by Paul Kelly
A few seconds later, Joe could feel something moving beside him and knew that his friend was up to one of his tricks again, but he couldn’t see what, until he glanced in his driving mirror and he went pale. Bertie was sitting beside Violet Veronica in the back seat, as large as life, with his legs crossed, showing a pink sock on one foot and a green one on the other, as he gazed into her eyes. Joe began to talk with his mind.
“Bertie . . I warned you.”
“No need to worry, dear boy, the lovely lady can’t see me. You can, but she can’t . . .well . . not yet and Joe . . . she’s wearing the most beautiful pearls. I wonder if I could count them?”
“BERTIE . . . Behave yourself. Leave the pearls alone.”
“But Joe . . I know I said I would behave myself and that I wouldn’t upset anyone, but surely I can just count those lovely pearls. She won’t even feel me touching them . . promise.”
“Touch them? . . . . touch them? Don’t you dare, Bertie . . Bertie get back into this front seat immediately.”
Bertie did as Joe told him but not before he had a little touch of the pearls and Violet Veronica had jumped in her seat . . just a wee bitty, of course. She coughed lightly and touched her hair as it blew slightly in the wind that came from the open window of the front passenger seat, which slowly began to close of it’s own accord when Bertie noticed the inconvenience to his guest.
***
Maggie and Freddie greeted the party as they arrived home and welcomed their guest most cordially. Maggie wished she could have remembered Violet’s face from her recent visit to the Home for Senior Citizens, but there were so many there and Freddie hadn’t told her exactly who was coming home, or what she looked like.
Joe served the sherry before dinner but Violet declined, thinking she might get under the influence if she drank anything as strong as that, but it is surprising that she didn’t think it strange when a glass of ice cold lemonade was set down on the coffee table, near where she sat, and beside the much larger Christmas tree in Maggie’s house. Bertie thought of everything as he handed her a serviette, decorated with a holly design around the edge, but it was Freddie who noticed the apparition of the table napkin, although thankfully nobody else did. Maggie was busy in the kitchen and Joe was still pouring drinks, whilst John Paul slept quietly in his cot by the fireside. Bertie rubbed his hands with delight and smacked his lips, but he did it all with his mind, you see . . since he had promised faithfully to behave. He gazed into the dear lady’s eyes, almost sitting on her lap and watched how gently and ladylike she sipped her cold lemonade and looked tenderly at John Paul, wishing she could have him on her knee.
Bertie studied her every move as she went to the dinner table and he made sure that everything was placed near her so that she wouldn’t have to reach for anything. Her table napkin; a pure white starched linen one, ironed into a square, was shook for her before it was spread, very carefully across her knee to ensure that she didn’t feel anyone touching her. . . Joe was pouring the champagne and his hands were full. Very strange, she though as she looked down at the table napkin. . . but the dinner was delicious so she ignored her intuition and got wired into the turkey.
“Me too, dear boy,” exclaimed Bertie as he held out his glass to Joe, but his request was ignored and Violet Veronica kept on eating without notice.
Bertie was having a ball and had almost forgotten that he hadn’t eaten himself, but he had promised Joe and he would keep that promise at all costs, although he would have loved to have had a turkey leg and just sat beside Violet to watch every delicate move she made.
He tore himself away for a few moments and went upstairs to sit just outside the bathroom door, on the landing. He was quite alone there and could hear everyone below him in the lounge, eating and drinking and laughing as he wondered what Violet Veronica was thinking. It couldn’t be about him as she hadn’t seen him yet and he was a little sad about that, however he closed his eyes and wished himself a full Christmas dinner with all the trimmings and of course, a large glass of champagne. No-one would disturb him for a long time, he thought as he whisked a knife and fork from his back pocket and flipped his tongue around his mouth as he tucked into his dinner. He loved turkey and he loved roast potatoes. He loved Brussel sprouts and he threw them into the air before he caught them in his mouth . . .and he particularly loved the thick gray that covered it all, with the stuffing and green peas. In fact there was nothing he didn’t love. He just enjoyed eating. Only the holly on top of his portion of Christmas pudding lay on his plate when he had finished his dinner as he sat back and belched with satisfaction. The champers helped to clear his throat as he contemplated the delight awaiting him downstairs in the form of the lovely Violet Veronica Middleton.
***
“Ah! I see you could come then. I’m glad you could. Will you be doing one of your dances for us after dinner?”
Bertie stared ahead of him and hiccuped as Freddie spoke to him. His hand shook and his champagne glass rattled against his empty dinner plate as some of the liquid spilled over onto the floor beside where he was sitting.
“You . . you can see me then?” he asked nervously as he glanced momentarily at his legs, which weren’t there.
“Why, of course I can. I saw you at the Senior Citizen’s Home too, when we called on Thursday with the food parcels. Don’t you remember. You did a funny little dance . . just by the Christmas tree in the corner.” Bertie swallowed hard and a tear came to his eye. It was the dream of his life time that had come true for him at last, as he could hear Violet Middleton laughing happily downstairs. “But you shouldn’t be sitting up her all on your own. It’s Christmas day. Come downstairs with me. I’m sure everyone would love to see you. My name’s Freddie, by the way. What’s yours?”
***
Joe nearly passed out as Bertie walked into the lounge. The old man’s face looked younger than he had ever seen him before and his hair was cut short and neatly showing his ears which were washed clean. His hair was parted too, which made him look civilized and Joe blushed at his thoughts. Bertie was dressed in an immaculate pin-striped dark blue suit with a dark burgundy tie and the cuffs of his starched, white shirt peeped out from his jacket sleeves with gold cuffs to hold them together. His shoes shone as they had never done before and his toes were completely covered. Not a hole or a crack could be seen anywhere in the leather on that particular day. But the greatest surprise of all to Joe was when Bertie opened his mouth to speak . . for his teeth were white and even and he showed a dimple on both cheeks of his smooth, tanned skin.
