hoped so. He closed the pad and put it in his pocket, looking up to find the children were no longer there.

  

  After his three-course dinner of tomato soup, steak pudding and apple pie, Bernard was sitting in his study, feeling pleasantly full, sipping a postprandial sherry. He was mulling over his conversation earlier that day with Robbie. It would be nice, he thought, if Dorothy did like him better than Robbie. He would feel sorry for him, of course, but it was up to Dorothy whom she liked, wasn’t it? Bernard was sure that, if the boot was on the other foot, his friend wouldn’t hesitate to snatch her away from him. She had asked him to go to the pictures with them both, and she wouldn’t have done that if she wanted to be alone with Robbie. He smiled to himself. Dorothy was certainly very pretty. Lovely, in fact. He could almost see her sitting there opposite him, knitting him a pullover.

  “The bloomin’ lavatory’s packed up again.” These words broke into his reverie and he was back to earth with a bang.

  “What did you say, Mrs Harper?”

  “The chain ’as broken off again, and the bowl’s flooded. I’ll ’ave to get that no good Gilbert ’Ardcastle back, I suppose. I don’t think ’e knows what ’e’s doing.”

  “Whatever you say, Mrs Harper. It sounds urgent now. Perhaps we should just get a completely new cistern; otherwise, we’ll keep having problems. Don’t you think so?”

  She sniffed. “It’s up to you, Vicar. But new cisterns don’t come cheap.”

  “No, I suppose not. But we can’t go through Christmas with a flooded toilet, can we?”

  Mrs Harper shrugged. “We could always go next door or across the road. They won’t mind. I’m well in with all the neighbours.”

  “I’m sure you are, but I don’t think that would be very convenient – no pun intended – either for them or for us, do you?”

  “You’re the boss, Vicar. So, I’ll ask Gilbert ’ow much a new one’ll cost, then?”

  “Yes, please do, Mrs Harper. Thank you. Can I have some coffee, by the way?”

  Bernard tried to get back into the mood of his earlier thoughts, but the fate of the vicarage’s sanitary arrangements took over. He hoped a new cistern wouldn’t cost too much. Whatever the cost, it would probably be beyond his meagre stipend. Maybe he could use some of the proceeds from the dinner dance… He banished the thought immediately. The old folks’ Christmas dinner came first, he told himself severely.

  Mrs Harper returned with a tray of coffee and two cups, Robbie right behind her. “Your friend’s ’ere, Vicar,” she said. “I think ’e thinks ’e lives ’ere. Anyway, I brought another cup.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Aitch.”

  “By the way, Gilbert says ’e’ll be over in ’alf an hour with some prices,” she said, as she left the room.

  “Prices for what, old boy?” asked Robbie, sitting down by the fire o
pposite his friend.

  “It’s the blessed toilet again. It’s broken for good this time. Well, it’s the cistern, actually. The toilet bowl itself is salvageable, I think – I hope. I’ll have to invest in a new one. It’s not going to be cheap, according to Mrs Harper.”

  “Not cheap, but a necessity,” said Robbie wisely. “Anyway, do you want to hear my news?”

  “Gosh, yes. How did you get on? Did you see the children again?”

  “I certainly did. A little boy and girl. I saw them quite clearly this time. They are very young and the girl, especially, is very pretty. They are definitely dead. They must have been murdered by the same killer who did for their mother, poor things.”

  “So, did they talk to you?”

  “Yes, but of course it was in Norwegian. I wrote down exactly what I heard though. Here ...” Robbie showed Bernard the page of indecipherable writing he had managed to produce.

  “Looks like double Dutch to me,” observed Bernard, pouring out the coffee. “This is of no help, whatsoever, Robbie. You know that, don’t you? Why don’t you give it up as a bad job?”

  “I can’t do that, Bernie. I keep telling you. It was meant for me to help them. They appeared to me for a reason. I would have given up – had given up, but now that I’ve seen them again, I just can’t.”

