by Rosie Harris
By the time Christmas Eve came Richard remembered he had been so excited that he was sure he would never sleep. All throughout the evening he had fancied that he’d heard the bells of Santa’s sleigh jingling. It was only his mother’s warning that if he wasn’t asleep when Santa arrived then he wouldn’t leave him any presents, which had finally persuaded him to go to bed. He had been determined to stay awake and see Santa when he came but the minute his head touched the pillow he was asleep.
When he woke the next morning there it was! His stocking bulging with surprises and, when he eventually came downstairs, there were mysterious presents for one and all spread out underneath the Christmas tree. Their tradition had been not to open these until after they had eaten the roast chicken or turkey, which his mother spent all morning basting and turning so that it would be cooked to perfection. Friends and neighbours popped in for a glass of Christmas cheer, to wish them well and usually brought him a present. By the end of the day he was surrounded by new books, toys, games and new clothes. There were so many wonderful things that he found himself moving from one to the other, too excited to settle down and enjoy any of them.
The days between Christmas and New Year were spent enjoying all his new possessions. If there was any snow, then he would abandon them temporarily to go out and make a snowman or throw snowballs, or simply trundle through the magical white stuff, kicking it away from under his feet as he walked and wishing that Christmas could last forever.
George had never known that sort of Christmas, Richard thought sadly. Megan thought it was all old-fashioned nonsense; she didn’t even exchange Christmas cards. She certainly wouldn’t tolerate having streamers and lights all over their very modern home. He knew his mother still put up decorations but, much as he would have liked to do so, he never found the time to go along and help her. Megan discouraged Lucia from taking George and found countless other things that she wanted her to do, so George didn’t visit his grandmother at Christmas, although Mary always bought him a present.
This year though, if they were away, Lucia would have a chance to take George along and he wondered what the little boy would make of it all. Richard wished he could be there to see his little face. He felt guilty that he was putting his wife’s wishes before his duty to his son. He should be stronger, he told himself, and stand up to Megan.
Next year, George would be at school so he would find out for himself what Christmas was all about. He ought to discover it before then, Richard thought worriedly, otherwise the other children would tease him. Megan didn’t seem to understand that when he tried to point it out to her. In fact, she laughed derisively and told him he wasn’t playing at teacher at school and she had no time for such nonsense.
ELEVEN
Bill had one more appointment at the eye hospital before Christmas and, to his great relief, he was told that his eyes were stable at the moment. He didn’t need another injection, so they would see him again in the New Year. Mary was also relieved at some good news. The evening before, she had had a brief phone call from Megan to say that she and Richard were going to be away over Christmas. She had rung off abruptly, not giving Mary a chance to ask her where they were going or whether they were taking little George with them.
If they were not taking him, then what were they going to do with George? What would Christmas be like for the little chap without them there? She’d had a sleepless night worrying about it and now that she knew Bill was all right, she brought the subject up with him.
‘Of course they’ll be taking him with them. Probably the reason she didn’t tell you was because she knew how upset you would be because you wouldn’t be seeing him over Christmas, or seeing them come to that. It means you’ll be on your own over the holiday,’ he said, his voice registering shock.
‘Yes, that’s true,’ Mary agreed. ‘Still, I don’t mind that so much as long as I know little George is having a good time. I wonder if they’re planning to take him to Lapland to see Father Christmas and they are keeping it secret and she was afraid he might overhear if she told me?’
‘It might well have been that,’ Bill agreed.
‘I just hope he has a good time,’ Mary repeated.
‘He will. I’m sure of that. It’s the kids that make Christmas and seeing their little faces light up when they unwrap their presents.’ He sighed. ‘Seems like another world when you look back. Our boys loved Christmas and all the preparations leading up to it. I can see them now, stirring the Christmas pudding and screwing up their little eyes as they made their wish. Or sitting at the kitchen table, laboriously writing their list to Santa telling him about all the things they wanted. Whenever we were in England in December we used to take them out before Christmas to see Santa in his Grotto. While they were on his knee, he’d listen to what they wanted and then give them a little present before he sent them on their way.
‘Yes, those were magical times. Not that we were in England as often as we would have liked, but Lydia took Christmas with us and we celebrated in style no matter whether we were in the Far East, Africa or no-man’s land. She had this huge tin box and it had a big black “X” marked on it. We all knew what was inside and made sure it always came with us when we had a fresh a new posting.
‘A couple of weeks before Christmas, we’d have a family gathering and open the box. The “ooh’s” and “ah’s” as the boys rediscovered their favourite decorations for the tree echoed round the room. We had an artificial Christmas tree and this was given a place of honour in the living room. When we’d decided where it was to go, the boys took part in finding their own special trinkets to hang on it.
‘Once Christmas was over the tree was dismantled and put back in the huge tin box and securely strapped up ready for the next Christmas.’ Bill sighed. ‘Then, of course, they grew up and considered themselves to be too old for such childish celebrations. They preferred to spend Christmas partying with their peers. It was always a festive season, of course, and whenever my duties allowed it, we always all sat down to Christmas dinner together and pulled crackers and so on, even when they were grown up. That is until they left home and moved so far away that they couldn’t come home for Christmas anymore.’
