by John Evans
EIGHTEEN
‘They want me to be Father Christmas? Me?’ Mike was incredulous, ‘there must be someone else who could do it? In any case the local kiddies will expect one that speaks Welsh, won’t they? And one that doesn’t have a leg in plaster.’
‘It’s not Father Christmas, dad, in Welsh it’s Sion Corn.’
‘Well there you go then, see, I didn’t know that either.’
Friday afternoon, and Jan had been to the village shop, then as a treat, picked the children up from school. In fact with the onset of the dark evenings they were being picked up more often, Jan didn’t like the idea of them crossing the old bridge in the dark. But she too had been surprised when the headmaster asked her would Mike be willing to be Santa and give out presents at the kids Christmas party.
‘Well, he said it’s because you’ve got a real beard and look the part. Of course we’ll have to make it white somehow. And your leg won’t be in plaster by then, will it? It’s over six weeks until Christmas.’
‘Blimey he’s got a good memory, I’ve only meet him once.’
‘Once seen never forgotten,’ Jan teased.
‘Ha, ha,’ Mike retorted, ‘of course I’ll have to eat more cream, I’m a bit skinny to be a Father Christmas, or a what was it - Sion Corn?’
‘Don’t be silly, we can pad you up a bit.’
‘Yeah, go on dad,’ David urged.
‘Will you dad, please. You can give me a big present from the sack.’ Mandy smiled angelically at her dad.
Mike laughed, ‘Don’t be so mercenary, Mandy.’
‘What’s a mercer, Mum?’ Mandy asked with wide-eyed puzzlement.
Only three days had passed since Mike broke his leg and he had already returned to working outside. He obviously couldn’t bend his leg, but he was coping fairly well. Jan was concerned that by returning to soon to his labours, he would hurt himself, but on the plus side he wasn’t moping about the house moaning about how much work needed doing. And he had been able to supervise the unloading of the materials for the new tunnels, much to Jan’s relief. She hadn’t really wanted the responsibility of checking the load and telling the men where to put the stuff.
‘Well I don’t know, what do you think, Jan?’
‘I don’t see why not, I suppose it’s nice to be asked, and it would be a bit of a laugh. The thing is, I think the local men are to busy or too shy to do it. And don’t forget they call us ‘English,’ and believe English people are more, you know, outgoing.’
‘But there must be some real English people in the area, Keith for instance.’
‘Of course there are,Mike, but he asked you. You ought to be flattered.’
Mike pondered for a moment then his ego spoke, ‘mm, well, okay then, I’ll have a go.’
‘Cor, great Dad I’m going to tell my friends now.’ David was extremely pleased with his father decision. Having a dad involved with the school establishment would mean he was going to gain considerable kudos from amongst his school pals.
‘It’s time you went home, big boy.’
‘That was bloody fantastic, when can I see you again?’ He grinned salaciously, and began fondling her again. In typical Chris fashion she ignored his plea.
‘That’s enough of that you greedy sod,’ She pushed his hand away, ‘you Welshmen never have enough do you?’ Which, coming from her, was a somewhat incongruous comment. ‘Come on, get up, you’ve got to go, now. Back to your little Welsh wife. I’ve got to collect the kids and take them into Abersoch. They need new shoe’s She stretched languidly, rose from the bed, and began dressing.
Friday afternoon at Chris’s house and she was picking up her two girls up from their senior school in Porth, much further than Jan’s kids had to travel. Chris’s afternoon had been very satisfying but now, reluctantly, she had family business to attend to. She hadn’t touched Jan since that evening of the rehearsal at her house, but she hadn’t yet decided on her next major conquest. And these afternoon sessions with the local cattle feed Rep, were a very transient whim. Keith said he would be home in the morning, but very soon his father wouldn’t need his help and Keith would be at home – every day.
Keeping clear of the house windows, the figure moved swiftly across the sunlit yard towards the dark interior of the shed.
‘Do you think I could get an equity card from doing the Santa business?’ Jan and Mike were still in the kitchen but the children had dispersed about the house to begin their busy weekend lives.
‘You wouldn’t get much work from being Santa. You’d only work once a year.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Despite all their problems they still bravely persisted with these little joky times, not just for their benefit, but for the children as well.
Outside, the drone of the JCB digging for the foundations suddenly came to a halt.’
‘Mr Williams must be knocking off for the weekend. I’ll go and see him off.’
‘Okay love I’ll put the kettle on for a cuppa shall I?’
‘Good idea.’
The November afternoon was darkening as Mike, leaning on his crutches, limped carefully towards the now silent digger. Passing great mounds of extracted earth as he did so. Mr Williams was standing beside his machine looking at a stream of water pouring out of the side of the excavations.
