by Mishana Khot
Harold placed the cake in the oven, adjusted the knobs just so, and had finished cleaning the kitchen thoroughly when a rumble in his belly reminded him that he’d eaten dinner hours ago. He didn’t usually eat so late at night, but today would be an exception. He toasted a slice of bread and placed a thin slice of cheddar on it to melt while the pan was still hot. A glass of warm milk would wash it down nicely, he thought. As he stood at the window eating his simple snack, Harold took stock of his life.
The house was silent, filling slowly with the sweet and spicy aroma of the cake baking in the oven. His cheese was perfectly melted and the bread was toasted just right. Faith was asleep upstairs. Thomas Cat drowsed on the chair nearby. Outside, the gentle drift of snowflakes against the window made the world look like a Christmas card.
Harold wasn’t one to pray often. But this evening he sent up a silent thank you to the fates, for placing him where he stood today.
Decorations Evening
Thomas Cat sat decorously on the arm of the sofa, his paws tucked neatly under his chest, watching the proceedings of Decorations Evening from under half-shut lids. Outside, darkness had fallen early and the streets had the hushed winter look to them. Inside the Springer-Brown house however, there was rather a lot of activity.
Every year, Mr. Brown poured himself a glass of mulled wine, fiddled with the radio to find Christmas carols, and made an evening out of putting up his ornaments. Mr. Brown had a large collection of decorations, acquired over years of rather indulgent shopping. He liked to put them all up, and even had a miniature Christmas tree for his bathroom window, so that he could look at it while he was brushing his teeth.
Thomas Cat had borne witness to Decorations Evening ever since he’d been a small, rambunctious kitten. There had been that year when he darted between the legs of the ladder, trying to grab the swinging strings of lights with his paws. Mr. Brown still had a scar just above his eyebrow from that day, but they both preferred not to think about it.
This year of course, Mr. and Mrs. Brown would decorate their home together for the first time. Mr. Brown had the usual box of decorations, and Faith had a large wicker basket full of her most precious Christmas ornaments, even some that she’d made as a little girl. There was the glittering snowflake that her young niece had made for her. This was a bauble made from the Christmas card she received from a friend who had moved all the way to Australia. Here was a clay ornament shaped like a gingerbread teddy bear that her brother had made for her when they were children. She unpacked each with delight, showing them to Mr. Brown and explaining the significance of each. Mr. Brown felt privileged to learn about these small secrets and memories from Mrs. Brown’s childhood, and if he worried that they’d have too many decorations for his modest home, he kept it to himself.
They stood the tree up, laid out the lights on the floor to untangle them, and unwrapped the baubles together. Thomas Cat watched with flickering interest as the strings of lights danced this year too. It was almost too much for him when the baubles fell out of their newspaper wrappings and bounced all over the floor, but he remembered he wasn’t a kitten any longer and pointed his pink nose in the opposite direction.
The room was warm and well-heated, and the aroma from the spiced wine filled the air around them. Refrains from one of Mr. Brown’s favourite carols floated from the radio, and Mrs. Springer-Brown sang along softly while Harold listened with pleasure.
“It’s beautiful to hear you sing, my dear. Your voice is well-suited to the festive nature of these songs.”
Faith looked up at him, her face reflecting the yellow twinkling lights she held in her hands. “If you like this, darling, you’ll love the Christmas Carols Concert at the Square. Have you ever been to it? I always go in the days leading up to Christmas.”
The local children usually formed a group and performed a small concert in the middle of town on Christmas Eve. Faith went every year, but going out in the cold night air and stomping around in the snow and slush to hear a few carols had never seemed like an attractive prospect to Harold.
“But the concert isn’t until Christmas Eve.”
“I know, but they practise every day until then. There are plenty of people who go out to watch them after dinner.”
Harold was perplexed. “Who on earth would want to watch people practise something? The intention of the rehearsal is to be perfect when we go to watch them. Besides, what if we catch cold? Or get our feet wet?”