Miss Middleton looked up from where she sat at the dinner table with her crepe paper hat cocked at an angle on her head and smiled.
“Oh! You’ve arrived then after all,” she cooed softly. “I’m so glad you could come. Isn’t it kind of Maggie and Joe to have us for dinner.”
Maggie stood up in awe and shook Bertie’s hand as he smiled handsomely at her.
“And this is your good husband, Joe . . isn’t it?” he said, I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance Sir and to thank you for inviting Violet and myself into your lovely home.” He squinted at Freddie and winked. “May I wish you all a very happy Christmas and every happiness with good health and prosperity in the New Year.”
Freddie pulled another chair to the table and Bertie sat down with the gathering to dinner. It wasn’t considered very strange that there was already a place set for him . . and just next to Violet Veronica Middleton and Joe squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a few seconds before opening them again, unable to believe what he was seeing, but Bertie was really and truly there. There was nothing invisible about this gentleman guest. Nothing scruffy . . nothing smelly or old. He was very visible for everyone to see and perhaps for Freddie and Violet more than anyone else. They all had a very pleasant day together with tea in the afternoon before Joe got the car out to take the guests home.
&nbs
p; Bertie walked arm in arm with Violet to the car whilst Freddie followed close behind.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful Joe . . If I could have grandparents just like that.” he said proudly, but Joe was too confused to think of anything like that as he smiled and pretended that everything that had happened that Christmas day was natural . . . as Bertie sat in the back of the car, holding Violet’s hand.
“Thank you for a wonderful day Joe and please thank Maggie for us too,” said Violet, “And Freddie and John Paul also, of course,” she added politely.”
“Will you come again . . next year . . if not before. Just for a visit . . perhaps?”
Joe asked nervously as he peered into the faces of his guests in the back seat of his car.
“I’d love to come again. I really would,” said Violet . . but Bertie dropped his eyes and looked a wee bitty shy.
“I’d love that too . . but I don’t think I’ll be in England next year . . You see, I travel about a lot . . and I can never be sure where I will be from one day to the next,” he explained as the car drew up in front of the Residence for Senior Citizens and Violet and Bertie went in through the front door as Joe waved them both goodnight.
“Goodnight,” Violet called out.
“Good-bye,” whispered Bertie . . . . and the door closed quietly behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maggie sat contentedly with little John Paul on her knee when Joe arrived back at the house. “That was lovely Dear,” she said, “I’m so glad we had the two of them together to dinner and not just Violet on her own. She bucked up so completely when Bertie arrived, didn’t she? and they looked so happy together too. Shall we pick the tree now Darling? Come on Freddie, bring John Paul from his high chair, that’s a good boy. It’s present time.”
***
Joe slipped out quietly into the kitchen to be alone for a few moments to recollect his thoughts as he was totally confused. His mind was in turmoil.
“Bertie. . . Bertie are you there? Come on Bertie, don’t hide from me. I want to know what this is all about. Bertie . . Bertie. “ He called again but there was no answer and Maggie shouted from the lounge.
“Come on Joe. We don’t want to pick the tree until you’re here. Leave whatever you’re doing in there and come in here with us.”
She held John Paul on her arm as she spoke and Freddie left his musical ear plugs in his trouser pocket as Joe came into the lounge very quietly and sat down.
“Did you see Bertie at the Home when we went there with the presents on Thursday, Freddie?” he asked.
“Yes, of course I did but I didn’t speak to him then. I thought he was one of the entertainers as he was doing a kind of funny little jig in the corner, just near the Christmas tree . . . that little one, remember?”
***
The presents were opened to whoops of joy and more champagne was passed around. . Even Freddie had a glass and he felt very grown-up and mature as he drank it slowly . . . and imagined himself to be a man at last. . Everyone was happy and wished each other the joys and blessings of the Holy Season, with many more of them to come.
Only Joe went up to bed sadly that night, still wondering and confused about everything and as the moon streaked across the pink and white bedroom walls, he secretly called out to Bertie. . With his mind, of course, so that Maggie wouldn’t be disturbed as she slept soundly by his side . . . but still there was no answer.
It was in the morning, after a restless night, that Joe came down to the lounge before anyone else was awake and a funny old cock crowed somewhere outside in the lane. He looked around the room with nostalgic memories of the evening before, which seemed to him to be years away. . before his eyes settled on the Christmas tree. The presents had all gone and only wrinkled wrappings in gay colours were scattered across the soft carpeted floor. The tinsel and the baubles hung in silence as his eye caught a glimpse of a small wooden box, lying on the floor under the tree. . and he lifted it carefully to examine it. As he opened the box, Joe’s eyes filled with tears. In it, he found an old woolly balaclava helmet, a pair of gloves without fingers, a rusty thing that looked like a pair of scissors, a spy glass, two sea shells, an old pocket watch with the glass face cracked. . . . an old piece of dirty string.
As he turned the contents over with trembling fingers, a little rabbit’s paw fell out onto the floor . . . but the thing that touched him most and broke him completely, so that he had to sit down, was a tiny scrap of paper. . a page from an old diary. . a well-fingered and soiled page with words written on it that would be hardly distinguishable to the naked eye. But Joe knew them only too well.
The words read . . . . FOREVER AN’ EVER AN’ EVER.
The End
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