Boracic Lint

by Martin Bryce

takin’ Chalky’s wages to ‘is Missus?’ Harry asked urgently. ‘Tell ‘er, will you?’

  ‘This is Mrs White,’ the Bull explained.

  ‘Yes, you did, Harry. Is there some probl…’

  ‘You’re as big a liar as ‘e is!’ Mrs White screamed. She raised her capacious handbag and advanced on me. For once I was grateful to the Bull as he grabbed her arm and held her back.

  ‘That’s not going to achieve anything, is it, Mrs White?’ he said. ‘Now, if we can just…’

  ‘Three, four hundred sovs my chalky earned every week, regular. And this little bastard’s nicked the soddin’ lot!’ she screeched. ‘And how much did ‘e slip you to keep your fucking gob shut?’ she demanded of me.

  ‘As a matter of fact, Mrs White,’ I said seriously, ‘Harry borrowed ten pounds off me last week because wages forgot to pay him.

  Mr Lloyd jumped in. ‘I assure you that we…’

  ‘Let’s not bovver ‘bout that now,’ Harry cut in. ‘Look, I pick up Chalky’s wages as a favour ‘cause I know you’re goin’ to be short for your beer and bingo. And then you come down ‘ere accusin’ me of nickin’ it and getting’ Wally ‘ere to tell porkies for me. Talk about gratitude! That’s libel, that is. You want to watch yourself.’

  ‘Slander,’ I corrected.

  ‘See. ‘E agrees wiv me.’

  ‘Right, lad,’ the Bull began, ‘you say you went to Mrs White’s house on Friday night and gave her the money?’

  ‘Yeah, well, not exactly. She wasn’t in, so I put it through the letterbox.’

  ‘Irene and that coloured bloke of ‘ers was in,’ Mrs White bellowed.

  ‘Why didn’ they open the door when I knocked then? I’ll tell you why, because they was doin’ a bit of knockin’ themselves, that’s why.’

  ‘Why you…’

  ‘Who’s Irene?’ the Bull asked.

  ‘My daughter.’

  ‘Well, it’s bleedin’ obvious, isn’ it? They nicked it,’ Harry said.

  ‘You little bleeder!’ Mrs W exclaimed as she launched into him with her handbag which looked as though it might have contained a house brick.

  ‘Whoa! ‘Old on,’ Harry said as he ducked the blows. ‘What colour’s your front door?’

  Surprised, as we all were by this seemingly irrelevant question, Mrs W paused in her assault.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? It’s pink, bleeding pink!’ She screeched and resumed the battering. The Bull went to the rescue again.

  ‘Well, that’s it then, isn’ it?’ Harry said triumphantly.

  ‘What is?’ Mrs W demanded, breaking the Bull’s grip on her arm with consummate ease.

  ‘Your door, it’s pink.’

  ‘I know, I just bleedin’ told you that!’

  ‘Yes, but I put the money through the purple door. Number twenty-one.’

  ‘But I’m number nineteen.’

  ‘There you go then,’ Harry suggested. ‘You’re neighbours’ve pocketed the bunce, ‘aven’t they?’

  Mrs W thought for a moment.

  ‘They bleedinwell would, too, that lot. They had the wheelchair off of Rita across the road the other week and sold it back to the ‘ospital. Stuck in the ‘ouse for three days she was. Couldn’t contact nobody ‘cause ‘er phone ‘ad been cut off. Meals on wheels had to break the door down in the end. Just wait ‘til I get my ‘ands on that cow!’ And with that she left the office.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs White,’ Harry said as she slammed the door behind her.

  ‘The Bull eyed Harry for a while. Harry whistled innocently.

  ‘It’s about Mr White’s timecard, Mr Flowers,’ Mr Lloyd said. ‘Somebody’s been clocking it in and out all week.’

  ‘Never mind about that, the Bull replied, ‘we’ll deal with it later. Right now I want a quiet word with Santa here.’

  My heart sank as Mr Lloyd opened the door and Harry swaggered past him, hands in pockets and still whistling. Mr Lloyd closed the door gently. I was alone again with the Bull.

  ‘Sit down, lad,’ he said quietly. My stomach rumbled again and I couldn’t tell whether the sickness I was feeling was due to lunch, or fear.

  ‘I gather you’re up the Okeefenokee,’ he said.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The creek, lad. With the ladies in the canteen,’ he explained.

  ‘Oh, that! Yes, it’s all very petty.’

  ‘So you think it’s petty, do you?’

  ‘Yes, actually, I do,’ I asserted. He stood and stared at me before beginning to pace behind his desk as he stroked his chin. ‘Look,’ I began, taking courage in both hands, ‘since I started working here I’ve been kicked, thumped, pinched and prodded. I’ve been stabbed by a tank, thrown up on and worse. I’ve been abused by just about everybody; I’ve been humiliated and despised. I’ve been questioned by the police for every crime under the Sun and I’m regarded by the rest of the staff as an obstinate vandal. I’ve been roasted, frozen and turned into a walking biological weapon with all the infections I’ve caught. The children who come to see me either fear, or loathe me, I’m paid less than the cleaners and fined if I’m a minute late for work even though I have to be here an hour and a half before the frigging Grotto opens. And now the firm wants me to do them a favour! What kind of fool do they think I am? Christmas? Hah! Sanctimonious claptrap!’

  It was all quite out of character for me and by the time I’d finished I was wishing I’d stayed a coward. I waited for the explosion, but it never came.

  ‘Now you listen to me,’ the Bull began quietly as he sat back down. ‘There’s a little thing called duty which I happen to know a bit about.’ Thirty years, Guards and so on.