  “But what’s the good if you can’t speak their language? It’s not as if it’s a more common language like French or German. There’s probably lots of people can speak those. But Norwegian? I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  “I’ll put a call through to Edinburgh University later on – you know, Carl’s old college. They’ve got an excellent linguistics department there. I’m sure someone will be able to help me, especially if I mention I was a former student there as well as a friend of poor Carl.”

  “Very well,” said Bernard slowly. “I suppose that might work. But I doubt you’ll get anyone to come down before Christmas.”

  “You’re probably right there,” said Robbie dolefully. “I think I could do with a tot of whisky, Bernie,” he said, “you know – to help me get over the disappointment.”

  “Any excuse,” smiled Bernard. “You know where it is. Get me another sherry while you’re about it.”

  As Robbie was pouring the drinks, Mrs Harper knocked on the door and entered without waiting for permission, closely followed by Gilbert Hardcastle.

  “Oh, not now, Mrs Harper,” said Bernard huffily. “Can’t you see I’ve got company? Robbie and I want some privacy.”

  Mrs Harper sniffed very loudly. “I think the toilet comes before privacy,” she said firmly. “Gilbert’s a busy man. Especially as it’s Christmas. We’re lucky to get ’im ’ere so quick. So, what about looking at these prices?”

  Bernard sighed a long-suffering sigh. “Very well, Mrs Harper. What sort of cost are we looking at? Just a basic cistern, that’s all we want.”

  Gilbert stepped forward and handed him a piece of paper. On it was written a list of prices that started high and ended up going through the roof.

  “Oh dear,” he said. “I can’t afford any of these. Are you sure there’s nothing cheaper?”

  Mrs Harper took over. “Look, I’ve told you before, Gilbert ’Ardcastle. Don’t come the old acid. These prices,” she said, snatching the paper from Bernard’s hands, “are pure science fiction, you toe-rag. I suggest you go back and try again.”

  Gilbert looked askance at her. “You drive a hard bargain, Nance,” he protested. “I’ve got to make a living, you know.”

  “Yes, but not on the backs of others, you don’t,” she said. “Now get along with you and come back when you’ve rubbed a few noughts off the end of these figures.”

  Gilbert turned to go, but as he did so his eye caught sight of Robbie’s writing pad on the table. “That looks like Norwegian,” he said, as he walked out.

  Robbie stared after him and then looked at Bernard. “Gilbert!” they yelled in unison. “Come back!”

  

  But it was no use. Gilbert Hardcastle moved very fast for a slow-witted man.

  “Didn’t he hear us?” asked Bernard crossly.

  “Obviously not,” said Robbie.

  “Mrs Harper!” Bernard called after her departing back. “Has Gilbert left the vicarage?”

  “Yes, Vicar. He ain’t getting a cup of tea out of me until ’e comes back with more reasonable prices. I told ’im straight.”

  “Can you come here a minute, please?”

  Bernard stood on the landing, watching his housekeeper bustle back up the stairs. She didn’t look too pleased.

  “What is it, Vicar? I’ve work to do.”

  “Just a tick, please,” said Bernard as ingratiatingly as he could. “Come in.”

  “Well?” she questioned, arms folded belligerently.

  “This Gilbert, Mrs Aitch,” said Robbie, standing up and beginning to pace up and down the study. “He seemed to know that this writing – here.” He showed her his pad, open at the page of Norwegian writing.

  “Looks like a load of gobbledegook to me,” she observed.

  “Yes, and to most people that is exactly what it does look like. But Gilbert recognised it as Norwegian. How on earth did he know that?”

  “Oh,” said Mrs Harper, smiling now. “That’s easily explained. Gilbert’s ’alf Norwegian, didn’t you know?”

  “How would I?” said Robbie, now very animated. “He seems an Englishman through and through to me, especially with a name like Gilbert Hardcastle.”

  “’Is mother’s Norwegian, that’s why. She married an Englishman. I think ’e’s dead now. Anyway, Gilbert’s real name is Gils, I think, something like that. Does that answer your question?”

