THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS Options

[Cybele]

THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS



The rose lay crushed and dying in a puddle on the cracked pavement.

The flower-seller had long since packed up and gone home. Light from the meagre street lamp reflected the blood red petals.  Mavis stooped to retrieve the flower. Her chapped hands in ragged mitts clasped the stem and a thorn pricked her skin drawing blood of the same shade as the dying bloom. Mavis sucked at the small puncture wound and the warm, brassy taste of blood filled her mouth. With effort, she straightened up, placed the rose on top of the shopping trolley which held a few plastic bags and boxes, all her worldly possessions, and carried on towards the park.  The wheels of the trolley protested and squeaked and kept trying to wander off to the right. Mavis had to expend what little energy she had left to correct the direction. She muttered guttural curses and kicked at the wheels.

She turned into the High Street where lights were bright and loud Christmas music poured from the crowded shops. Last minute shoppers, weighed down by gaily coloured boxes and with bags draped over their arms pushed past Mavis without giving her a glance, except for the woman in the fur coat, whose face wrinkled in disgust at the aroma Mavis was giving off. She turned swiftly away and strode off in the other direction a look of total disgust on her over-made up features.

Mavis sniffed philosophically. She had seen it all before and now it was like water off a duck’s back.

She reached the corner of the high street and crossed the very busy road against the lights. Impatient motorists blew their horns angrily at her and she returned their chorus with a V sign and an extended tongue. She took her time about crossing the road, which brought further shouts and curses from the nearest drivers who had now rolled down their windows, despite the bitter chill of the Christmas Eve night air, to add their abuse.

Once she had reached the pavement she headed for the dumpster behind the supermarket.  She rummaged around and came up with a thick cardboard box. Poor pickings tonight though, the only one she could find smelt very strongly of the fish it had once held. It made little difference to Mavis, she had slept with worse smells than this before now.

She reached the open parkland and headed for her favourite bench.

Tomorrow would be very different, she thought, She had a nice warm bed booked in the shelter and there would be hot soup and bread and with any luck maybe a mince pie and custard.  

She reached the bench by the lake. Good, she was in luck, the bench was empty. She sank on to the hard wooden slats gratefully and recovered her breath before rummaging in the trolley for the night’s essentials.

She had had a great stroke of luck earlier in the day when Aggie from the charity shop had seen her passing and run out to present her with a large duvet, slightly stained but otherwise in good condition. With the cardboard to protect her old bones from the slats on the bench and the duvet to keep her warm she reckoned she would be snug as a bug in a rug.

She scratched absent-mindedly at her grizzled hair, which was matted with dirt. Tomorrow she would be given a piece of soap and a towel and she would have the luxury of a shower before being waited on hand and foot by the volunteers at the shelter. She smiled widely and her cracked and yellowed dentures moved loosely in her mouth.

Time for supper. Mavis fished out one of her plastic bags, which held a stale bread roll, and a piece of cheese that Charlie at the all night café had saved especially for her. Charlie was one of the few people in the world Mavis trusted. His heart was in the right place alright, and he always left a few titbits in their secret hiding place behind the dustbins whenever he could.

The roll was rubbery and Mavis had some problem chewing it since her teeth were not the best fit in the world, but it tasted okay and the cheese was wonderful.

Halfway through her repast a form appeared on the path heading towards her. As the man passed under the lamppost Mavis recognised George Kemp the park attendant, taking one last patrol before heading off to his warm home for the Christmas Holidays. As he approached, he spotted Mavis and call out cheerfully.

‘Bit chilly tonight sweetheart. Are you warm enough there?’

Mavis indicated her new acquisition of the duvet and grinned lewdly at George, ‘Reckon I’ll be warm enough George. Fancy a quick cuddle?’

George laughed heartily in reply, he was well used to Mavis and her nonsense.

‘Thanks for the offer darling, but the missus is waiting for me to get home with the Christmas tree. You all set for tomorrow?’

‘Yeah’ replied Mavis through a mouthful of bread and cheese, ‘Got a room booked at the Dorchester hotel for the night with an ‘on sweet‘ shower and full board!’ she cackled quietly and continued munching on her roll.

‘Great’ said George, ‘I hoped I’d find you here. Got something for you.’ Seeing the expression  on her face, he hurried on ‘It’s not much mind, just a little something from me and Ada.’