Faith pooh-poohed this and turned to hook the lights on the tree.
Harold frowned at the back of her head. He opened his mouth to lecture her about the possibilities of catching a nasty cold through wet boots, but she’d already laughed and was humming along to the radio.
“Are you going to the carollers tonight then?” Harold asked tentatively. On the cold evenings leading up to Christmas, he usually drew his chair up under the tree and read an edifying book until he fell asleep.
“Yes, and do come with me, darling! You’ve been living here all these years and never been to see them, and they’re such lovely children.”
Harold looked into his wife’s beautiful brown eyes and consigned the edifying book to the flames. He nodded at her. She beamed at him. He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her. Her face shone. He felt happy enough to hum a small fragment of one of the carols. The room felt full of their love and happiness.
And then it was time to put the star at the top of the tree.
Harold lovingly unpacked the big star that had captured his heart at the Christmas Market ten years ago. He’d been walking down the street, trying to avoid the crowds, when he saw the star hanging in one of the stalls nearby. It was made with pale sticks of cane tied together with gold string and covered in plain white paper. It stood out from the other red and green velvet ornaments with their glitter and bright colours, and Harold liked how it was so old-fashioned and simple. He turned to show it to Faith, only to find her holding out a lopsided angel with sparkly wings and a shiny gold dress.
“Look darling, this is what I made as a little girl. With my Granny. What a precious memory! And you know, I’ve barely had to make any repairs at all.”
Harold smiled at it and took it gingerly, laying his star aside for a minute. One eye was glued on higher than the other. It gave the angel an oddly manic look. “How old were you when you made this?” Judging by the lack of hand-to-eye coordination, his estimate would have been about seven years of age.
“Ooh, let me see….” Faith clasped her hands and looked upward at the ceiling. “About ten or eleven, I think. Isn’t she charming? Look at those little pink cheeks! I always have her at the top of my tree.”
Harold didn’t want to upset her, not while they were having such a lovely evening, but after all, tradition was tradition. “It’s certainly charming, and I’ll put it just under the star.” He lifted his star carefully and showed it to Faith.
“That can’t go on top of the tree! It looks like its seen better times. Better if my angel goes up there.” Faith laughed merrily at Harold and stood up.
“No!” The force of Harold’s protest surprised him, and he pressed his lips shut.
Faith, startled, stared at him. “Harold?”
“My dear, the star has always been at the top of the tree. I’ve had it for ten years now.”
“It certainly looks like that, my darling. Don’t you think it’s time for something new?”
“Maybe. But the angel isn’t new.” Harold felt silly, childish even, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the angel on top of his tree.
Faith narrowed her eyes. “You’re right. She’s not new, but she’s got sentimental value to me.”
“And the star is a tradition for me, dear. You know I don’t like change.”
“I know that only too well, but it’s a tradition for me too. To have Angelina at the top of the tree.”
“But she’s …..” Harold stopped here. He felt like something heavy was pressing down on top of him.
This was why he didn’t talk to people – it made him anxious. Faith prompted him with a raised eyebrow and before he could decide how to say what he wanted, he’d already blurted it out.
“She won’t be suitable. Not like the star. She’s…ugly.”
Faith gasped, and Harold scrambled to correct himself. “I mean, she’s just… badly made.” As soon as he said it, he knew he shouldn’t have.
“Badly made?” Her voice was hurt. “You do realize I was ten years old when I made her?”
“Yes, yes!” This was his time to make amends. “And what a skilled little girl you were. All I’m saying is, I couldn’t bear looking up and seeing her every day.”
The warm cinnamon-scented air around them began to grow cold. All Harold wanted was to go upstairs and lie down. He couldn’t tell whether Faith was angry or hurt, but maybe she simply didn’t understand that the tree would look better with the star at the top.
