The Doughnut Man

by Paul Kelly

  “Couldn’t I have some of those goodies before Maggie makes up her parcel then? No-one will ever know, will they? and my mouth’s watering something awful . . . and those mince pies is . . sorry, are just waiting down there to be eaten. THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE MADE FOR, JOSEPH” He screamed again . . (With his mind, of course, so that Maggie wouldn’t hear.) but it gave him a bad headache as his hair fell down around his angry face and if things had been different, Bertie would have gone to have a lie-down . .

  “Keep your hair on, old chap and don’t get excited. I’ll see what I can do, but you know when women make these things, they count them all. Maggie will know exactly how many she has made.”

  Bertie sucked his gums and his right eye twitched.

  “Maybe she can’t count very well, eh Joe? Maybe she’s like me and her arithmics aren’t too good, eh?”

  “Oh she can Bertie . . She can. Arithmetic and mathematics were her best subject at school.”

  Bertie scratched his head and paused to think again for a moment.

  “Yes, but it’s a long time since she was at school, isn’t it?”

  Joe laughed, without his mind and Maggie called up to him from the kitchen.

  “What’s going on up there Joe. Are you talking to yourself in that mirror, or what?”

  “Be down in a jiffy Darling,” he called out as he turned to Bertie and smiled.

  “You try telling Maggie her mathematics are rusty . . . . Better you than me, old friend,” he said and went down to dinner.

  Chapter Twenty

  Freddie was dressed in his best Sunday suit when he took the parcel to the Residence for the Senior Citizens, accompanied by five other young boys of his own age, from his class at school. Speeches were made by the Matron as the old people sat around in the gaily decorated lounge, with balloons and streamers tied to the walls and suspended from the ceiling. They had a small Christmas Tree in one corner and Christmas Cards fell over onto the mantelpiece, there were so many. The children sang their Christmas carols, accompanied by Miss Upshall on the piano, before they distributed their parcels and Maggie and Joe felt very proud as they watched their little soldier perform his noble duty to a dear old lady who sat silently in a corner. She smiled and accepted the parcel gracefully and Freddie blushed. He had chosen that particular lady because he liked her, although he couldn’t tell how or why. It was just something about her that made him approach her as she sat there on her own. He even allowed her to kiss him as he bent down to where she was sitting. . . . despite the onlookers from his class who gave him a peculiar look. Freddie gave the lady the parcel and wished her a happy Christmas, inquiring if she would come to Christmas dinner on Christmas day with the family. She was delighted to accept the invitation and they soon struck up a friendship.

  ‘God rest ye merry gentlemen . . Let nothing you dismay.”

  Hankies mopped up tears as the old folks shuffled impatiently where they sat. Some eager to get out into the garden . . well, the men mostly . . so that they could light up their pipes and after the Carol service, they all gathered in the dining room for a sherry and some of Maggie’s home-made cake. She was glad she’d made an extra-large one as there seemed to be more people there than there ever had been in previous years. Joe was relieved, but secretly a little sad that Bertie had not made an appearance . . . Not even in his invisible suit, and the afternoon went off smoothly and without incident.

  By five o’clock, the party broke up and the old people went into the lounge to watch a film show, accompanied by the particular children who had requested their company for dinner at their homes. Freddie knew that after the event of the dinner and tea on Christmas day, life would return to normal for these old people and they would go back to their mundane way of life which would be theirs until the following Christmas and he suddenly felt very grown up and mature for his ten years, wishing he could have invited more than just one old lady to his home, but he was afraid to even suggest his thoughts to Maggie after the fuss he had made about the invitation in the first place.

  For her part,. Maggie wondered as she looked around at the faces before her . . how many would be with them next Christmas. How many indeed may not be with them for the coming New Year? She remembered her own parents with nostalgia and affection and she was glad she had done her cooking for such a worthwhile cause. It was lovely to see the smiles that followed her as she walked around the room.

  “Will you take me to dinner? or will it be me . . or me . . or me?”

