by Mishana Khot
Merry Christmas, Mr. Brown
© 2015 Mishana Khot
All rights reserved.
© 2015 Cover image by Mihir Shahani
Contents
Christmas is Here!
Cake Making Day
Decorations Evening
Christmas Carols in the Square
Christmas Eve
The Harold Brown Special
Faith Springer-Brown’s Christmas Roast Chicken
For my mother, who loved Christmas
Christmas is Here!
Harold Brown was cosily tucked into bed, drifting in and out of sleep, when it occurred to him that something wasn’t quite right. He raised his head a few inches so he could look out of his window. Yesterday, on his way home from office, he’d thought he’d seen tiny snowflakes drifting in the wind – the first of the season – and now it appeared that it had snowed all night. Finally. It didn’t feel like Christmas until it snowed, and this year, it was particularly important to him. He’d been watching the skies anxiously for weeks now, so this morning, only four days away from Christmas, he was relieved and delighted.
The snow fell in soft drifts, blanketing the town of Limberlost and muffling all the usual morning sounds. The school bus that rattled down his lane every morning sounded like a distant rumble now. The boisterous yells of the children on their way to school barely carried through the window, and he hadn’t even heard the clinking of the milkman’s bottles. Harold drew the quilt up around his neck and promptly dozed off with a smile on his face.
It was December, the best month of the year.
There are some people for whom Christmas is more than a holiday. With them, Christmas always arrives early. They begin to feel it tingling in their bones from the beginning of December. They announce that they can smell it in the air. The nostalgia and the romance of the season fills them with a strange elation. They wait with eager hands to put up their tree, and they dilly-dally when it comes to taking it down. They’re sentimental about childhood memories of the season, these soft hearted souls, and Harold Brown was one of these people.
He often wondered at his excitement. All around, he saw families meeting to share meals, friends exchanging presents. He had no friends or family to visit, so Christmas meant none of those things to him. He appreciated the familiarity of rituals, and this season was certainly full of them. But there was more to it than that. He loved every bright and beautiful tree. He loved every home that put lights in their window. He loved seeing rows of Christmas treats at his grocery store. He loved the cold snow and the bare branches outside, and the warm sweetness inside his own home. There was no rational explanation for his excitement. He just loved Christmas. In fact, one could say he was a Christmas enthusiast.
Harold had an enviable collection of hand-blown glass baubles that he’d amassed over the years. He collected limited editions of Christmas stamps in a book that he kept very safe. He had one Christmas sweater with a tree on it, and one sweater with a reindeer face on it. He had a special set of plates and cutlery that he used on Christmas Day, and a red and white snowflake-pattern tablecloth that he laid out for the Christmas month every year. Harold Brown was equipped for a party, even though he had spent every Christmas alone for many years now.
But this Christmas was going to be different.
Earlier in the year, Harold Brown had married Faith Springer, and it was their first Christmas together. This is why Harold had been hoping for snow; to make it perfect.
Harold reached his hand out, half-asleep, patting around on the quilt to find his wife’s hand, and instead found the furry paws of Thomas Cat. Faith’s hand came patting over as well, and Harold caught hold of it, warm and soft in his. He stretched his feet out, curling his toes till they cracked in a most satisfactory manner. Everyone he loved in the world was right next to him, under the same quilt, enjoying the same morning. And Christmas was only four days away.
Four days!
Harold sat up suddenly and began a series of complicated calculations on his fingers. He was wide awake now.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Faith Springer-Brown turned to her husband and smothered a yawn.
Harold paused for a minute. They had been married for six months now, and he still hadn’t gotten used to waking up to her. She wore her pretty brown hair loose when she slept, and although it tickled his nose sometimes, he liked seeing her curls on the pillow next to him. Then the panic returned and he clutched his quilt.
“I haven’t started on the Christmas Cake yet!”
He was rather upset with himself for forgetting. He’d been floating along, buying potted plants and working in the garden with Faith, and walking to work together, and buying new furniture together, and he had completely forgotten about what he was supposed to do. It was a good thing he’d at least remembered to soak the fruit in rum.
“That’s alright, darling. We still have four days left.” Faith was always comfortable about these things, and it calmed him a little too. “We’ll make our grocery list today, shall we? Then we can get started immediately.”
Harold was relieved. Lists always made him feel better. He nodded and kissed her hand. “Will you have some tea, dear? I’ll make it.”
She smiled her gratitude and turned away to nestle into the pillows. Harold rose from the large double bed that had taken the place of the narrow single one he’d had for years. The room seemed smaller once it had been placed here, and he had to sidle around it to get to the bathroom.
When he lived alone, Harold had maintained an austere bathroom. All he needed was a toothbrush and toothpaste, his shaving brush and razor, and a small dish of soap. Now, the basin had quite a few more bottles and tubes, all floral smelling and pastel-hued, and an extremely frivolous pink dressing gown hung on the back of the door. Mrs. Springer-Brown looked very fetching in the dressing gown, but its vivid colour always drew a second, slightly shocked glance from Mr. Brown. Until they got married, he’d only seen her in office-appropriate blacks, browns and greys.