“Here, let me show you how it’ll look.” He took the star and hurried to the top of the ladder, balancing the star atop the tree. He turned around, but she wasn’t looking up at him.
“It looks fine, Harold.” She didn’t look directly into his eyes as she usually did. He was beginning to recognise this as a sign that she wasn’t happy. “But I wish you’d think about my feelings a little more. Instead of wanting to do something just because it’s tradition.”
She turned away and began fiddling with the fairy lights, her back rigid and her silence overpowering. Harold began to feel foolish, perched at the top of the ladder, and climbed down slowly. He didn’t want to think of himself as insensitive. He’d been used to doing things his own way for years, and he knew things would change, now that he was married. But the angel?? He opened his mouth, and no words came out.
Faith drew a deep breath and broke the silence. “Harold. I’m going to go out now to see the carollers. I think I’ll go alone, if you don’t mind. I’d like some time by myself.” She didn’t look at him as she walked out.
Was it really that easy? Harold was astonished. You merely told the other person you wanted to spend some time alone? And it wasn’t hurtful or upsetting to them?
Harold had caught himself sometimes wondering if he’d ever be able to spend a few minutes alone again. He always felt guilty at the thought, but it seemed like Faith was in every room he entered. If he left her in the living room and went into the kitchen, she’d come in a little while later to make tea and have a chat. If he went upstairs to the bedroom, she’d remember that she had some sewing to do in the chair opposite him. He liked knowing she was in the house – it made him feel warm and cosy to know she was nearby – but he wouldn’t have minded a little time to be alone with this thoughts. He’d never considered asking for time for himself though. It seemed like the one of those things that would appear rude.
Faith came out of the bedroom with her scarf on. She buckled her boots and turned to him. “Your dinner’s in the oven. I’ll be back a little late, so don’t wait up for me.”
Christmas Carols in the Square
Harold wasn’t sure what to do the next morning. He’d eaten dinner alone and gone to bed the previous night, lying awake until Faith came home. She went about her bedtime rituals quietly, sending the scent of her rose face cream into the air around them. She usually climbed into bed and put her cold hands into his and he always rubbed them to warm them, but tonight, she didn’t do this. Instead, she positioned herself as far on her side of the bed as possible, facing away from him, without even kissing him good night. Harold lay still, pretending to be asleep, grateful for the cover of the darkness, until he finally fell asleep too.
The morning however, was a different story. He would have to face her. It was usually Harold trying to avoid talking to someone, so this was a new feeling for him. How was he supposed to behave with a person who clearly didn’t want to talk to him? They lived in the same house and worked in the same office. Were they going to avoid talking to each other completely? Harold brushed his teeth for an extra-long time and then couldn’t delay it any longer. He dressed in silence and went downstairs to make the tea, and Thomas Cat followed.
Harold fried eggs and bacon and popped toast, but his actions were purely mechanical. His entire being concentrated on the sounds from upstairs. Now she was brushing her teeth. He could hear water gurgling down the pipes that went by outside the kitchen. Now she was walking about in the bedroom. The floorboards above him creaked. Now all was silent.
Then a sound on the stairs, and Faith was in the kitchen. Harold focused intently on buttering the toast.
“Good morning.”
Harold looked up in surprise, but Faith wasn’t looking at him. She poured herself her cup of tea and settled down at the table.
Were they talking again? “Good morning, dear! Are you ready for breakfast?” His voice sounded too hearty.
Faith merely glanced up at him and nodded, delving back into the pile of letters she was perusing. So they weren’t talking after all. But he was just being honest. The angel was ugly, and he had told the truth. Was that wrong?
Harold served breakfast hastily and sat down to eat, erecting a protective wall with his newspaper. Behind it, his mind raced. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. How does one fix this?
Faith began to make sandwiches. Harold coughed and fidgeted, trying to take a peek at the number of slices of bread she was buttering. If she was angry with him, did she still make sandwiches for him? Should he make his own? He didn’t want to discover at lunch time that he should have made his own sandwiches. But it seemed as though the rules allowed her to make sandwiches while remaining angry.