  “It very much does, Mrs Harper,” said Robbie gleefully. He was almost dancing a jig.

  “Be sure to send him straight up here as soon as he comes back with the revised prices, Mrs Harper,” Bernard instructed, smiling.

  “You seem very interested in ’im all of a sudden,” observed Mrs Harper, eyeing both men with suspicion. “Can’t say I see the attraction, myself.”

  “Never you mind, Mrs Harper,” said Robbie, escorting her to the door. “Just send him up when he comes back.”

  “Whatever you say,” she said.

  “Well, there’s a turn up for the books, eh?” Robbie sat back down and lit his pipe.

  “You know, Robbie, all along I’ve been sceptical and unhelpful over this business, but I’m with you completely now, and I’ll back you up and help in any way I can. These children’s bodies must be found and given a Christian burial.” An evangelical light was in his eyes.

  “Absolutely,” agreed Robbie. “Thanks, Bernie.”

  “More whisky?” asked his friend, grinning.

  

  Later that afternoon, Gilbert Hardcastle returned to the vicarage armed with a new price list. Before he could be shown up to the Vicar’s study, however, he had to get past Mrs Harper, who stood in the hall, arms akimbo.

  “All right, Gilbert,” she said. “Let’s ’ave a look at that list now. I won’t ’ave you diddling the vicar, I’ve told you that before.”

  “Here you are,” he said, shoving the sheet of paper at her. “Pick the bones out of that.”

  “No need to be rude,” she told him, as she cast her beady eyes over the new price list. “There’s other plumbers, you know.”

  “Not one you could get to come before Christmas, though,” Gilbert pointed out, with a smug look on his sallow face. “Well? Are these prices more what you’re after? That’s as low as I can go.”

  He watched her carefully, ready to complain if she started to quibble again. “I haven’t got all day, you know. And if his worship wants the cistern installed before Christmas he’d better let me know soon, as me and the missus are going to stay with my mum in a few days.”

  “So?” said Mr Harper, still scrutinising the paper. “Can’t you come and fit it even if you’re staying with your mum?”

  “Not ea
sily, no,” smiled Mr Hardcastle wanly. “She lives in Norway.”

  Mrs Harper looked up at that. “But I thought she only lived in Tooting?”

  “She used to. But when my dad died, she went back to live with her sister, who’s a bit gaga these days.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that. Well, I can’t see the vicar objecting to these prices. I think ’e’ll agree to this one.” She pointed to the cheapest on the list. “I’ll let you know later.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Gilbert turned to go, but Mrs Harper remembered just in time.

  “Oh, I forgot. I think the vicar wants to see you about something else,” she said. “Can you wait a minute, while I tell ’im you’re ’ere?”

  “Well, hurry up then. I’ve got a sink to unblock before five.”

  “’Old your ’orses,” she said, climbing the stairs. “It won’t take a minute.”

  A few moments later, Gilbert was standing in the study, cap in hand, wondering why these two professional gentlemen seemed so pleased to see him. He knew he was good at his job, but his arrival in people’s homes had never warranted such euphoria before.

  “You, er – wanted to see me? I’ve given Mrs Harper the prices for the new cistern,” he said.

  “Thank you, Gilbert,” said Bernard. “But that’s not why we wanted to see you. Please – sit down.”

  “I haven’t got much time,” he told them, reluctantly taking the seat that was offered. “I’ve got a sink to unblock. I told her downstairs that...”

  “Nonsense, man,” interrupted Robbie. “You’ve got time for a chat, surely?”

  “Well, I ...” Gilbert was even more puzzled.

  “Good, good,” said Robbie, rubbing his hands. “Now, I understand from Mrs Harper that your mother is Norwegian. Is that correct?”

  “Well, yes. But I don’t see... I mean, I was born here, you know. I’m not illegal or anything.”

  “Shut up, man, and listen. You looked at this piece of paper when you were here just now and recognised the writing on it, didn’t you?”