Haunted Christmas

by Pat Herbert

  “That’s not fair,” said Bernard, sitting down and giving the fire a poke to hide his confusion. “I like you very much and I want you around. So does Robbie. Perhaps we’re all moving too fast. I’m just not ready for any commitment at the moment. Maybe in time ....”

  Dorothy sighed and got up to leave. “You’re absolutely right. I’m pushing you too hard. Let’s at least be friends though?”

  “Of course,” said Bernard, standing up and taking her hand. “I hope we’ll always be that.”

  “Thank you,” she said demurely. “Goodbye.”

  She left the room, closing the door quietly. Bernard stared at it. She was gone. She had understood how he felt and accepted it. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

  

  Robbie decided to go straight to the pub from the vicarage. There was still half an hour before nearly closing time, thank goodness.

  He couldn’t begin to comprehend why Bernard was behaving so oddly towards him, but at the back of his mind he suspected that Dorothy had something to do with it. Well, that was it, as far as he was concerned; if a woman could come between them as easily as that, then their friendship was a very fragile thing indeed. He cared a great deal for both of them, but when the chips were down, it would be Bernard every time.

  He ordered a double whisky and went and sat in the corner to cogitate, his mind in a turmoil. Not only was there the Dorothy and Bernard problem, but also the poor Norwegian children to consider. He knew there was little more he could do until Gilbert had seen his mother and found out exactly what was happening, but it made him feel so impotent.

  As he sipped his whisky, his thoughts inevitably reverted to Bernard. He’d been invited over to the vicarage that evening and had more or less decided not to go. Bernard’s treatment of him just now had hurt him more than he cared to admit. It seemed that, ever since Dorothy had come on the scene, things hadn’t been right between them. Carl had nearly caused a rift, too. Surely they could each have other friends, without falling out over them?

  He went to the bar and ordered another double just as the landlord called time and returned to his seat. He had been bowled over by Dorothy from the first, but he knew she didn’t feel the same way about him. He just had to get over it. Downing his second drink, he left the pub and decided to take a walk in the park before it got too dark. The nights were drawing in very quickly. December was always a dismal time of year, he thought. ‘Dark days before Christmas’ had been a saying he’d heard all his life, not quite understanding what it meant until now. The snow lay underfoot and cast a pale glow as the street lights came on.

  As he turned into the park, he bumped into Dorothy who was just about to leave it. She was the last person he expected to see at that moment, and he wasn’t sure whether he was pleased or sorry.

  “Oh, hello,” she gasped, obviously disconcerted to see him there.

  “Hello, Dorothy,” he said, regaining his composure quickly. “How are you?”

  “I’m well,” she said, smiling weakly.

  “Not getting any more headaches?”

  “No, no,” she said dismissively. “Anyway, we both know the reason for those now, don’t we? I haven’t been near that Christmas tree since the night of the dinner dance.”

  “Of course,” said Robbie. He was at a loss what to say next. Small talk seemed pointless under the circumstances.

  “Look, Robbie, it’s nice to see you, but I’m in rather a hurry.” She was avoiding his probing blue eyes.

  “Of course,” said Robbie. “Well, goodbye. Look after yourself.”

  “I will, thank you,” she replied, hurrying past him.

  She was the second person today who didn’t want his company. Maybe he was wearing the wrong eau de cologne, he thought bitterly.

  

  Later that afternoon, Bernard picked up his half-finished sermon, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to write a word. All he could think about was his imperilled friendship with Robbie, and how Dorothy fitted into the picture. If, indeed, she did. It was all such a mess.

  He wondered if Robbie would come back later. He wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. He tried to gather his wits as he stared at his sermon, but it was useless. His eyes began to feel heavy and he was just drifting off when the door opened, and Robbie strode in, bringing what seemed like half a hundredweight of snow with him.

  “Is it all right for me to come in now?” he asked.

  Bernard jumped up and grasped him by the shoulder. “Of course, it is! I’m so sorry about earlier, I was busy with my sermon.”