  The voices hurt her as she went and she wanted to take them all, if only her house was large enough. She thought of John Paul . . and if the baby sitter had remembered to put a rusk in his milk, well crushed with only a slight pinch of sugar . . . . .

  ***

  Joe had agreed to collect the ‘guest’, Miss Violet Veronica Middleton, in his Rolls on Christmas day and to take her back to the Residential Home after tea, unless she chose to stay on for supper as there was always plenty of food at Christmas and one more mouth to feed made little difference if any at all. He polished the car that morning until it gleamed in the brisk morning sunlight and he stood back to admire his handiwork, looking proudly at his efforts as he hummed the carols he had heard the night before at the Midnight Mass. As he gave the final rub to the back bumper, he noticed a tiny spot of rust on the chrome work, which he hadn’t observed before. It was well underneath where it wasn’t easily seen, but Joe was a perfectionist and the defect bothered him.

  “I must mention that to Bertie when I next see him,” he muttered into the air as he picked a speck of dust from the rear window.

  “Joe . . What time did you arrange to pick Miss Middleton up from the Home, dear? Don’t be too late, will you. Dinner will be ready by twelve o’clock.”

  Maggie bustled about her kitchen, checking that everything was just to her liking.

  “I said about l1.30 Darling. That will give us time to get her here and have a sherry or something before we sit down to dinner. Is that O.K?”

  “Yes, that’ll be fine, dear. Did you remember to put the bubbly in the ‘fridge?”

  Freddie grinned when he heard Maggie talk about champagne. After all, he had chosen a queen to come for dinner, hadn’t he The family never drank champagne unless there was some very special reason and he hoped he might be considered old enough this year to have a drop himself.

  “I’d done everything you told me to do Maggie. I’ve checked that list you gave me and ticked everything off as I did it,”

  “Thanks Joe. What time is it now, dear?”

  Joe looked at his watch. It was 11.15. He went out to the car to have a final look at his handiwork and opened the door proudly, hoping that some of the neighbours might see him drive off.

  “I’m getting as bad as Maggie,” he though aloud . . not with his mind, for there was no earthly reason at all why he should and he put the key in the ignition and turned the engine on . . and to his utter horror . . . nothing happened. He tried again . . and still nothing.

  “Oh! That’s all I need. The battery must be dead,” he gasped as he jumped out of the car to open the bonnet. He studied the battery and pulled it this way and that, thinking it might just be a speck of dust somewhere on the terminals and that the movement might clear it, but still nothing happened. The car was silent. Everything was dead. There was no way he could do anything in the short time he had left to collect Miss Middleton and he knew how disappointed Maggie and Freddie would be with him and besides, it was the holiday and the garages were closed . . . except the one in the High Road, about two miles away.

  “Happy Christmas Joe . . you old fool,” he said to himself . He thought of using John Paul’s wheelchair to run to the garage that was open and bring back a new battery in that, but he was sure Maggie wouldn’t be too pleased if he did that. Perhaps Freddie could ride down to the garage on his bike? No that could be dang
erous . . he might not be able to balance the things and if he dropped it . .there would be sparks flying and besides, time was getting on. It was now 11.25am.

  “Bertie . . Bertie . . Are you there? Bertie, I need your help,” he called out and the Voice answered him immediately.

  “I’m not in a very good mood today, dear boy. . . and my hearings isn’t at its best. What is it you want?”

  Joe explained the dilemma and looked sorrowfully at his shining car as it stood so still and useless beside him . . . and just waiting to collect their Christmas guest . . if only he could get the blessed thing to move.

  “Oh! that’s no problem, dear boy, but I do feel so weary myself . . I think I might be sickening for something. I really do . . . I think it might just be hunger . . and I doubt if I would have the strength to charge your battery for you, for all the puff I’ve got in me, but I’ll try. Stand back.”

  “Oh! I’d be most grateful for anything you can do Bertie . . before you get sick . . if you don’t mind.”

  Bertie blew onto the bonnet but nothing happened.