‘We’ve got a bit of a problem, Mr Jones.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I think we’ve hit a spring; there’s loads of ‘em around here. My land is full of the buggers. Bloody nuisance they are, make the land so wet.’ Mike looked at the water, which was now spurting out in some quantity.
‘I’m afraid I’ll need to put land drains in before I can do any more levelling.’
Mike expression had changed from cheerful optimism, to absolute consternation. ‘Big job is it?’
‘Well, not big so much, but slow. We’ve got to cut channels in this hard sub soil base to get the water away down hill if you see what I mean.’
‘Yeah, Yeah, I see what you mean. Well it has to be done; we can’t build with all this water hanging about.’
Adding to Mikes despair, Mr Williams continued, ‘of course if the weather turns wet it’s going to add to the problem, slow me down a lot. I’m sorry Mr Jones but there we are. Anyway, I’ll be back on Monday, see what we can do.’
‘Righto, see you Monday’
More misery was to come, ‘oh yes, I’ve got the bill for the roof. It’s been in the cab all week. He reached into the cab, ‘here you are.’
‘Okay, thanks Mr Williams.’ A thank you, really didn’t seem appropriate, but he had to be polite. ‘I’ll have the cheque ready for you on Monday.’
Mr Williams gave a wave of acknowledgement, got into his car, and drove off into the fading autumn daylight.
‘A hundred and eighty pounds? That’s a lot, Mike,’ Jan too was depressed by Mikes news-and the bill. ‘And is that after taking out what the insurance paid?’
‘Fraid so love. He had to put a lot of new timbers in - and the labour of course.’
‘And how much are these land drain thingy’s.’
‘No idea, not much I wouldn’t think, but it means extra digging time.’
‘At this rate, we won’t have any money for the building work,’ Jan said, clanging the saucepans over zealously, in readiness for the evening meal.
Mike didn’t reply, and the kitchen fell silent as they each took on an apprehensive expression. Both realising that, day-by-day, their anticipated profits were disappearing - before they had earned any.
Josh and his mother were eating a home-made supper of cawl – the local soup. They were seated at an old pine kitchen table, which was covered with a plastic red and black check tablecloth. The kitchen was quite small and in the style, if it could be called that, was of the early nineteen fifties. Over the years it had received a lot of wear; in fact the whole house needed attention.
‘Are you wanting more?’ His mother asked ungraciously, her mouth set in
a sneer. Her straggly grey hair hung in strands about her red veined, podgy face, giving her a wild, manic appearance. She ladled out another portion without waiting for an answer.
They ate in silence, except for the television talking to itself in another room. Josh wiped his dish clean with a piece of bread, belched, pushed back his chair and reached for a cigarette. His mother collected the dishes and dumped them in the old chipped china butler sink, then shuffled off in her tatty slippers to watch the television. Josh sat, fag in hand, staring, just staring at the wall for some time. Then, as though an idea had just come into his mind, he got up in a rush, picked his coat from the back of his chair, and went out into the night.
For Mike and Jan the evening was as downbeat as their afternoon had been, and they spent the evening gazing blankly at the television screen. Which wasn’t like them at all, they usually had other interests to distract them from any avid viewing. If it hadn’t been for the buoyant cheerful children, the atmosphere would have been exceedingly dismal. Bed, and sleep, was to be a welcome relief from their worries. To close their eyes. To escape. To blot out the daytime images that reminded them of their problems.
It was nearly midnight when Cindy began barking. Chris stirred in her bed, the dog barked again, she sat up and listened intently. Again the dog barked. Chris cursed, sleepily; I’ll get the bastard this time. She got out of bed, pulled on a pair of trousers and jumper and headed downstairs. As Chris entered the kitchen, Cindy stopped barking and wagged its tail as she approached. Chris didn’t put on any lights and just felt her way to the gun cupboard. She moved as quietly as she could, her hands feeling for the cold metal of the gun barrel. Breaking the barrel, she loaded two cartridges. With the gun in one hand and the torch in another she carefully opened the back door into the yard. She didn’t switch the two rather inadequate outside lights on, thinking they might scare the intruder away. She wanted to catch him. Some of the cattle were quietly lowing, and an owl hooted, but she could hear nothing suspicious and continued to walk a little way across the yard. She switched on the torch and scanned the beam around the deep darkness. She wasn’t frightened, but angry at the idea of someone buggering about on their property, invading her space. Chris swore under her breath, if you’re out there you sodding bastard I’ll get you. I’ll blow your bloody legs off. She checked all the shed doors and ran the torch over places someone could hide. Then, deciding all was as it should be, she stomped back to the house in a bad mood and now wide-awake.
In the darkness of the shed someone moved slowly out of the deepest shadows.