  Robbie looked at the page on the table beside Bernard’s armchair. “I see you haven’t got very far,” he observed.

  “No, well, I keep falling asleep,” said Bernard with a rueful grin.

  Robbie sat by the fire opposite him and gave him a stern look. Bernard returned his stare as bravely as he could.

  “What exactly is going on, Bernie? I think I have a right to know.”

  Bernard couldn’t bring himself to lie glibly. He had never been any good at lying, even when it was in a good cause. And he certainly couldn’t lie to his best friend. So he took a deep breath and told him all about Dorothy’s visit that afternoon.

  “I thought so,” said Robbie, a wistful smile on his handsome face. “But you shouldn’t have sent me away like that, Bernie. I thought she preferred you anyway. It wouldn’t have come as a shock.”

  “But you like her so much,” insisted Bernard. “It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Maybe it isn’t. But I’ll get over it. And I don’t want to lose your friendship over it.”

  “No, no. Absolutely not,” said Bernard emphatically. “That’s the last thing I want too.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. Bernard got up and fetched the whisky bottle. “Here, Robbie, help yourself,” he said.

  “Thanks, old boy,” said Robbie, doing just that. “I saw Dorothy this afternoon – in the park,” Robbie told him, taking a long swig of Bernard’s whisky.

  “Did you? How did she seem to you?”

  “Well, it makes sense now. She’d obviously just been to see you, so she wasn’t really herself. I thought she had another of her headaches.”

  “I feel so sorry for her,” said Bernard, pouring himself a sweet sherry.

  “What’s the matter with you, man?” said Robbie impatiently. “You don’t have to marry the woman, for God’s sake. Just go for a drink or a meal, maybe the pictures. Just enjoy her company.”

  “Well, if it really is all right with you, Robbie,” said Bernard thoughtfully. “I’d like to take her out sometime.”

  “It’s nothing to do with me,” said Robbie. “I’ll probably be jealous, but we aren’t going to fall out over it. We’ve already agreed on that.”

  “Thanks, Robbie,” said Bernard gratefully.

  

  The following day dawned crisp, bright and cold, the snow in evidence everywhere. No further falls had occurred overnight, but the sub-zero temperatures ensured that what had fallen the day before remained crisp and white. It was the perfect day for a walk to the park, and Bernard decided to do just that. He was feeling very cheerful this morning, now that he and Robbie were friends again. He was also feeling doubly pleased with himself as he had managed to finish writing his sermon before leaving for the park.

  As he set off, he looked up and saw a vivid blue sky without a cloud in sight. The leafless trees provided a stark contrast as they bent in the stiffening wind. He breathed in the sharp, clear air, filling his lungs; it made him feel strong and healthy. He suddenly realised he wanted to see Dorothy very much. Perhaps he would phone her later and ask her out.

  He wondered what she would be doing for Christmas. He realised he didn’t know anything about her personal life: whether she had parents living, or siblings, and, if so, where they lived. He suddenly wanted to know all these things very much. How could he have been so stupid as to repel her advances like that? Robbie was righ
t. He should at least have listened to his own heart in the matter, and not worried about what his friend would say.

  As he was thinking these thoughts, he sat down on a cold, hard bench, wishing he’d put on his overcoat to protect him from the biting wind gnawing at his vitals. But, as he didn’t want to go back to his cosy study fire just yet, he sat on bravely, facing the elements.

  Suddenly he felt a nudge in his ribs. He turned to his right and saw, with dismay, Diabol sitting beside him. Not him again! Who was he after now?

  “Hello,” said Diabol with a grin as wicked as, no doubt, the man himself. “Remember me?”

  “You’re not exactly easy to forget,” observed Bernard cuttingly. “What do you want this time?”

  “I need to find a Dorothy Blunkett,” said the little man, grinning impishly at him. “I only need a couple more to get my horns. I’ve been escorting people downstairs for two years now, and at last I’m getting the hang of it. But I’ll be glad of a rest.”

  “Dorothy Plunkett?” screamed Bernard. “You don’t mean to take her, do you?” He was desperate. This couldn’t be happening.

