Yuletide Tales A Festive Collective Read online

  Picking up his dishes, John brought them to the counter.

  "Hey, Bob, you could use some help. Look I'm free, why don't I help a bit. Maybe we'll get a lead on the photo."

  "Hey, that's kind of you, John. Of course." John took off his jacket and tie and hung them at the back of the shop.

  For the few hours the little cafe was busy serving breakfasts and coffees and teas. A new delivery of fresh bread came in and John was managing taking orders, getting them ready, pouring the drinks and serving while Bob was busy with the delivery.

  "I usually have help but she hasn't shown up for a while and I just haven't got a replacement." Bob apologized for the work John had to do. "I really appreciate you stepping in like that. You know, I can pay you for this. I really appreciate it." John was pouring anther coffee for a customer.

  "You're welcome Bob. You know I'm finding this kinda fun. I'm out of work you know. So I don't mind stepping in until your girl gets back." Bob looked at John with a short consideration in his eyes.

  "She won't be back. The job's yours for as long as you want it." John could hardly believe his ears. Here he was in his wrinkled suit and no tie and he had just been offered a job. A new day, new hopes.

  "Thank you, Bob. I'll gladly take it on."

  The cafe was slowly calming down after the lunch rush. The door opened and the bell above the door rang its single chime. Busy cleaning tables John didn't take any notice. He was vaguely aware of a woman and a child walking over to the counter where Bob was standing.

  "Do you have any stale bread? My little girl is hungry," said the women in a very shy, perhaps embarrassed voice. John looked up to see what kind of woman would be asking for stale bread.

  The woman was a sorry sight. She was haggard and thin, her hair in a mess and her clothes had more wrinkles than his. But it was the little girl at her side which caught his attention. She was only a toddler, about three years old. She was looking straight at John with a wide smile. John fumbled in his pocket and removed the photo. Yes, there was no mistaking it. This was the girl in the photo. Just then the little girl spoke out loud pointing to John.

  "Are you John Smith?" John stood frozen in his tracks. Bob stood watching the trio. The woman had turned to look at John then shushed the little girl in her hand.

  "Are you Jen?" John managed to ask.

  "And you're John Smith," the girl said as she nodded her head

  "Shh, Jen," the mother said. "Don't bother the man." Then, as if she had just suddenly realised that John had spoken her daughter's name, she looked at him with hopeful suspicion. "How do you know my daughter's name?" Bob and John's eyes met. Bob indicated that John should say nothing. He then made an eating movement with his hand before pointing to the two new guests. John understood. Bob wanted to serve them some food first, before breaking the bad news.

  "Why don't you take a seat," offered John. "We'll give you something to eat. Some warm pizza to warm the little girl's tummy." The toddler was still looking at John and smiled.

  "Thank you, John Smith." John said nothing and proceeded to help Bob get them some pizza. The two men kept away from the two females as they devoured the slices of pizza served to them.

  Finally the mother looked up and thanked them. She was getting up to leave when John approached.

  "Please wait a moment," he said as he took a seat at their table. He pulled out the photo and showed it to the woman. The woman stared then grabbed the photo. Tears welled in her eyes.

  "Where did you get this?" she asked, almost demanding. Then she turned it over looking at the scribbled note then looked at John. "How did you get this? Where is my baby?" The tears were now streaming down her cheeks.

  John took out his driving license and showed it to the woman. "I'm John Smith," he said matter of factly. The woman looked at the name of the license, then at the photo's note, then at John.

  "I… I don't understand," she stuttered.

  "Neither do I," agreed John. "I found a little girl in the alleyway last night. She was grasping this photo. Unfortunately," John could already see that his choice of word already said it all without saying. "After carrying her to the hospital, she died." John waited for the news to sink in. The woman wide eyed and silent. "That's where she is now."

  Deep gasps emerged from the woman's chest, then she groaned loudly with a painful cry. She cried in pain and huge sobs as the little toddler at her side watched and kept a close eye on John. Every time she looked at John she smiled. "You are John Smith," she said shyly.

  John and Bob allowed the mother to cry it out. They could only guess at the circumstances surrounding Gaby being alone on the street. For John guessed that Gaby was the name of the dead girl. Jen's big sister. Bob cleared the plates away and John took the woman's hand. "I'm sorry," he said, barely holding back his own tears. "I did what I could." The woman looked up at him, her face torn with pain and smudged with dirt and tears.

  "Thank you," she said. "It's all my fault. You see when my husband left us three years ago, just after Jen was born," her loving caress on the child's head didn't go unnoticed by John or Bob, "I couldn't find permanent work then I… I started drinking." More sobs and she covered her face, her right hand still held by John. Sniffing she continued, "After two years of drinking and screaming Gaby eventually left to look for you. I haven't seen her in six weeks." John was puzzled but the woman motioned with her hand for him to wait. She went to explain.

