What Constitutes a Christmas Trifle

*** A continuation of the Talk of the Devil series. Like the others, it can also be read as a standalone piece ***

Come on, stop it now, Sue and sit down. You’re doing yourself no favours, all frazzle and fluster…

Frazzle and fluster? Oh, frazzle and fluster alright… Frazzle and fluster like a cartoon caper, Frazzle and Fluster and Stuff It Up Sue Strikes Again…

Sue, please… I said I’ll help you clean up in a bit, once all the kids are away.

Alright, Helen, I hear you, but would you just take a look at this… This pigsty… Three mince pies on one plate, bites taken out of all of them, shortbread all over the floor, all your lovely baking… Ooh, I could just… Oof…! If I wasn’t a Soldier of Christ, the air would be blue by now, I tell you… And look, someone’s spilled the mulled wine in the Tupperware… Those lids were meant to stay on… I told them all, didn’t I? You heard me…? Well, that’s the soup kitchen had it now. Question what Captain Wallace’ll say when there’s nothing for pudding tomorrow…

Oh, I don’t know, might make for an interesting trifle base.

What did you say?

I said, don’t worry, it won’t go to waste… And darling, if you accepted my gift, then next year I might not need to shout.

Helen, there is no way I’m taking that cheque, letting you pay for me to go private. Still got one good ear, haven’t I? I can hear just fine… And next year, well! I’m sure they’ll enlist someone a little more capable. Not that I’d want to be part of this shambles ever again.

Sue, what happened to Harris wasn’t your fault…

No? Well, whose fault was it then? It was me who gave him the role of Donkey. Me who had him trotting around with the wise men, hee-hawing away at the front of the stage… Fast and loud as you like, I said, if it helps get your energy out.

Aw, you weren’t to know he’d go all steeplechase on you, and at least when he galloped right off the edge, he didn’t land on his head…

No? Well, I should have known, shouldn’t I? That boy can’t even walk to the end of the street without either launching himself into the nearest wheelie bin or shinning halfway up a lamppost…

And people did think it was part of the show at first…

Oh yes, thanks to that goon at the back there, that laughing hyena grandad… The ass fell on his ass…

To be fair, he was still hee-hawing away…

And I thought last year was bad when he did the narration. Folk coming away not knowing if they’d just seen an irreverent take on The Greatest Story Ever Told or a Peter-less Peter Pan… My great nephew who had the Baby Jesus eaten by crocodiles, my great nephew who now believes he’ll turn into a donkey for real because some nincompoop nit-wit told him that’s what would happen if it turns out he’s damaged his tail-bone.

Don’t tell me, the hyena grandad…?

No, his granddaughter, this time. Milicent.

The Wednesday Adams look-alike angel with the skull tattoos all the way up her arms that she didn’t have in rehearsal…? Temporary, I’m guessing?

My mum did that, she tells him. Broke her coccyx when she spilled her Buckie and fell on her butt dancing to Don’t Fear the Reaper and, ooh, it was like she’d grown a humungous tail...

So that’s why he started screeching? And why the buffet copped it when they carried him out to the car…?

Well, he might have been in genuine pain, but you-know-who didn’t help there either… Father flaming oh-I’ll-take-over-here, I’ll-be-your-Captain-in-your-Captain’s absence Regan… Come on, everyone, there’s plenty of food here, just help yourself while the good ladies settle the children… Well, you saw it for yourself, didn’t you…? The mad stampede while we tried to salvage the rest of the show – black lipstick on half of their faces thanks to Milicent, and you can imagine what we’d be accused of if some of the parents saw that - and him, oh the Catholic Church did have some lovely, well-organized nativities before the council closed the school. The envy of every church in the town we were… What was it Milicent’s grandad called him…? A wazzock? A wazzock in a cassock…? Oh, just look at it… Just look at the floor, crumbs trailed everywhere… And where the hell is that brush…? Wouldn’t be up Father Regan's flabby back-passage anyway, not when he's got Muggins here for that.

Darling, I really do think…

Sit down! Yes! Sit down. Have a mulled wine, Sue, if there’s so much as a teaspoonful left. Have a soggy mince pie… Oh fine...

Watch the tablecloth, Sue! Watch the crockery!

What are you doing here, anyway, Helen? Thought you’d be out somewhere with Evelyn living it up. Or with your latest manfriend. Thought you’d just come to drop off the food.