  “’Fraid so,” said the little man, almost as if he cared. “I’ve got a nice warm spot all ready for her. But you needn’t worry, you know. It’s not all fire and brimstone down there. That’s just a myth. It’s quite a gay place at times. To be honest, upstairs is a bit boring. Most people, if they get up there, opt to go down below after a few days. It’s like one long Sunday – it goes on forever. All right for some, but most people like a bit of life – even if they’re dead.”

  Bernard tore at his hair. “Shut up!” he yelled at him. “Shut up! You can’t take Dorothy – you just can’t!”

  “I’ve got no choice. You see, she’s the second from bottom on my list. Look.” And he showed Bernard his clipboard.

  Bernard hardly glanced at it. He didn’t care how many times she was on his list, he wasn’t going to let him take Dorothy. He grabbed the little man by the collar, but found he was only grabbing thin air. Bernard looked around frantically, but he’d vanished.

  “Don’t do that again,” said a voice beside him. The man was back again, this time sitting on his left side. Bernard turned to face him.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” said Bernard. “I suppose you’ve got your job to do, but Dorothy means a lot to me. I’ve hardly got to know her yet, and you come here telling me you plan to take her from me forever.”

  Diabol simply shrugged. “I understand you know where I can find her.”

  Bernard glared at him. Hadn’t he heard what he’d just said? Was there no humanity in the man? Then, he supposed, he wasn’t really human, was he?

  “Come on, I haven’t got all day. Where can I find Miss Blunkett?”

  Bernard’s ears pricked up suddenly. Had he heard him correctly? He said ‘Blunkett’ not ‘Plunkett’.

  “Did you say Blunkett?”

  “Yes, I keep telling you. Dorothy Blunkett.”

  “Let me look at that list again,” demanded Bernard.

  “Here,” said Diabol, handing it to him.

  There was no doubt: the list said ‘Blunkett’ not ‘Plunkett’. Bernard’s heart sang.

  “You’ve got it wrong again!” said Bernard, almost laughing. “I know a Dorothy Plunkett not Blunkett.”

  “Oh, bother,” said Diabol with a jerk of his elbows. “Don’t tell me I’ve cocked it up again. Do you know – I made a mistake about that Carl Oppenheimer as well?”

  “What?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t Carl Oppenheimer with a ‘C’, but Karl Oppenheimer with a ‘K’ I should have taken. I got into a big row about that, I can tell you.”

  Bernard could hardly believe his ears. “Do you mean to tell me that Carl shouldn’t have died, after all?”

  “Not your Carl, no.” The impish man grimaced. “That’s why it’s taking me so long to get my horns. It’s all these funny names I have to deal with.”

  Bernard felt like strangling him but realised that he would just do another vanishing trick if he tried. “So,” he gulped, “does that mean that your Karl Oppenheimer is still alive then?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “He’s ninety-nine and very frail. Still, I’ll probably get him on my next trip.”

  “You’re mad,” said Bernard, still feeling relief that Dorothy wasn’t going to be taken from him, after all.

  “Let me get this straight,” said Diabol, ignoring Bernard’s insult. “Am I to understand that you don’t know this Dorothy Blunkett, then?”

  “No. I keep telling you. I only know a Dorothy Plunkett.”

  “Bother, so you’ve no idea where I can find this Blunkett woman?”

  “None in the world. I’ve never heard of her. Go and bother someone else.”

  “No need to be rude. You have no idea how difficult my job is.”

  “And you’ve no idea what a blow the death of Carl Oppenheimer was to my friend. You can’t bring him back from where you’ve taken him, can you?”

  The little man only shrugged again.

  “You’re a menace, you are,” snarled Bernard. “Will you please stop annoying me? I never want to see you again.”

  Just then he heard a burst of birdsong and realised the little man had done his bidding and disappeared. Bernard was back in the real world, with people passing by and the sounds of distant traffic; everything normal again.

  But, now he had another problem: the fact that Carl Oppenheimer needn’t have died when he did. But what would be the point of telling Robbie? It would only upset him, and that would be putting it mildly. And, anyway, nothing could bring the professor back. He only hoped he was enjoying the high life down below.