  ‘You know, in the Army we have a Christmas custom which I believe goes back a very long time. Before the Romans, so I’m told. What happens is that master and servant swap places for a while and the private soldier is served his Christmas dinner by the Officers and NCOs. However high and mighty we think we are, there comes a time when we have to show our respect and appreciation for what others do. This party’s not for the firm, it’s for the staff, the ones who spend the whole year slaving away to make profits for other people and you should see what it does to them; I see it in their faces every day.’ He was beginning to sound like a communist.

  ‘Few of them will ever escape the drudgery and go on to achieve those dreams we all have. Not like you who’ll be walking out of here a free man in a few days’ time. Don’t you think they envy you that? There’s very little for them to look forward to besides their annual holidays on the Costa del Sol, or wherever they go; and that’s if any of them can still afford it the way things are. But one thing they do look forward to, every one of them, is the Christmas knees-up. It’s the highlight of the year for many of them. It’s not just about the annual bonus you dole out, it’s about the opportunity to meet other people like themselves from other departments. Have a good moan about the snooty customers, get a little drunk on free grog, flirt and briefly rekindle passion and romance. It’s what keeps a lot of them sane. And you’re going to deny them this?’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t actually thought of it that way,’ I said, feeling small.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you had,’ he said with understanding. ‘Well, I suggest you start thinking about it, not for me, I won’t be there, but for them, the regulars who have to pocket their pride every day of their lives. Even they need to be made to feel like worthwhile human beings once in a while.’

  So, the Bull had a heart, after all. I felt like a worm.

  It is from reason justice springs, but goodness is born of wisdom.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Flowers,’ I said as I opened the door to leave. “I will consider it.’

  ‘Don’t let them down, lad,’ he said, putting on his glasses. They softened his face. ‘It’s you own conscience you’ll have to answer to in the end.’

  What the hell did he mean by that? My conscience was
perfectly clear. But I began to realise that there was more to this jolly old gentleman in a red suit than a mere pantomime figure who delights, or terrifies children. Yuletide without Christ? Yes, it had been that way for thousands of years. But without Father Christmas? Unthinkable.

  I observed the man working on a low ladder outside the H’s house as I entered Mafeking Avenue. I assumed he was the window cleaner. As I drew closer I realised he was a glazier. I opened the front door and saw the Hs sitting grim-faced in the kitchen. Nothing unusual there. H stood, picked up a medium sized box which was done up with string and brought it to me.

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked, thinking it might be an early Christmas present.

  ‘It’s your cat and you’re getting rid of it,’ he replied quietly, but firmly.

  ‘Cloudesley! He’s not dead, is he?’

  ‘You’ll never know how close it came,’ he replied and then handed me the box and two slips of paper. ‘Bills,’ he added ominously.

  ‘But what for?’ I asked as I unfolded the first of them. ‘A budgie?’

  ‘Aye, lad, our budgie.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Higginbottom, you’ve lost me.’

  ‘No, we’ve lost Clarence.’

  ‘Clarence?’

  ‘Our budgie. Your cat killed him.’

  ‘But how? I mean he was in a cage.’

  ‘Still is. Lying on his little back, his little legs stuck straight up in t’air. Terrible sight,’ he said lowering his head. ‘He were frightened to death.’

  It seems that the front room door had been left ajar and Cloudesley had sneaked in, climbed the Christmas tree as a means of access to Clarence’s cage and leaped on top of it. Hearing the commotion, H entered the room just as Clarence was toppling off his little perch beak first. As a result, and this explained the second bill, he had picked up a volume of Readers’ Digest Condensed Books and hurled it at Cloudesley, forgetting all about the window behind.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said genuinely.

  ‘’E were a prize budgie, too. We were ‘oping to breed from ‘im.’

  A stud budgie. I was well impressed.

  ‘The cat goes,’ H said as I climbed the stairs.

  ‘I’ll think of something, Mr Higginbottom,’ I said as I closed the door of my room. I would have to take Cloudesley to rehearsals with me tonight.

  Never knew a budgie cost so much.

  SCENE 14

  I was not looking forward to rehearsals. I could feel in my bones that there was going to be a confrontation with the Stonemason.

  Brian had already begun work on the set by the time I arrived at the Arts Centre. Rowena arrived shortly afterwards.

  ‘You look depressed, darling,’ she said, putting a comforting arm on my shoulder. I explained about Cloudesley.

  ‘Let me see him,’ she said when I had finished. I took Cloudesley from the box and she held him. He looked very comfortable snuggled down in the soft, silver-fox fur jacket. ‘He must come and stay with me,’ she said.

  ‘That’s very kind, darling,’ I said, ‘but really I couldn’t…’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she insisted. ‘It’ll be nice to have an animal about the house.’

  ‘But he’ll wreck the place,’ I advised, thinking of him sharpening his claws on the white leather sofa,

  ‘Oooooh nooooo he won’t,’ she cooed, ‘oooo’s a booteeful pussy,’ she continued, chucking him under the chin. ‘And anyway, there’s something you can do for me in return.

  ‘Anything,’ I offered enthusiastically.

  ‘Well,’ she began, ’I have some presents for mummy and daddy which I don’t want them to find out about. They’re coming up on Sunday and I was wondering if I could store them at your place until Christmas.’

  ‘But of course, darling, I’d be delighted.’

  ‘Right then, that’s settled. I’m collecting them after work tomorrow, so I’ll bring them round when we come to pick you up to go to Harry’s pub.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘Oh darling, how could you? I’ll take Cloudesley home with me tonight. You