Neither Mike or Jan had slept well. Mike had found it incredibly uncomfortable trying to sleep with a lump of cold plaster on his leg. And he was dreaming far more than usual. He blamed the painkillers he had been taking for all the extra night time imagery. Which was okay because he liked dreaming and usually enjoyed very interesting and colourful dreams. Jan wasn’t quite so fortunate and when she dreamt they were often stressful and sometimes unpleasant. And very occasionally she would wake and need comforting and reassuring that everything was alright, and that it was all just a dream. In any event, the outcome this day, was that they were both rather weary and subdued.
‘I’ve only got cornflakes, is that okay?’ Jan sounded guilty at the meagre choice of breakfast food, but her budget was getting smaller and smaller.
‘That’ll do fine, Darl.’ Mike replied in sympathetic tone because he was fully aware that she struggled to keep food on the table. And in any case the children needs came first.
He poured the rich creamy milk over the flakes and a dollop of clotted cream. That would fill him up until lunchtime at least.
‘I’m going to have a try at making butter next, Ann said she can lend me a little butter making machine that you turn by hand.’
‘What made you think of that?’
‘Well, you’ve got far to much cream, and butter will keep for weeks – save money too. And bread, I’m going to have a go at making that as well.’
‘Good idea love,’ he crunched a mouthful of cornflakes. He might have sounded indifferent to Jan’s plans, but it pleased him greatly that she was becoming a real homely farmhouse cook. And he was proud of all her efforts at home economies – quite simply, he loved her.
‘The kids out already?’ Mike asked.
‘They’re riding their old bikes up and down the track, pretending they have mountain bikes.’ Jan said, placing a cup of coffee in front of him.
‘Oh dear, more repairs for me sort out.’ He spoke with a smile on his lips, he liked to see the children happy so what did a few bike repairs or punctures matter.
‘It’s pity we can’t afford new bikes for them for Christmas. Mandy’s is far too small for her.
‘Yeah I know, perhaps we could find some good second-hand ones.’
‘Mm,’ Jan said thoughtfully, ‘I’ll ask around. and we could look in the local paper.’
‘Good idea love, we’ll do that. We could be lucky.’ They both gave a wry little snigger –and they each thought, fat chance of that.
‘And David keeps on about an Action Man.’
‘Well we might be able to run to that, we’ll just have to see how it goes.’
The phone in the hall rang, they had so few calls they started a little and Mike got up to answer it.
‘Hello, mum - hello mum, everything okay?” And Marion? Good. Yes we’re all okay, yes and the kids. Yes of course you can come to see us. Just for a weekend is it? That’s fine mum, so next weekend –the twelfth – oh, on the Friday- the eleventh. So it will be late afternoon, early evening, on Friday. Great we’ll see you then – bye mum – bye.’
Mike put down the receiver with a little sigh. He wanted to see them but felt guilty about the extra work for Jan. But the kids would love it. His sister, Marion, lived at home with their mother and was, at twenty six, still unmarried. Probably as a substitute for her maternal instinct, she would heap presents upon on them all.
‘Who was it?’
‘Mum. They want to come down next weekend.’ As he predicted Jan flinched and sighed, but responded as well as she could.
‘That will be nice, the children will love it.’
Poor Jan, two more mouths to cater for. She would have to rack her brains for culinary inspiration – certainly not pies. But despite all her worries and misgivings, Chris still popped readily into her mind. Although since Chris was behaving in such a standoffish manner, Jan was now confined to using her memories of their times to nourish her solitary erotic sessions, which she still managed to have. It had been nearly two weeks since they had been ‘together,’ and Jan had put Chris’s cool manner down to her farming workload. But her sense of guilt had increased and Mikes accident had shown her how much they needed each other in this new country life. Her love for Mike had grown too; he worked so hard, had achieved so much in a short time and she hated seeing him knocked down by circumstance. She wondered sometimes if she was developing some sort of split personality. With one side ‘normal,’ well normal for her, and another side, a raving sex maniac She would like to tell herself it was all over with Chris, however if the chance to repeat her experiences came along she would find it hard to say, no…
Now that the days were ever shortening, Mike was doing more indoor work on the house. He had bought, or rather the Bank overdraft had, new floorboards for the kids’ bedrooms and a couple of gallons of woodworm killer. The kids had made a hole in the floor the first day they were there, which he had patched up, but now with his mum and sister calling, he would have to hold off on that particular job. So, today after breakfast, it was back outside, erecting more tunnels as best he could with most of his leg covered in plaster. The problem was that metal tubes had to be driven into the ground. And he was having trouble keeping his balance as he hit the tubes with the sledgehammer. Progress was extremely slow.
‘I’ll have this coffee then I’m off out.’
‘Tunnels again?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t do ve
ry well the other day, it’s really slow with one leg. But I’m going to give it another go today.’
With typical childish indifference, the front door crashed open, and two mud splashed rosy-faced tykes tumbled into the kitchen.