Harold dressed for office and went to start on the tea and the toast, enjoying a few moments of quiet time to put things straight in the kitchen. He took a quick glance at the cupboard to check if he had enough flour and sugar for the cake, and shook his head at his own inefficiency. Now that he thought about it, he had so much to do. There was the cake to be made. The tree to be put up. The red sweater to be shaken out and aired. Harold began to feel his anxiety mounting. Four days!
Thomas Cat came wandering in, having completed his morning cuddles with Faith. He did a perfunctory figure-8 around Harold’s legs and then looked up expectantly, ready for breakfast. Harold served him a bowl and watched him fondly as he ate, growly purrs interrupted by crunching sounds.
Thomas Cat had been grumpy at having his place usurped at first, but Harold was beginning to suspect that the ungrateful creature had since transferred his loyalties to the newcomer. These days, on cold evenings when Harold and Faith sat together after dinner, reading or knitting (Faith, not Harold), Thomas Cat would clamber up onto Faith’s lap and sit there, blinking innocently. Harold wasn’t sure he appreciated this change, but as he’d already promised that what was his was also hers, he assumed he mustn’t complain.
The kettle whistled, and Harold poured the hot water into the bone china teapot that stood by, awaiting deployment. Faith had offered to bring her electric kettle with her when she moved in, but Harold responded with a shocked “My dear!” so she bit her lip and let it go. The tea tasted better, she agreed, when it was brewed in a teapot for a while, but it was so inconvenient when one was in a hu
rry. Harold’s hands paused over the frying pan as he remembered the discussion that had followed. He tried to explain that one wouldn’t need to be in a hurry if one simply planned one’s day better, but for some reason, this hadn’t gone down too well with Mrs. Springer-Brown. One of the early lessons he’d learned in his marriage was that it was best not to offer Faith advice on how to become more efficient in her daily life. She told him she had managed all those years before he came along, which was true and he appreciated the sense of that. It was just easier…
But Harold didn’t have time to complete his thought. Faith Springer-Brown entered the small kitchen, surrounded by the delicate rose scent that followed her everywhere. She came over and hugged Harold; he adroitly moved the handle of the hot frying pan away with one hand and put the other around her. When she released him, Harold’s face was pleased and pink. Faith picked Thomas Cat up to squeeze him again, and when she set him down, his face was pleased too, although still marmalade.
Harold had been surprised to find that Faith liked to linger over her tea in her dressing gown and slippers. He always dressed before breakfast, ever since childhood, and it had never occurred to him that there was a different way of doing things. But he had to admit he enjoyed looking up from the dry finance and business section and seeing her there with her hair still curling over her shoulders, looking as pretty as a flower, while she made sandwiches for their lunch.
Harold loved Faith very much and he was pleased to think that she would be there when he woke up every morning. He liked spending his evenings with her, and she never talked when it was time to be quiet. It was nice to have someone to make him chicken broth when he was ill, and someone to laugh at the amusing joke he’d thought of on the way home. But apart from the comforts and emotional benefits their marriage brought to him, his carefully analytical mind found that it was also a highly efficient system. There were more responsibilities, but now he had someone to share them with.
While she dressed after breakfast, Harold cleared the remains of their eggs and toast and laid out the dinner plates for the evening. When she was ready, they left together for the newspaper office where they’d met and continued to work. In the evening, Harold waited for Faith to finish her goodbyes so that they could walk home together. She cooked dinner for them while he sat at the dining table, talking to her or helping with shelling peas or chopping onions. After dinner, they both enjoyed two hours of companionable silence during which they read, wrote letters or pursued a peaceful hobby. He took care of her and she took care of him, and together they took care of Thomas Cat, and nobody was left out.
Cake Making Day
Limberlost in December was charming. As the calendar inched towards Christmas, anticipation grew heavy in the air. The fragrance of cinnamon and pine and brandy and cake spilled out from the bakeries and sweet shops that lined the street. Strings of twinkling lights criss-crossed above the street, casting a glow of enchantment upon otherwise dreary streets. The dull greys and blacks of winter were replaced by cheerful reds and bright greens. Harold and Faith crunched over the snow in a brisk walk to work, chins tucked into their scarves and hands buried in pockets.
“Now darling,” Faith’s nose was shiny in the cold. “What do you like to do for Christmas? Do you make just the cake? Or should we buy ingredients for anything else?”
“I like to make just the cake.” He looked at her unsurely, not sure if he ought to invite her to join him, or more troubling still, entirely hand over the cake-making duties to her. She was his wife now, but he always did it himself.
Faith laughed. “That’s fine. You go ahead and make it. I’m not very good at cakes anyway. But if you like, I can make a nice roast chicken on Christmas Day. With gravy and roast potatoes and peas and carrots.”
Harold smiled. Being married was delightful. He offered his arm to Faith to help her over a slippery patch, and they spent the rest of the walk deciding what they needed to buy that evening.