Mary patted his arm. She could hear his voice shaking but she didn’t know what to say. In some ways, she thought wryly, he was better off than her. Bill didn’t live in the hope Mary had each year, that she might be invited to join Richard and Megan for the day. No, she had to think herself lucky if she caught a glimpse of little George for half an hour. This year she wasn’t even sure about that.
It was such a pity that it had been Megan and not Richard who had phoned, Mary mulled again the next morning. Richard wouldn’t have rung off so abruptly as that and she would have been able to ask for more details, to find out where they were going and if it was suitable for George. Not that there was very much she could do or say if she had doubts about their holiday. It had obviously been arranged by Megan and was cut and dried before Megan had phoned.
Ah well, Mary told herself, she must make the best of it she supposed. She’d invite Bill to come to her place for Christmas dinner. It would make it a bit festive for both of them. She’d go out shopping tomorrow and buy a small turkey and a small piece of ham to boil. She’d buy a jar of mincemeat because she still had time to make her own mince pies. She’d have to buy the Christmas pudding because it was less than a week to Christmas and far too late now to make one.
If she was going to keep all this secret from Bill for the moment, then she’d have to do the shopping on her own. She looked through her list again; it was going to be pretty heavy to carry home. Perhaps she ought to ask him to drive her.
No, she resolved, she wouldn’t do that as it would spoil the surprise. What she would do was get a taxi home.
The moment she’d had her porridge and washed up her breakfast dishes, she set off for the shops. Better to do it early before they became busy, she thought. It was a crisp bright morning but very cold. She shivered as she
set out and she suspected that there had been a frost overnight. Still, if she walked briskly she’d soon warm up.
She was so busy thinking about the purchases she planned to make that she didn’t notice the patch of ice caused by a leaking gutter or drainpipe. The next minute she was sliding, lost her balance and crashed to the ground. She felt very foolish and hoped no one had seen what happened. She took a moment to get her breath back and hoped she hadn’t torn her winter coat.
Then she tried to get up.
The searing pain in her leg brought the tears to her eyes and made her yell out as she fell back onto the ground again.
‘You all right missus?’ called out a workman passing by on his bike. He stopped, dismounted and came over to where she was lying. He laid his bike down on the ground and held out a hand to her. ‘Here, let me help you up.’
Mary shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think that I can stand,’ she said with a ghost of a smile. ‘I think I’ve broken my leg,’ she added in a rather tremulous voice. ‘I didn’t see the ice.’
‘Nasty!’ His lips pursed in a whistle. Then he turned and waved to a car that was coming along the road to stop.
‘Lady here thinks she’s broken her leg,’ he told the driver. ‘Can you help?’
The middle-aged man hesitated and then shook his head. ‘I’d better not. Might do more harm than good,’ he said in a clipped voice. ‘I’ll phone for an ambulance.’
By now, a small crowd had gathered and they were all murmuring words of sympathy or offering advice. Mary felt both annoyed by her own foolish mess and distressed by the situation she found herself in. She knew they meant well but she wished the ambulance would come and that they would all go on their way and leave her in peace.
It felt like ages before she heard the ambulance approaching. The pain in her leg was becoming more unbearable by the minute and she was shaking partly with cold and partly with shock. Once the ambulance did arrive, the paramedics quickly had her on a stretcher and transferred into the ambulance. She tried not to cry out, but the pain was so intense that she had a hard job not to do so. Before they pulled away, they made her as comfortable as possible, covered her with several blankets and gave her an injection to make the pain more bearable.
Even so, the journey to the hospital was uncomfortable and transferring her from the ambulance onto a stretcher and then into a bed. In the A&E ward it was excruciatingly painful. Before they took her for an X-ray they took down all her details and asked so many questions that she felt dizzy. She managed to retain enough of her senses not to tell them Richard’s name or address and let them believe that not only was she living on her own but that she had no relations.
‘Is there anyone at all you would like us to notify?’ she was asked.
For a wild moment, Mary thought of asking them to phone Bill. Then common sense prevailed and she shook her head. Time enough to let him know when she felt better. He would assume that, after taking him to hospital, she hadn’t been in touch because it was so near to Christmas that she wanted to catch up with things in her own life. She hoped he wouldn’t worry if she didn’t contact him for a couple of days, but knew he would understand when she eventually told him what had happened. It was Mary’s last thought after she had been taken into the theatre and before she went under the anaesthetic.
She had no idea how much time elapsed between that moment and when she woke up dazed and bewildered in the hospital recovery room. Her mouth was dry and her throat so sore that she was sure she had been sleeping with her mouth open and she felt both uneasy and guilty. She hoped she hadn’t been snoring. If only she knew where she was, she thought uneasily. She certainly wasn’t at home because the bed she was lying in was nowhere near as comfortable as her own bed at home. She wanted to get up and find out, but she felt so tired and so lethargic that she couldn’t make the effort. She closed her eyes and drifted off into a hazy state of dreamlessness that seemed to last for hours.