He held out a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with  string.

Mavis studied the package for a moment, wiped the remains of the cheese from her mouth with the sleeve of here coat and took the proffered gift.

‘I’ll leave you to it Mavis, got to push on now. Have a great time tomorrow and I’ll see you after the holidays.’

George moved off quickly and Mavis glanced after him and shouted to his retreating back. ‘Thanks George, an’ Merry Christmas to you an’ Ada.' George half-turned and gave a cheery wave before hurrying on.

When he had finally disappeared around a corner, Mavis glanced down at the package. She raised it to her ear and gave it a shake but no sound issued from within.

Prolonging the suspense, Mavis found the half bottle of beer she had stashed in the trolley and took a long swig while eying the package.  
 
She placed the bottle beside her and started to untie the string. Her eyes were slightly moist which didn’t help with the task in hand. She could not remember having a Christmas Present for fifty years or more.

Her thoughts drifted back to the children’s home she had run away from at the age of fifteen. She had been out on her own ever since. That last Christmas she had been given a present like all the other children. These gifts had been donated by the local shops and consisted for the most part of lines which had stopped selling.

Her present had been a scarf, soft and floaty and entirely unsuitable for a fifteen-year-old girl. Although she had loved to hold the scarf, running the silky material through her fingers, she knew she would never have anything decent to wear to show it off.

The night before, she had packed her few belongings and retrieving the bag from its hiding place under the stairs she had gone in search of Lil. She had pressed the scarf into the hands of her best friend. ‘Maybe one day you’ll get the chance to wear this Lil. Someone will come along soon and take you home to live with them, you’re so pretty.’

They had embraced and a tearful Lil had begged her not to go, but Mavis was adamant. She had to get away. Unlike Lil, she knew no one would ever come for her now, she was too old.


She finally managed to unpick the knots in the string and carefully removed the brown paper. Always useful, was brown paper. Inside was a small lacquered box, reddish black in colour and shining as if it had just been polished.

There was a tiny gold key sellotaped to the top of the box together with an envelope. Mavis opened the envelope, careful not to rip the paper. Life had taught her that everything had a use, if you just kept it long enough. She removed the card from inside and tucked the envelope inside one of the boxes in the trolley.

The front of the card depicted a nativity scene in beautiful colours with lots of glitter and a big star hanging over the stable. She opened the card very slowly, savouring the moment. Inside were the words

At Christmastime....with love

It was signed 'from George and Ada' in a rather spidery hand.

Taped to the left side of the card was a £5 note!

Mavis’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t remember when she had last possessed so much money!  She swiftly removed the note and buried it deep in a pocket hidden within the layers of her ragged clothing.

Shaking her head slowly from side to side she turned her attention to the box. She inserted the little key and slowly opened the lid. As she did so a tiny ballerina, perched on one pointed shoe started to twirl slowly to the thin, but sweet sound of music and Mavis found herself regarding her reflection in the mirror set in lid of the box.

Swiftly looking away from the haggard woman in the mirror she watched the ballerina, stunned by the beauty of the tiny figure, and the blue velvet lining of the box.  Mavis slowly closed the lid and then after a few short excited breaths opened the lid again and watched, enchanted,as the ballerina started to dance again.

Gradually the music died and the ballerina stopped dancing.  

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever possessed in her long life!

Lifting the box she felt something underneath and turning it over gingerly, she found a brass bar, a bit like a handle. She grasped it awkwardly with her rheumy old fingers and painfully gave it a slight turn. It turned easily and she realised it was some sort of winding key. When it was fully wound she opened the box again and the ballerina danced faster to the music.

Mavis sat back stunned! She finished the last of the beer and dumped the bottle in the litter bin beside her. She laid the cardboard out on the bench and settled down. Just before she composed herself for sleep, she retrieved the rose from the trolley, placed it in the music box and grasping it tightly, drew the duvet around her bony shoulders.


Her last thoughts were of tomorrow and what she would buy with her windfall. She buried her head beneath the duvet and opened the box a crack. The perfume of the heavily scented rose filled her nostrils, overpowering the smell of fish.

She smiled contentedly and drifted into sleep.

(All rights reserved by grace Galton as an unpublished work)