  "You see, Gaby began talking about a man who would come to save us and help us, bring us food and give us a nice home. It was fun to think about and, when I asked what was this man's name, she grabbed a phone book and opened it. There were pages and pages of Smith, John. So that was the name she picked. From then on it was John Smith this and John Smith that, and it would be John Smith who would come and save us." She paused to look at John more intently. Her mouth curled up into a wide smile, "and your name is John Smith! That's… that's…"

  "Amazing! I know. I find it hard to grasp myself." John was stumped at this revelation of little Gaby's invention of her savior, John Smith. Yet Gaby appeared to know when he arrived. Or perhaps it was her faith which assumed that he was the one. Too late for Gaby, thought John, but what about her Mum and tiny Jen? They've just been fed, just as Gaby predicted in her fantasy; or was it fantasy. Looking up to Bob standing nearby John said.

  "Somewhere I remember reading something about… what you hold in your mind with intense desire will eventually come about." Bob walked over to a picture on the wall and turned it around to show the reverse side. There in bright letters were painted the words: Believe and you will Receive.

  "I look at those words when I feel down," admitted Bob. "It reminds me to have faith; to believe in something, to believe in what I'm doing. And what I'm doing is feeding hungry people." Bob had spoken with such passion that all three, even little Jen, were looking at him.

  John was scratching his head. "Then even if it was a fantasy of Gaby's, she believed it enough and…, well here I am, here we are." John thought of the start of the previous day, how he had hated his name, yet this story with this mother and her two daughters, one now dead, were centered around that name, his name. His eyes met the mother's.

  "What is your name?" he asked.

  "Sue." John loves the sound of the name. He feels drawn into Sue's eyes, into her life, into her sorrow. A shake on his arm brings him back to the present.

  "You are John Smith and you help us. Thank you for the pizza." Little Jen spoke loud and excited and was smiling up at John with her big eyes.

  "You're welcome," he says stroking her hair.

  "Where do you live?" John wanted to know. Sue looked to the ground then met John's eyes again.

  "We don't have a home. I couldn't pay for one. We live in hostels and churches and such." Her cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment and she looked away. John be-wondered the woman whose life was torn apart by circumstances but it was circumstance which now offered her hope. Maybe it more than just circumst
ance? Gaby's story was being fulfilled before their very eyes.

  John stood and looked to Bob, not knowing what to do. His own apartment was about to be reclaimed because he hadn't paid his rent in months. Bob understood. The big man smiled, placed his fists on either hip and looked at his three new friends.

  "Above the shop is a two bedroom apartment waiting for new tenants. John has a job, working here, why don't you three move in up there and get that young lass some warm clothes. There's a bed there will do Jen, the rest we can find, no problem."

  The offer seems too good to be true. A job, an apartment, and a family, all in one day. John couldn't hold back his pleasure, then the tears. He picked up Jen and held her in his arms. It all felt so natural, so… belonging. Jen looked at him and pointed with her tiny finger. Shrugging her shoulders, she whispered.

  "You are John Smith." Sue stroked Jen's back, coming nearer. Smiling she said.

  "That's right, Jen. Your sister Gaby's dream has come true and Gaby has gone to heaven." Jen wrapped her arms around John's neck.

  "I love John Smith. Gaby's John Smith.”

  John felt the warmth of the embrace in his entire being. Such a feeling he had never known before. Sue looked relieved, Bob was ablaze at his bright idea and Jen was content in his arms. And he? John thought for a moment. Then looked to Sue, then to Bob and said.

  "I love my name."

  THE END

  © 2013 Jim Murdoch

  The Case of the Shiny Red Gift Box

  By

  Chris Raven

  Charles had always loved Christmas, and despite the fact that he would only be spending it with Benedict, there were no excuses for not doing it properly, with all the trimmings. The turkey was happily defrosting in the fridge, next to a jar of homemade cranberry sauce and the veggies were all set out and ready for peeling and chopping in the morning. Charles was just starting to prepare the ‘pigs-in-blankets’ when the doorbell chimed.

  Charles wiped his hands on a tea towel and stepped into the hallway. He quickly checked his appearance in the large ornate wall mirror and smoothed down his immaculately groomed moustache. He opened the front door and found Mike Astley standing there in his customary brown overalls. A large key chain hung from his belt and, as per usual, his wrinkled red-cheeked face looked uncomfortable as he scratched his bulbous and heavily veined nose.