Harold wandered about the house while Faith dressed for work. The living room was still scattered with decorations from the previous evening. He hadn’t had the heart to finish it once she’d left, and had sat amidst the baubles and glitter, drinking his wine and even pouring himself a second. Now the room just looked untidy and incomplete. Harold felt off-balance, incomplete. He didn’t like this.
Faith came downstairs and silently picked up the lunch, wrapping her scarf tighter around her. Harold took that as his cue and pulled on his coat himself. He felt as though he ought to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Everything that came to mind sounded trite.
The walk was a quiet one, rather more out of necessity than preference, but enough to make both feel uncomfortable with the silence. It had snowed all night and was now a clear day with sharp, cold air, but it took concentration to walk carefully. Harold wished things were normal between them because he’d decided they ought to buy a small car, and he wanted to ask Faith if she’d like that. But she walked briskly along beside him, her collar pulled so high that he could barely see her face. She didn’t take his elbow for the slippery spots. Tension hung in the air between them. He couldn’t ask her anything.
At office, both of them tore off their scarves and coats and retired with relief behind the sanctuary of their own desks. She came up and handed him his tea and his lunch packet without a smile. Harold looked up later in the day to see that she’d placed the potted plants back on her desk so he couldn’t see her. Well, that was just too much! How long would this go on for?
At lunch, the sandwiches were as perfect as Faith always made them. He poked his finger between the slices of his sandwich to check if Faith had put in his pickles, and she had. She had even made sure she got him his favourite crisps – Salt and Vinegar. Faith didn’t like this flavour, finding it too strong for her own taste and she didn’t understand how he enjoyed it. But he did, and so she always remembered. Even, apparently, when she was upset with him.
That small packet of crisps touched Harold. Even if it wasn’t important to her, she made it a point to get him what he liked, to make him feel loved. It was only a packet of crisps, but it spoke volumes to him. It struck him that he wasn’t doing the same for her.
He didn’t like the angel, but if it was special to her, then it should be important to him. That’
s how it worked.
Harold’s sandwich grew dry on the table while he considered this. It was a fairly momentous revelation and he felt the need to do something dramatic to acknowledge it. He decided to go for a walk, in the middle of the day. Many things had changed in Harold’s life in the last year, ever since the circus had come to town, which was also the last time he’d left office in the middle of the day. That was the day the tiger had escaped. In fact, he thought, as he put his coat on, I feel like walking to Limberlost Bowl. That’s a good walk.
Faith was surprised to see him going out, but she didn’t look at him. She’d been very hurt by Harold the previous evening, and wasn’t sure if she ought to say something to him, or let it pass. It was difficult for Faith, after being alone for so long, to live with someone and learn new ways. Harold was a good man with a kind heart, but she was worried. Would it always be like this? Both of them stuck in a well-worn, comfortable life before they grew old, not trying anything new, not doing anything exciting? All because he didn’t like change and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable?
She’d known what he was like for years now. He wasn’t going to change. Or was he? He never went out in the middle of the day, after all.
Harold plunged through the street with energy. He wanted to get to the Bowl soon, to be alone so that he could explore his thoughts. He stopped short at the sight of some of the young ones from the office walking about in the street downstairs. There were knots of them standing on the side and smoking cigarettes. Some hung about beside the hot potato stall. This was rather surprising. Did people go out for walks regularly? During office hours?
Harold shook his head in disbelief. He was discovering new things every day. He dipped his head against the cold and the wind, and started off, pacing himself to make the long walk. It was only when he’d crossed over the rim of Limberlost Bowl that the wind stopped whistling about his ears. He found a bench and sat down, brushing snow away with his gloves. The high sides of the Bowl provided a buffer against the wind and Harold drew a deep breath. He felt like he was on the edge of a big change.