Once he got behind his desk, however, he was lost to the world. A pile of articles awaited his attention and he took his time to sharpen his pencils, reorder the pens and tidy his already immaculate desk, relishing the thought of a busy morning of doing what he loved. Faith flitted around the office, talking to friends, waiting for the tea to brew, and then brought him a cup. Although they were married, she retained her position as his assistant at the newspaper office where they had met, and still brought him his tea and typed out his work.
He smiled his thanks at Faith and took his first sip with a happy sigh. Faith settled down and began to arrange her papers. She’d moved the potted plants from her desk to the ledge of the window now, and he could see her anytime he looked up from his work, which he did often. The morning passed slowly, enjoyably.
At lunch time, Faith gave him his packet of sandwiches and went to eat with her office friends as usual. Harold was happy to be left alone to crunch his crisps as loud as he liked, and to look out of the window or read the papers as he ate. The cold streets outside were almost empty. A pale wintry sunshine shone through the glass. Today, however, Harold wasn’t looking outside the window. He had decided to use this time to decide what to buy Faith for Christmas. It was a tricky question and he didn’t even know where to begin, or whom to ask.
How does one know what another person would like? He thought he knew Faith well, but he wasn’t sure that she’d like something he chose for her. He thought that a pair of warm fur-lined slippers would be lovely – it was a good practical gift that would protect her feet from the cold. But he remembered a conversation he’d had with Faith a week ago when she was buying a Christmas present for Bessie, her friend in office.
Harold had accompanied her to the stores, and was carrying the shopping bags, trying, largely unsuccessfully, to navigate the crowds without having to make physical contact with anyone. Faith chatted with him and idly stopped to examine items from around the store. She was keen on buying Bessie an utterly useless trinket from the jewellery counter, and Harold didn’t see the point of it.
“Why don’t you buy her something more useful? Like a pair of lovely warm fur-lined slippers?”
“Oh, Harold! Nobody wants something ‘useful’ for a present!”
This was new information for Harold. Every year he bought a fine new collar for Thomas Cat and wrapped it neatly to place under the tree. His annual shopping spree of three new shirts, two pairs of trousers, and a few sets of socks were also set under the tree, and that was all the experience he had of buying presents. He hadn’t considered buying something that was not useful as a present. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever bought something that wasn’t useful.
Harold slowly folded his sandwich papers and the empty crisps packet. It would have to be something different. While he would truly appreciate a pair of warm fur-lined slippers for Christmas, he knew he’d need to find something more special for Faith.
By the time evening came around, Harold was eager to leave. Cake Making Day often stretched late into the night, especially if Harold was icing it with marzipan, which he usually did. The expectation of an uncharacteristically late night made Harold feel festive and happy, but he was anxious to start. He walked back with Faith, matching his long strides to her shorter steps, and ate his dinner with her rather quickly. They washed the dishes, put away the food and wiped the table, and then finally it was time.
Harold offered Faith a snifter of brandy and poured one for himself. She took hers into the living room so she could read. The kitchen was his. He turned the oven on so that it would heat up nicely in anticipation of the cake. The dining table was bare, except for the salt and pepper shakers. Harold had always kept a modest kitchen with just the gadgets he needed. When Faith moved in, she brought with her an assortment of kitchen tools and gadgets, but there was plenty of space and it still looked neat and tidy. She had also brought her small collection of refrigerator magnets; souvenirs from places she’d travelled to. There were only a few, and she’d always wanted to add to
them.
Harold took a small sip of his brandy, paused for a moment to enjoy the warmth in his belly, and then began to systematically assemble the ingredients for his cake. He opened the jar of soaked fruit and smelled it, but pulled his nose away in a hurry.
“Ooomf…that’s a strong smell! Eh, Thomas Cat? Do you want a sniff then?”
Thomas Cat blinked at him and looked away with a dignified air. Thomas Cat wasn’t sure how to handle Harold when he was light-hearted and playful, because it was so rare. He also didn’t like it when Faith and Harold were in different rooms, because now he had to keep getting up to check up on each one separately. Faith was wrapped in a cosy shawl, her feet up on a small stool. She was deeply engrossed in her book, and Thomas Cat liked how peaceful the room was. However, Harold was making some interesting movements in the kitchen, so he decided he would spend some time supervising the cake-making.
Harold dusted some flour over the rum-soaked fruit, and plunged his hands in to toss everything around. He chuckled to himself. If there was one thing he really enjoyed about Cake Making Day, it was this – rolling up his sleeves and getting his hands dirty. Harold used more or less the same ingredients as everyone else, but every year, he tweaked it just a little, and added something new to it, until it was his own private recipe. He secretly called it the Harold Brown Special, but he had never ever said this out aloud to a living soul, not even to Thomas Cat.
He cracked eggs, expertly separating the yolk from the white with one hand. He whisked sugar and melted butter, splashed in some milk, meticulously measured out drops of essence. The soaked fruit went in, turning the cake mix from a smooth beige to a deliciously lumpy pale brown. By the time Harold finished scooping the cake mixture into the usual parchment-lined tin, his arms were aching from all the mixing, but he was happy. At some point, Faith had come in, switched on the radio to play soft Christmassy songs, and kissed him good night, but he didn’t remember.