Bah, Humbug

“Are they here yet?” Lord Lawrence Melchior demanded as Jones, with practised ease, lifted him into his wheelchair.

“No my lord. It’s still early. You said you didn’t want them to arrive before 12.”

“What time is it now? Blast these eyes. Wish I could see what’s going on.”

“It’s 10.30 my lord.” Of course it was 10.30. 9 o’clock was breakfast and the news, either on the radio or read, 10 o’clock was the time when Lord Melchior was bathed and dressed, and 10.30 was the time when he was lifted into his wheelchair to be pushed into the library.

“Well, they’d better not be late, that’s all,” he said, as Jones began to push him towards the lift. “And I hope those children have learnt to be quiet. I swear they don’t get any better. Damn nuisance if you ask me.”

“Yes my lord.”

“Have the carol singers been round? I don’t remember any carol singers this year.”

“They came two nights ago my lord. You were having your dinner and specifically said that you didn’t want to be disturbed by carol singers.”

“Did I? Well, I hope you sent them away with a flee in their ear. Damned nuisance, carol singers. You didn’t give them anything I hope?”

“Just a little something from me and cook. It’s what your wife would have wanted. Nothing of yours though my lord.”

“You shouldn’t encourage them Jones. And my wife’s dead, so there’s no point trying to please her, is there?”

“No my lord.”

“Trouble is, you’re too ruddy soft. They’ll be back next year. You mark my words.”

The noise indicated the lift had arrived, and they went down to the lower level.

“Would you like the radio or a book today my lord?”

“Sod the radio, that’ll be even more carols. I prefer a book. Something from Dickens.  What about Christmas Carol? I like the way that one starts, but not sure about the ending.” His laugh was like the crunching of long dead leaves.

The Christmas Carol was selected from a collection of talking books, and the control was handed to Lawrence so that he could start it when he was ready.

“How’s dinner coming along?”

“Cooks got everything in hand.”

“She’d better have. The family won’t be pleased if it’s not just right. You know what they’re like, ungrateful lot. I don’t know why I bother, I really don’t. Every year I provide Christmas dinner, and every year they squabble. And it’s about the same old things, I swear. Can’t wait until it’s over. Come the 26^th, at least you’ve got 364 days before you have to put up with it again.”

“Do you require anything else, my lord?”

“No, bugger off. I’ll ring if I need you.”

“Very good my lord.” Lawrence heard the door close as Jones left and pressed the button in his hand.

‘Marley was dead : to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.’ So intoned the narrator.

“Bah, humbug,” responded Lawrence with a grin as he settled back to listen.

It was 11:55 when Jones came back into the room. By now Dickens was silent.  “They’re here my lord.”

“What?  What time is it?”

“11.55 my lord.”

“But they’re not supposed to be here until 12.”

“They’re just coming up the drive. By the time they arrive, it’ll be 12.” As if to prove a point, the noise of tyres on the gravel could be heard outside.

“You’d better wheel me to the hallway then. Let’s get this over and done with. How’s dinner coming along?”

“On schedule my lord. They’ll just have time to take their coats off, and it’ll be ready to serve.”

“I should bloody well hope so. Now, take me to the hallway. I suppose I ought to say hello. It is Christmas, after all.” And he laughed again briefly before a coughing fit came over him.

Jones wheeled Lawrence out of the library and towards the hallway. The front door opened, and a blast of cold air rushed in.

“Hurry up you lot, I’ve not got money to burn on heating this place if you’re going to let all the heat out.”

“Hello dad,” said a voice, coming towards hm.

“Is that you Charles?”

“Of course it is. You haven’t got another son hidden away, have you?” The voice was by now directly in front of him. It swooped, bringing its essence of aftershave, and then departed after leaving a brief kiss on the elderly cheek.

“Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare say that. I loved your mother, you know I did.”

“Hello Lawrence,” came a second voice, higher yet strident in tone. It in turn advanced, swooped, kissed, and left a perfume that reminded him of his wife, Esther. He put out his hand to hold the one in front of him.

“Julia, is that you?” He squeezed the hand. You’ve put on a bit of weight haven’t you?

“I love you too Lawrence,” came the reply as the voice receded, leaving the perfume behind.

“Children,” said Charles, “come and say hello to your grandfather.”

Two lots of steps clattered towards him, “Hello grandad, happy Christmas.” they said in practiced unison. “Have you got any presents for us,” said the smaller sounding of the two.

“Now children, don’t be rude,” said Charles. “Presents are for after dinner. Remember?”

“And how old are they now?” asked Lawrence, not that he was particularly interested. Children generally were beyond his comprehension.

“Adrian’s twelve, and Justin’s ten,” said Charles.

