Autumn and Other Months
Page 4
November – Lentil Soup
Linda looked out of the window, for perhaps the third time in five minutes. Her suburban street was, as usual, deserted. Then she looked at her watch, and swore softly. Where was he? The last time she had seen her son, John, was on Saturday. “No problem, mum,” he had said, “I’ll be back for Gran’s birthday bash!” He had gone off, stopping once to wave, and had then disappeared round the corner. Down to London again, to busk with his pals. She never asked for details. Probably best not knowing.
She looked at her watch again. John had given her the watch for her birthday. He must have noticed her looking at watches in catalogues and shops .He was a good boy. It was the kind of thing his father would have done. Not that John and his father had ever met. Nearly 4 o’clock. The meal was booked for seven, that gave him three hours to shower and change and get to the hotel. She had a pot of soup waiting for him. Lentil, his favourite. And his suit was laid out waiting. Just needed him.
She thought about housework to distract herself. But the house was tidied and cleaned like an operating theatre. It was only messy and noisy when he wasn’t here. She missed him.
She started to worry. She turned on the radio to listen for traffic updates. He insisted on hitching everywhere. She tried to tell him how dangerous it was – but he wouldn’t be told. Maybe he was stuck somewhere, waiting for a lift. Or had been in a crash. Or mugged. She pictured him lying, bleeding, on a motorway verge. She had been in a state of constant worry since he was born. Just the details changed.
Maybe her mother was right, and she had spoiled him? No. Her mother was the last person to ask about child rearing! She had talked Linda out of so many adventures when she was young! Like when her pals went round Europe interrailing. Or when she had been offered a job in London. London! Her mother said it like a swear word. She had tried to bring up John differently – showering him with praise and supporting him in everything he tried. He was now a confident 19 year old. Maybe he was too confident. He thought the world was filled with nice people. Linda knew from bitter experience this was not strictly true.
A lorry appeared around the corner and stopped with a hiss of airbrakes outside their house. A slim figure clambered out and turned and waved. It was John. A few seconds later, he arrived at the door, complete with rucksack and guitar. “Hi, Mum! Sorry, I’m late. Terrible road works all the way! Is that lentil soup! I’m starving. I told Rab – the lorry driver – I was hurrying back for my gran’s birthday – that’s why he dropped me at the door. And he gave me this for her.” John produced a bottle of champagne from his rucksack. “Is the soup hot?”
December - Santa of Sauciehall Street
The retired policeman, the family patriarch, sat back in his chair at the head of the table. He coughed politely to attract everyone’s attention and then started. “This has been a great Christmas dinner. As a policeman, I used to hate this time of year. It was always our busiest time. There would be shoplifters – amateurs for the most part, trying to give their families a good Christmas – then there were the pickpockets in the crowds, the fake goods …” He raised his hand in emphasis and mock horror at the number of criminals that had abounded. “A nightmare! Did you ever hear the tale of the Santa of Sauchiehall Street?” The question was rhetorical. A story was coming. We all shook our heads, sipped our drinks and sat back.
“I was just a young constable then. Back then, Sauchiehall Street and Buchanan Street were the places for shopping. No internet then! Up Sauchiehall Street and along Buchanan Street. If you couldn’t get it there you didn’t need it! Hardly anyone had cars – they would come in by bus, train, tram and the subway. Rivers of shoppers flowing along the pavements. All the men with hats, all the women with big shopping bags.” He stopped briefly to reflect on a lost past.
He continued “The big thing was the Santa’s Grottos. All the big shops had them. You had to take your kids to them – even though they were an over-priced con! Pay your money, queue for an hour watching a mechanical elf and end up with a wrapped up selection box!
Some of our local villains noticed this and thought “If we were swindling people like that, they’d lock us up!” Then, one of them noticed that the old Café Emporia on Sauchiehall Street had closed down and was empty.
An opportunity! Overnight, they broke in, replaced the lock and gave the place a much needed scrub. Then they put up some lights and tinsel and baubles. An instant grotto! They rounded up some kids and dressed them up as elves and the most presentable of the gang put on a red suit and white beard. They were in business!
2/- they charged. The adults got a mince pie while they were queuing. The kids got a Milky Way, a word with Santa and pink or blue wrapped present.
It was a great success. Their prices were cheaper and the presents better than the grottos of the near-by department stores. Above all, the cheek of the elves became famous. They would select someone in the queue – someone tall or fat or bald and tease them mercilessly for the amusement of the rest of the queue. “Hey baldy! You are overdue a head polish!” “Hey, big man, what’s the weather like up there?” I can only remember the politer ones! They did it so well that the victims usually laughed along too.
Word spread. Every day the queues got longer. Business was booming!
The streets were so busy that it took a week or so for the local shops to notice this interloper and inform the authorities. So, eventually, the long arm of the law descended! We arrived mob-handed, as if it was a New Year’s Day Old Firm game! A fleet of police cars and a couple of black marias drew up and the place was closed down. Of course, the customers weren’t best pleased. Some of them had been waiting for half an hour. I got my ear battered with an umbrella by an old wifie shouting “Think yer a big man! Arresting a wee elf!” Santa and his elves were handcuffed, huckled into the vans and driven away.
When the case came to trial, the court was packed in anticipation. The reporters were running a sweep on the sentence. 6 months was favourite. I was there as an arresting officer. Santa was charged with breaking and entering a lockfast premises. Sadly he didn’t appear in costume and the elves, hair smoothed and looking like angels, weren’t called as witnesses. I had been looking forward to their opinions on the sheriff.
After he heard all the evidence, the sheriff gave the only possible verdict. “Guilty!” Then the sentence. The court all leaned forward in anticipation. Santa looked worried. “You replaced the lock with a far superior one. You gave the premises a much needed cleaning. You provided an excellent service to your customers. My sentence is that you will pay the landlord two weeks rent. The confiscated presents will be distributed among the children in the city hospitals. Have a good Christmas, and I hope I have a good New Year and don’t see you lot!””