When she woke again her throat was even drier and she tried to call out for a drink. She felt helpless. When she moved she felt uncomfortable. She slid her hands down to see if she was lying on something hard, then stopped in shock as she encountered something encasing one of her legs.
Panic swept through her. What was wrong with her?
Before she could answer her unspoken question a nurse was bending over her, murmuring comforting words and holding a glass of water to her lips. Mary gulped thirstily, it made her cough but it cleared her throat sufficiently for her to ask, ‘Where am I? What’s happened to me?’
‘You had an accident and broke your leg. You’ve been in theatre for surgery to repair the damage. We will move you to a bed in one of the wards soon.’
With that the nurse bustled off, leaving Mary to recall the events of the day in flashback spasms, as once again she drifted in and out of consciousness.
TWELVE
The next morning Mary awoke at the time she normally did. She lay for a few moments staring round, wondering where she was. Then with a sudden burst of recall she remembered the accident, the pain, being brought into hospital. After that it was all a misty dream. Had it really happened or had it been a nightmare?
She made to sit up but the pain in her lower back and leg brought a whimper to her lips and she fell back against the pillows. Gingerly she ran her hands down her body. The left one contacted something encasing the upper part of her left leg. So she really had broken her leg. What on earth was she going to do now? How long would they keep her in hospital, she wondered, and even more importantly, what was she going to do if they sent her home? Would she be able to look after herself, get up and down stairs, shop for food? She wondered what the date was. How near it was to Christmas. She had intended on asking Bill to come to her place for his Christmas dinner. Had she asked him already? If so she must let him know that it wasn’t going to be possible.
But that meant telling him about what had happened to her and she was determined not to tell anybody. She wasn’t even going to tell Richard.
Then she remembered that Richard, Megan and little George were all going to be away at Christmas. She wouldn’t even be able to see little George’s face when he opened his present. Well, she corrected her thoughts, she would because she wouldn’t be giving it to him until after Christmas. Had they already left? She wished she could remember but then she didn’t even know what day it was, or the date.
She closed her eyes to try and concentrate, then opened them, startled when she heard someone speaking to her. A nurse was standing at her bedside waiting to check her blood pressure and take her temperature. After she had done this and given her an injection in her arm she asked, ‘Are you ready for your breakfast, Mrs Wilson?’
Without waiting for a reply, the nurse propped her up with the aid of several pillows into a partial sitting position. Mary found that the bowl of porridge, piece of toast and cup of tea revived her. They made her feel almost normal again. She felt impatient to know what was going to happen next, but when she asked the nurse gave a shrug and told her she must wait and see what the doctor said when he did his rounds later that morning.
The doctor was a middle-aged man with grey hair and a brusque manner.
‘Do you live on your own?’
‘Yes, but I am quite fit and capable,’ Mary said defensively.
‘Is there anyone at home to look after you?’ he questioned.
‘No, but if I am able to walk then I can look after myself,’ Mary told him.
‘I’ll see how you are tomorrow and then try and get a package put in place.’
‘A package?’
‘Someone to help you dress and prepare breakfast for you,’ he told her.
‘I don’t want that. I can’t stand anyone interfering in my kitchen,’ she told him.
He stared at her as if he thought she was deranged then turned away and spoke to the nurse who was accompanying him. His voice was so quiet that Mary couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she knew from the way
they were both looking at her that they were talking about her and she didn’t like it. She felt tears of frustration rising to her eyes and she swallowed quickly. If she gave way like that they certainly would think she was incapable of managing, she thought angrily.
‘Are you sure you haven’t a neighbour who could help you for a couple of weeks?’ the nurse asked after the doctor had gone.
Mary shook her head. Her neighbours were all much younger than her and went out to work so apart from ‘good morning’ she hadn’t chatted to any of them. She had never felt the need to do so.
‘You’ve no children who could help?’ the nurse persisted.
‘I have a son but he and his family are away on holiday and I have no idea when they will be back,’ Mary told her. ‘Anyway, my daughter-in-law has a very demanding job.’
‘And no other friends who could help or you could go and stay with for a couple of weeks?’ the nurse persisted.
‘I keep telling you, I can look after myself,’ Mary stated firmly.
‘A very independent lady, I can see that,’ the nurse said with a frosty smile.
Mary said nothing. She closed her eyes and lay back against the pillows. The argument with the doctor and now with the nurse had left her exhausted and she wasn’t at all convinced that they believed her.
Later in the morning, a youngish woman in a tailored black coat and carrying a notebook and pen came to her bedside and introduced herself as Pat. She said she wanted to take down details of Mary’s circumstances and see what they could do to help her. She asked if she had her house keys with her and, if so, to let her have them and she would go and check if there were any aids she might need when she got home.