  “It might help if you had a little more faith in me, dear boy. Just a wee bitty, if you don’t mind and whilst you’re at it, would you open the bonnet for me please,” Bertie requested in a feeble voice and Joe did as he was told as hastily as he could.

  “Why are you so weary this morning Bertie? It’s Christmas day, you know. You should be happy,” said Joe, hoping to bring his friend out of his apathy but Bertie only grunted.

  “Are you happy, dear boy?” he asked with his eyes half closed and Joe hung his head.

  “I will be if I can get this thing started,” he said.

  Bertie started to blow again, but not before he stopped to explain his weariness to Joe.

  “I went for a visit myself to the old folk’s home . . Oh! sorry, to the Retired Senior Citizens . . . and I rather fancied a dear lady I saw there, you know. Thought she might cut-a-rug with me, if you know what I mean, but she had rather a bad attack of lumbago . .

  poor dear . . and she couldn’t dance a step. I had to do all the steps by myself in the corner of the room by the Christmas tree.”

  “The battery Bertie . . The battery PLEASE. I haven’t got much time. . . and I don’t know where you picked up that expression. It’s so . . well, NOT YOU.”

  “What expression, Joe”

  “Cut-a-rug, Bertie . . I didn’t know you used that expression when you were a boy,” he said, but Joe was getting impatient as he glanced again at his watch. It was 11,33am.

  “Don’t fuss so Dear boy. You’ll be alright, just as soon as I get my puff back.. . . and then I’ll explain what that expression means . . I picked it up at the school that day when we went to see Freddie . . remember?”

  Joe fidgeted where he stood. He didn’t want to hear any explanations of cutting-a- rug or anything else, nor of the shoes that he knew Bertie had just picked up, also that day.

  “Wish it was 10.30 . . . I should have checked the car earlier . . shouldn’t I?”

  “Alright, dear boy. Just as you wish.”

  “What? What do you mean Bertie?”

  “You wished again, dear boy . . Have you forgotten? Look at your watch.”

  Joe looked as Bertie instructed and the time was 10.30am. He was amazed.

  “Now I’ll have time to tell you about my visit to the Senior Citizen’s place and of that dear lady who dallied with my affections, won’t I?” said Bertie with a renewed smile on his face and Joe couldn’t argue. He had to listen but he kept one eye on the time as Bertie narrated his escapade.

  “We have more time now, you see Joe. Everything comes to those who wait . . and remember Rome wasn’t built in whatever it was . . I can’t remember, but don’t worry. I’ll fix everything for you. You’ll see. . . You know, I really did like that sweet little lady and not just a wee bitty either, but . . well, much more than that. She was only seventy-eight. I heard her telling her age to another chap who was sitting beside her eating what looked like a MINCE PIE,” Bertie emphasized his last words, “But he wasn’t half as handsome nor as presentable as I am.” Bertie emphasized again with a grin of delight on his face. “Young Freddie made a great fuss of her too. I wonder why he did that now? I thought he didn’t particularly like old ladies . . or old gentlemen for that matter.”

  Joe wondered about that too, but then he realized that nothing was impossible for Bertie to achieve . . . not even a mind conversion . . . or anything as trivial as making the clock go back an hour . . .

  “I think she’s the one he’s gonna invite home to dinner. At least I hope so. I’ll stay close to her Joe, if he does bring her home, but I won’t cause any trouble, I promise. I’ll stay invisible all the time and I’ll go up to the bathroom or out into the garden when I’m eating all that Christmas food that Maggie has prepared, so nobody will see the stuff flying through the air . . because . . . .” Bertie hesitated before he went on, almost regretful that he had to say any more, but he felt somewhat obliged, since Joe knew him so well. “I always like to throw stuff in the air before I catch it in my mouth . . don’t I Joe?” he said in a simpering tone and Joe thought in particular about the beer glass incident in the pub as he lifted up the car bonnet and Bertie started to blow again. His cheeks puffed out like balloons, but nothing happened.

  “I told you, I’m not at my best this morning, dear boy . . Not by a long chalk. Sort of weak and limpid like. I always go this way when I’m hungry. Try the ignition now, will you?”

