Last Christmas

The emptiness he had placed in his pocket weighed his jacket down with untold heaviness. His weathered hands reached and fumbled subconsciously with the material, paralleling his mind which he couldn’t drag away from the things he would rather forget.

Just for tonight. He would ignore everything just for one last night.

The innkeeper placed his hands on the worn oak counter that stretched wall to wall. Candles on each table emitted a warm glow which couldn’t stretch to the bar, although it tried. Tinsel and bells and lights adorned the walls and framed the windows, drawing people in from the inky darkness outside, seeming to fight back against the frost creeping onto the outside of the glass.

The flicker of the flames cast dancing shadows of the customers onto the walls, silhouettes which held as much anonymity to him as the people themselves. Nevertheless, their grins and indulgent laughter were infectious.

He delivered plates and glasses with an accommodating manner; they ignored the shake of his hands which betrayed his age. Dipping in and out of their spheres, he reflected their joviality. He joked with a brightness that might have seemed exaggerated on any other day but wasn’t out of place amidst the Christmas cheer.

Then he would turn away, the smile would waver, he would return to his seat behind the bar. Surveying from his dimmed world. Fading out of sight so that they could save their smiles for the ones in their bubbles.

He looked up as the door creaked open sending a blast of chilled air through the room. A figure, face enshrouded by a dark hood, walked somberly but with purpose towards the bar and sat at a stool in the corner. His frame was small, barely a teenager, but still somehow imposing. He stayed perfectly still, staring across at the innkeeper from under the black material with strangely familiar eyes.

The innkeeper stayed at a distance for fear that it wasn’t who he thought. Or worse, that it was.

The night deepened, intensifying the fiery glow; until the innkeeper had watched all of his customers disappear into it. Finally, another Christmas was over. He sighed contentedly after collecting his things, blowing out the last candles and locking up the doors.  

An uneasy feeling descended, as if he was being watched. He turned to see the hooded boy and, locking eyes, he was sure he was right. It was his son.

‘Adam!’ he called, his voice like a crack against the silence and stillness of the scene. The boy’s gaze sharpened.  He froze like a startled fox, then, with the same careful steps, he began to walk away. The innkeeper followed, desperate to see the son he hadn’t spoken to in so many years but dreading the things he would have tell him.

A sense of foreboding filled the innkeeper as they walked, the boy maintaining a distance while ensuring he didn’t fall behind. The innkeeper knew where they were going. It was where he had been planning to go anyway.

They passed the towering silhouette of the church and reached the rows of overshadowed graves. The innkeeper kept his eyes trained on his sons shoes no longer able to bring himself to look any higher. Instead he concentrated on the frozen mud track and trampled grass to either side.

After weaving through the maze of headstones, they stopped.

A mass of overturned soil stretched out before them, so freshly dug there wasn’t yet any marker. It was only days earlier the innkeeper had stood there watching the casket lowered.

‘I did what you asked, my love,’ he nodded, addressing the space with such affection you might think she was standing there before him. ‘I lived a few more days to celebrate your favourite day for you.’ Finally he can smile fully, relief spreading through his creaking joints.

He glanced to the side where Adam had sunk to the ground, leant back against the worn stone with the ease of familiarity. The words beside his head were clear and pronounced, irremovable the same way they were burned into the innkeeper’s brain.

‘Adam Daffern. Beloved son.’

He opened his mouth to speak but Adam shook his head. He had already known - he had already seen his mother again.

The innkeeper pulled a crinkled envelope from his pocket and placed it atop the soil. Alongside it, with shaking hands, he balanced a medicine bottle which had been emptied hours since. Which had emptied his mind of loneliness and fear and the dread of long, long days to come.

The ink sky seemed to have swallowed even the moon so that it was impossible to distinguish anything around them.

Adam smiled sadly and stood, matching his father’s height.

‘You’re not a child anymore, are you?’ the innkeeper mused. Adam shook his head, grinning now, and then offered a hand. The innkeeper tentatively reached out and was surprised that he could grip the boys hand, feel the material of his sleeve so realistically.

Lights sprung up all around them, brightly coloured LED’s, reflecting in the glossy tinsel and holly wreaths scattering the ground. Illuminated by the emerging glow were hundreds of people, some of whom he didn’t recognize, some who he hadn’t seen in years. They laughed and danced and spoke in a sphere that stretched to accommodate everyone.  Inside which everything seemed to shimmer with the warmth and joy of those inside. Even the air seemed alive with warmth, an electric buzz.

Adam put a hand on his shoulder and point behind him. The innkeeper turned to see his wife standing right there, with smiling eyes, offering a warm embrace.

‘Come on, there are so many people we’ve waited years to see again.’ He couldn’t help staring at her in awe. Fascinated by her every breath, the shine in her eyes. She was so bright and full of life. Her smile was home and comfort and Christmas. And this was the best gift he could have wished for.