  He stayed on the bench for another half an hour, feeling the bitter wind whip round him, but ignoring it as he thought these sombre thoughts. The more he saw of life, the less he understood it. And the mysteries of the occult were well beyond him, even experiencing such things firsthand.

  At last, he began walking slowly out of the park, his thoughts back on Dorothy again, relieved that Diabol hadn‘t come for her, after all. He felt sorry for this Dorothy Blunkett woman, though, whoever she was. But it was an ill wind. At least he knew he had to make every moment count now, lose no time in asking her out, before Diabol came back for her another time.

  

  “Vicar, there’s a call for you – says she’s your mum.” Mrs Harper was standing in the doorway of Bernard’s study.

  “Oh dear,” he said. “Did you tell her I was at home?”

  “Yes, why? Don’t you want to talk to the woman who suffered to give birth to you?”

  Make me feel guilty, why don’t you? thought Bernard miserably. But the truth was he didn’t want to talk to her. Being his mother, he supposed he loved her. But he didn’t always like her. The inescapable fact was, she was an interfering, overbearing snob.

  “Yes, of course I do,” he said, reluctantly, descending to the hall where the telephone was situated. He expected she was probably calling him about Christmas, under the impression he was going to join the family for the festive season. Well, he would have to put her right about that. Didn’t she realise that Christmas was his busiest time in the parish? She could hardly expect him to trek up to Wakefield when he had the most important events in the Christian calendar to supervise. Or could she? Knowing his mother, she probably could.

  “Hello, Mum, how are you?” he enquired, trying to drum up some filial affection.

  “How do you think, when I don’t hear from you from one year’s end to the next?” came his mother’s querulous reply.

  “Didn’t you get my flowers last birthday?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. They were half-wilted by the time they arrived, of course,” was her ungrateful response. “Anyway, that’s by-the-by. I presume you’re coming home for Christmas? Caroline, George and the twins are coming, naturally.”

  Bernard smiled ruefully. Saint Caroline would always do exactly as her mother wanted. She had always been the f
avourite. Bernard was five years younger than his sister, and they’d never got on.

  “Look, Mum...” he began.

  “Mother, please! ‘Mum’ is so common.”

  Bernard sighed. “Sorry, Mother. I can’t leave my parish at this time of the year, you must understand that. I haven’t been here a year yet, and I need to get to know all my parishioners. The best time to do that is at Christmas, when most people come to church.”

  “I see,” said his mother. He could tell she wasn’t prepared to accept this excuse, however.

  “You must be allowed some time off, surely?”

  “No, Mum – er, Mother. Not at this time of the year, as I just explained. Tell you what, I’ll try and get up for a few days in the New Year. How about that?”

  “Your father will be disappointed,” she said, obviously trying a bit of emotional blackmail.

  “I’m sorry about Dad,” he said. Poor Dad, he thought. He was a dear old soul, but well and truly under Mrs Paltoquet’s thumb. “But I really can’t get away just now. Give him my best love, though.”

  Bernard hoped the conversation was now over as it was cold in the hall. The leaky radiator gave off hardly any heat and made a clanking sound every few seconds. He would have to get Gilbert in to look at it after Christmas.

  “Very well,” said his mother, defeated at last. “I’ll send your present by the next post. Merry Christmas, Bernard.”

  “And to you, Mother. Give my regards to Caroline.”

  He replaced the receiver gently, sighing with relief. That went better than he he’d expected. His mother must be mellowing in her old age.

  Now he could think about his own Christmas. Mrs Harper had already told him she wouldn’t be going anywhere. She had no family to speak of, apart from a niece. Both her parents were dead, and she was an only child. Her niece, Mandy, had just got married and was living in Norfolk, but she had no intention of ‘trekking all the way out there’, as she put it. That meant she would be at home to serve him his Christmas dinner, which would be wonderful if it was up to the standard of the rest of her cooking. And he could see no reason why it shouldn’t be.