  Joe jumped into the car and turned the key again, but still . . nothing happened.

  “Put you size twelve down on the accelerator pedal . . really hard . . GO ON.”

  Joe did as Bertie told him but it was still no use. The battery was dead and there seemed to be nothing they could do with it.

  “Bertie . . we will just have to get this thing moving. We don’t want to disappoint Freddie’s guest and have to send a taxi late for her, do we?” said Joe and Bertie’s eyes flashed as they suddenly came to life.

  “What? What was that you said, dear boy? Do you mean it is today that dear lady is coming to your house for dinner? I thought it was tomorrow, Boxing Day. I’m sure I heard that old chap beside her say it was Boxing Day.”

  “No Bertie . . It’s today. Christmas Day. That other old chap may have been going to someone for his dinner on Boxing Day, but Miss Middleton . . er Violet is coming to us today . . if I can get this tank to move.” Joe kicked the nearside wheel. “ I’m supposed to be picking her up at 11.30 . . at the Home.”

  Bertie coughed and did a little dance.

  “Well . . I’m thankful for that, dear boy and I’ve moved the time back for you, so you have plenty of time. Get straight back into the car . . “

  “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past fifteen minutes when you’ve been prattling on about your romantic cavorting by the Christmas Tree in the Residential Centre.”

  Joe gabbled as he opened the car door and threw himself clumsily into the seat.

  “Senior Citizens Residential Home, Joe . . if you please . . and you can move those parcels from the front passenger seat, as I’ll want to sit there myself,” said Bertie with pride as he blew out his cheeks again and puffed hard as he slammed down the bonnet. The car revved into action with a low purr of the engine, before he jumped in beside Joe and the car sped off in the direction of the Residential Home for Senior Citizens. Bertie grinned and then his eyes glazed over as he turned to Joe.

  “I haven’t had time to wash and shave Joe. I hope she won’t notice,” he said and swallowed hard, but at that moment, Joe slammed his foot down on the brakes and the car came to a screaming halt as he turned to stare into the old man’s eyes.

  “Don’t you even THINK of it my friend. Do you hear me? I want you to stay invisible all through the Christmas Holiday and into the
New Year, do you understand? TOTALLY OUT OF SIGHT AND SOUND . . . . is that clear?

  Bertie scowled, wrinkled up his nose and his mouth twitched several times as he made a funny noise with his tongue.

  “Alright, dear boy. Keep your skirt on. I’ll behave myself, but there are others I can think of who wouldn’t . . couldn’t . . mentioning no names, of course.”

  “The word is SHIRT, Bertie . . . and see that you do, or I’ll never ever speak to you again. Do you hear that Bertie? One step out of line and I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Violet Veronica Middleton was waiting excitedly when they arrived. She had her hair done and wore her favourite perfume, the one her friend Cynthia had brought her all the way from Paris, before she died . . poor dear . . and her pearls hung neatly over the neck of her powder blue woollen dress. He ear rings matched and she looked a picture . . thought Bertie as he grinned all over his face and his tongue went ten to the dozen over his lips as he dug Joe in the ribs.

  “Isn’t she just lovely, dear boy? What did I tell you?”

  Joe returned the dig, but his arm just hit the passenger seat beside him.

  “Tee-Hee . . Can’t catch me,” Joe heard a Voice call out as he smiled at Miss Middleton, but as he was about to assist her into the back seat of the car, he felt a tug at his arm and he landed out on the street.

  “Good morning Miss Middleton. It’s nice to see you again.” The Voice welcomed.

  “Oh! Please call me Violet . . everyone does, you know,” she said, smiling back at Joe but it was Bertie who strained to get back into the front seat to look round and admire the gracious lady with pride as she straightened her skirt and settled her handbag on her knee. She thought she felt a strange hand touching her left arm as she was getting into the car, but Miss Middleton was of good breeding and was far too polite to talk about things of that nature, although she gave Joe a rather peculiar look as he drove away.