WITH A CHILL TO THE AIR

The telephone’s shrill holler demanded attention; the voice that answered sounded half-asleep though the owner of the voice had been up early. Mavis shivered, unable to explain why she was cold, but pushed on nonetheless; for the call might be important.

“Hello.” she answered, looking out the window seeing the first signs of snow, thinking “that explains the chill.”

“Hi Mavis, It’s only me, your little sister. Firstly, are we still ok for Saturday?”

Mavis responded affirmatively. Glenda had asked that question twice before!

“I thought you would be home given the weather or you would…” Glenda stopped and gasped

“Are you ok?” asked Mavis

“I nearly said ‘or you will catch your death of cold.’”

“So, what stopped you?” it was unlike Glenda to be careful with her words, blunt and to the point was usually her motto, certainly by word, if not also by facial expression.

“Oh, you don’t know.” it sounded feeble almost teary, so unlike Glenda “I saw the obituaries in today’s paper. Your old pal Jim has died.” Glenda rattled on and Mavis was only half listening.

“Jim?”  she had met a few over the years but none… “JIM, oh no.”

There was a chill in the air both inside the house and out.  Outside, the snow painted the ground white; inside Mavis had received unbelievable news, courtesy of Glenda; therefore she felt colder than before. There was still a chance that it was not him, his was a common name both given and surname. Was that wishful or shock setting in?

“Are you okay?” asked Glenda “do you want me to drive over.”

“No, Glenda not in this weather, I shan’t be alone for long.”

Get yourself a cuppa” advised Glenda “with a splosh of scotch  in it or something.”

It probably could be considered medicinal; for shock, but what would the neighbours say, if she were to appear sloshed at 9.00 am? and she the vicar’s wife. Tut tut!

A steaming mug of strong English breakfast tea, well sweetened and milky was just the thing, as she sat in the winged armchair close to the window in the living room. From there she could watch the antics of children at play, take it all in, and reminisce. How many years was it?

Jim O’Hara was a plumber to trade. Jim with the beautiful Irish lilt that seemed to melt every ounce of fat from your body. Jim with the patience of a saint and the broody tenderness of a mother chick whilst still being the mighty male. Yes, Mavis was the tougher of the two, and their friends knew it.   At the park, where they met that day so long ago, Mavis and Jim were just part of a larrikin crowd. They got the idea of building a snowman. Two grey pebbles for eyes and smaller ones for buttons, one-half carrot for a nose, Jim’s ancient woollen hat; but the only scarf they had was the one Mavis was wearing, and it was her favourite. With the gentle persuasion of the man who had apparently, by the sound of it, kissed the blarney stone, Mavis reluctantly parted with the scarf.

Jim had the audacity to ask her for coffee, then coffee was extended to dinner in a pub. filled with banter, beer, and cigarette smoke. The fish and chips were delicious. Mavis was not used to such fare. She was the daughter of a fairly prestigious lawyer and in those days children of the elite did not mingle with the working class, nor eat the standard working-class treat. Mavis looked out the window again one minute watching the antics, then as though the she was watching a TV programme that bored her, her mind went back.

Ah, the halcyon days when defying her parents’ wishes, Mavis went out with Jim. She let him touch her kiss her; he wanted more but stopped short. Besides he was a Roman Catholic and she an Anglican; similar but different. What would both families say? Mavis like many young ladies dreamed of white satin dresses and veils, not knowing until reality hit that babies could not read and respond to the Mothercraft books as they should, in favour of Mother Nature and even then, when it suited them.

Yet Jim’s voice was like music, his touch as gentle as the snowflakes, and first love could never really be forgotten. Only Glenda had time for Jim. Two years younger than Mavis, Glenda was probably a little envious until she proved her worth, and gained Mavis’ respect.

One day in weather like this the pipes in the house were not functioning well. The housekeeper had called the local plumber and agreed that the assistant plumber could attend, as long as the problem was fixed. It was Jim who came and weaved his plumbing magic in the house. For a while Mavis managed to hide, however, she did need to fetch something in the kitchen and chatted to Jim until her father called her out of the room to discuss Christmas presents.

Mr Ingham noticed, in his opinion, the oscar-winning performance of his elder daughter and the lad at the sink. He went into his study and on the way asked Mavis to join him. He had a right to be curious, so he thought.

And who was that young man working here?” her father’s stern voice came across over the desk

“His name is Jim O’Hara, Father,” Mavis answered.

“How did you come to know him?” Mr Ingham asked

“He’s part of the gang I hang around with,” Mavis answered with as much defiance as she dared show

“You hang around with plumbers?”

“What is wrong with plumbers?”

“Nothing if he is good at his job, but not good enough for you my dear.” 

Glenda was by this time at the door and blurted what Mavis was also thinking.

“Are we to assume Father, that lawyers would not hanker for a tumble in the hay if that is what you think Jim is capable of?”

Mr Ingham was at a loss for words.

“Glenda! Must you be quite so…”

“Vulgar?” supplied Glenda.

Whether by accident or design, the friendship just like the snow melted leaving pain for a while, but never quite forgotten.

Yet he was dead no more beautiful voice, no more cheeky grin, no more Irish humour from Jim anyway. Mavis wished she had added ‘Newspaper’ to the shopping list; she did not trust the computer and its trappings.

She made a snap decision., She would drive up to the shop herself and get the newspaper if only to satisfy her curiosity. She donned hat coat gloves and strong shoes; and with her bag in one hand keys in the other, she ventured towards the back door, only to hear the front door open.

“Mavis, where are you my dear?” this man too had a beautiful voice almost pukka, particularly in front of a microphone. She opened the back door grabbing her walking stick and took her first tentative step on the snow. She could feel herself falling had not strong arms caught her. John to the rescue.

“Steady.” he guided her to a chair

“And where are you going, my dear wife?”

“To get a newspaper John, I…”

“Don’t you remember my dear, we have it delivered now. Here it is.”

She was close to tears

“There, my love. Take your coat off and all the trimmings I will put the kettle on, it is nippy out there. Oh, by the way, I will be conducting a funeral on Wednesday. He’s not part of the parish but I think he left his own church. Jim O’Hara was his name probably one of many Irishman…”

John looked at his wife. She had that nostalgic look again

‘Oh no John,’ Mavis thought ‘there was only one Jim O’Hara as far as I’m concerned. Fortunately, John Hillier is my lasting love.’