Aw, no, I do like to see the children, and after what happened, I was hardly going to leave you in the lurch…

And what the heck is she staring at…? No reason at all for her to be hanging around the foyer like a bad bloomin’ smell…

Who…? Moll…? She does look a little bit lost there, doesn’t she? Maybe I should go over… I was going to before when I saw her sitting all on her own, but it did feel a little awkward with her family sitting right across… Oh, she’s gone now. Oh well… Do you think she’ll ever make it up with them?

What? With her attitude? You saw her, didn’t you, cheering away when her little granddaughter did her solo, waving across to the baby every time her son and his wife turned their heads, but that look she gave her own grandson… It’s shocking, it really is…

Yes, she seems a very troubled lady…

Troubled! I’ll give her troubled, after what she said to me when my father died… Oh, but it isn’t as if it wasn’t expected… I’d like to see how she’d cope working day in day out in that factory canteen till they enforce your early retirement like that horse in Animal Farm who got made into glue, and then having to deal with looking after invalid parents while being called on left right and centre to babysit the wild child, never mind all my Salvation Army commitments…. Oh Sue, you can run the soup kitchen, can’t you, you can fill in at the charity shop, you can go out collecting, you can organize every last cockamamie Christmas event from now until the Good Lord sees fit to forever release you from your Christian duties on this Earth… You’ve got time on your hands these days, haven’t you, Sue? You’ve nothing better to do, Sue…? Good God, even He only worked six flaming days a week… And then there’s you…

Sorry…?

Oh, Helen, don’t raise your perfectly waxed and arched eyebrows at me… You swanning around, cool as you like in your finery, thinking I’m some sort of charity case waving your cheque book. I’ve heard them, you know, all your admirers over the years… Oh, what would we ever do without Saint Helen? Where would we all be...? And I’ve spoken to Cass.

Oh, I see… You do know there really isn’t anything untoward between me and her husband. I only ever tried to provide a listening ear…

Oh, I know, Helen, I know… Helen Newlands, the face that sunk a thousand ships when the captain became distracted and forgot all about his first mate… And the sad thing is, you don’t even realize…

I’ll have a word with Cass, I’ll explain…

What, like you did with me after Adam? We could have been happy, Helen. We could have sorted things out.

Sue! Adam was a creep. He was just using you. I told you how he tried it on with me, how he called you the vilest of names.

And? And? So what? He still would have married me. I could have had a whole different life. I could have had children. Evelyn did it, didn’t she, knowing what a horrible person her husband was. Does she regret her kids? I don’t think so…

But, darling, Adam wasn’t right for you, you agreed with me at the time. He had you drinking, questioning your faith, acting against your beliefs…

Acting like a liquor-soaked tart, you mean…? Well, yes, okay, I admit it, so what? All water under the bridge, mulled wine beneath the table, all amounts to the same stinking mess and you on the edge of the sewer smelling like Chanel sodding No 5, the bringer of tinsel-wrapped gifts…

I didn’t have children either, Sue… No heritage, no legacy, just a body afloat, too soon reduced to ashes or bone…

What…?

Your phone, Sue. Take your head off the table and you might hear it ringing…

Oh, oh, right… Hello, Petra… Harris, yes… He’s alright then…? What…? Yes, I have got the phone at my good ear, just can’t hear for the screaming… So, why, if it’s just bruising…? Oh, well isn’t that typical…? No, Petra, that’s impossible… No, I can’t bring him with me to the soup kitchen… Selfish...? Did you really just call me selfish…? Argh, honestly…!

So…?

So… He’ll live… Kicking off now because the doctor didn’t give him a donkey tail. Doesn’t want to be a little boy anymore but I'm sure he'll change his mind before Christmas… He’s to stay off school, though, till the end of term, so that’s me well and truly lumbered… Suppose I’d better let Captain Wallace know… Helen, you’re doing that thing with your eyebrows again… And don’t think I didn’t see you put that cheque in my bag and whatever else you've dropped in with it with that bow on…

Keep it, darling, please. If you don’t want the operation, maybe book yourself a little holiday, or add it to the homeless donations… I really don’t mind… Here, pass me that Tupperware, I'll secure the lids… What did you think of my idea before, anyway…?

What’s that?

The Christmas trifle. Mulled Wine and Mincemeat à la Sue…?

Stuff It Up Sue…

All frazzle and fluster…

With the ass on its ass…

And the wazzock in his cassock…

And Wednesday Adams playing the harp…

Baby Jesus fed to the crocodile…

Oh, Helen, don’t make me laugh. It hurts… And look at you, you can hardly breathe. Look your lips have gone all blue… Helen…? Helen…! Oh no, oh Sweet Jesus… Emergency, yes… Ambulance… The Mission Hall… Please, please, no… Oh, Dear God, please be quick…