Funny, thought Lawrence. He was sure they were that last year. But then again, maybe he had already added a year on to what he’d been told last year.

“Dinner is served,” interrupted Jones. He pushed Lawrence into the dining room, and the rest followed. Oohs and aahs greeted the sight of the dining room, decked as it was for a Christmas lunch, with candles burning. Not that Lawrence could appreciate the sight of it.

Soup was served. The boys, who had thankfully been placed at the other end of the long table, began to squabble. Lawrence tried to ignore them. They were always the same. Always arguing who was best at the newest video game.  Or was it the same game? Charles was polite about the soup, he always was, but there’s not much conversation to be had when supping soup, especially when you couldn’t see, so the adults were largely quiet. 

“So Charles,” Lawrence asked when the soup was finished, and they were waiting for the main course. “How’s the business coming along these days?”

“Oh, great. We’ve just signed a new contract with Howard Blackmore. Should be enough business to allow us to expand at last.”

“Howard Blackmore? I thought you’d already got a contract with him?” There was a slight pause.

“Yes, it’s a three-year contract. We hope to open a new office in Glasgow. We expect a lot of new business from Scotland. I’ve been spending a lot of time up there recently.”

“Yes, he’s not home much these days,” Julia piped up tersely. 

“Now darling, can’t we leave this behind? It is Christmas day.”

“Leave what behind,” asked Lawrence. They ignored him.

“So it’s convenient to leave out the fact that you’ve hardly been home for the last three months? And even when you are home, I never see you. You see more of your secretary than you do me.”

“But I’ve so much to do at work. You know I have. And it’s not fair to bring Claire into this.”

“Oh, that’s her name is it? Well, you can tell Claire from me that next time it’s my birthday, she better not send me lilies. Yes, I know it was her that sent them. It’s what efficient secretaries do, isn’t it? You at least know that I’m allergic to them.”

Same old thing, Lawrence thought. He’ll be telling her not to be ridiculous next, that Claire’s fifty if she’s a day.

“Don’t be ridiculous Julia. Claire’s fifty if she’s a day.”

That made Lawrence sit up. Was he getting prescient in his old age?

The main course was brought it, and as they sat and ate Lawrence listened with interest as Charles and Julia bickered. All of it unnervingly familiar.

Suddenly there was an unexpected sound as the door to the dining room burst open. “Turn that thing off,” said an unfamiliar yet strangely familiar voice. Charles and Julia continued to bicker, the children continued to argue, all ignoring the newcomer. “I said turn that bloody thing off. It’s time he was told the truth.”

There was a click, and the room was deathly quiet.

“Who the bloody hells that?” demanded Lawrence.  After a moment of silence, footsteps came towards him. “Charles, what’s happening?”

“Dad’s not here grandad.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Adrian.” A young, strong hand clutched his. “I’m your grandson, and I’m nineteen, not twelve.” He left it a moment before he continued. “Seven years ago, mum and dad decided they didn’t want to come up here for Christmas anymore. They wanted to do their own thing. So they decided to tape a visit, and that’s what you’ve been hearing every year since.”

“But I felt them. I felt them, smelt them when they came in.”

“You felt and smelt Jones and the cook. They’ve been paid handsomely to help with this charade each year. All they needed was the same aftershave and perfume.”

It was a moment before Lawrence could speak. “Jones, what have you got to say about this?”

“I’m afraid it’s all true my lord. You were always expecting them, and they refused to come.”

“Besides,” said Adrian, “turns out mum was right to be suspicious. Claire was more like thirty than fifty.” He paused. “Mum and dad are divorced grandad. He’s with Claire now. And they’ve got a daughter. He didn’t think you’d approve, which is another reason he doesn’t come here.”

“I’ve got a granddaughter? What’s her name?”

“Esther.” After his wife. He paused taking it all in before continuing.

“And why are you here?”

“Because I thought it was wrong. I thought it was wrong that you think your family was around you when they’re not. And I thought it was wrong that you eat an oven ready Christmas dinner, when you think it’s a fresh roast turkey.”

“They don’t want to come for Christmas?” asked Lawrence. “And I’m not going mad, knowing everything that’s going to be said?” He paused, before breaking out into guffaws of laughter. “Thank ruddy fuck for that. Means I never have to pretend again.” And he continued to laugh until he suddenly paused.

“You said it was an oven ready Christmas dinner?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord. Seemed a waste of money to get a turkey just for one.”

Lawrence paused considering. “You know what, that wasn’t half bad. Have you got any more?”

“I believe so my lord.”

“Well get one for my guest here. And be quick abut it. And afterwards, you can wrap me up so that my grandson can take me for a spin round the garden in my wheelchair. We need to talk about how I’m going to meet my granddaughter.”