  “My dear Michael,” Charles said warmly, offering his hand. “What can I do for you this fine Christmas Eve morning?" Charles liked the caretaker but he could never resist messing around with him.

  “Morning Mr Clementine,” Mike replied. His eyes darting around nervously as he gave the proffered hand a very fleeting shake. "I‘m sorry to disturb you at Christmas.”

  “Michael, you know it’s always a pleasure, but how many times must I tell you: it’s Charles. Now what is that I see under your arm? A gift?”

  “Oh!” Mike said. He seemed almost startled to find the small parcel still in his possession. “Yes, this is the reason I called round actually. It was found in the building, but it has no name on it; I would hate to think of some kiddie missing out on a Christmas present. So I thought, what with you knowing lots of people through the Neighbourhood Watch, you might have an idea who it belonged to.”

  “Oh I see,” Charles said excitedly, beckoning Mike inside. “A mystery, oh good. Do come in, come in.”

  Charles showed Mike past the kitchen and into the sitting room, where he abruptly spun around, with a hand outstretched, to receive the parcel.

  “Now then,” he said, taking the gift box from Mike. “Let us see what we have here.”

  The Parcel was heavy, about six inches long, four inches wide and about an inch and a half deep. It was obviously a box of some sort, cardboard probably, and it was all neatly wrapped in shiny red gift paper.

  “A woman wrapped this parcel I suspect,” Charles announced confidently, “no man would have taken this much care and the paper is of reasonably good quality”. He gave the box a gentle shake and something heavy thudded from side to side within.

  “Curious,” Charles declared, placing the parcel on the dining table. “Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

  *****

  Later that morning Benedict finally got out of bed and sauntered into the sitting room wearing his dressing gown. “Morning Charlie,” he called out as he made his way towards the kitchen for his first mug of coffee of the day. He stopped suddenly en route as he spotted the parcel sitting on the dining table, and he stared at it for a few seconds in both shock and surprise.

  “Oh, you’ve seen the parcel,” Charles said, coming out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Mike came round earlier with it; no one knows who owns it.”

  “Oh,” Benedict replied, confused and still a little shocked. “I see and why do we have it?”

  “We’re going to discover to whom it belongs, and then we are going to return it ready for Christmas Day,” he said gleefully. “It’s a mystery and I’m going to be Santa Sherlock Holmes, you can be my little elfy helper.

  "Charming,” Benedict exclaimed, "as long as I don’t have to wear green tights. Anyway, where are you going to start?”

  “I don’t know,” Charles replied thoughtfully, “do you think we should open it?”

  “No!” Benedict cried, almost little too abruptly.

  “Alright, don’t have a hissy, but you're right; we shouldn’t ruin this nicely wrapped parcel unless we have to.”

  "I think we should just return it to Mike and forget all about it," Benedict said sourly.

  "Oh Ben, where's your sense of adventure?" Charles chided, as he crossed the room towards the telephone. "I thought you liked a challenge."

  "I do," Benedict replied, "but it's Christmas Eve."

  "Don't be a scrooge, it'll be fun," Charles insisted. Not if you find out what's in it, Benedict thought.

  "Who are you ringing?" He asked, as Charles picked up the telephone; it was an old-fashioned retro affair with a dial instead of buttons.

  "I’m ringing the biggest gossip in the block Ben, the biggest gossip in the block."

  *****

  Mary Paddock was as large as her personality, which was big, cheery and hard to ignore. She loved talking to people, which was why she bounded to the telephone as soon as it started to ring.

  "Hello, Mary Paddock speaking,” she announced as she picked up the receiver.

  "Hello Mary, its Charles." Mary almost squealed with excitement.

  “Hello Charles, how are you?” This must be important, she thought, neighbourhood watch business no doubt and urgent enough to disturb her on Christmas Eve. When Charles told her about the situation, she wasn't disappointed.

  "Really!" she exclaimed, "how wonderful. This is like a real life mystery, we're like detectives."

  “I know,” Charles replied, “so what do you think?”

  “Shiny red wrapping paper you said,” Mary scratched her head in thought. “I’ve seen it for sale somewhere.”

  “Downstairs?” Charles enquired. "Maybe in one of the retail units down on the ground floor?" Mary suddenly clicked her fingers.

  “The mini-mart,” she announced, “I’ve seen it in the mini-mart!”

  *****

  Twenty minutes later an excited Charles and Mary were stamping their feet in the swirling snow and rubbing their gloved hands together while they waited outside the mini-mart for Benedict to join them. Benedict eventually arrived, wrapped from head to foot in a large overcoat. His collar was upturned over a thick scarf that was wrapped round his neck, jaw and nose; he looked like a highwayman. His eyes were just visible between the scarf and a woollen beanie hat. Even with only a fraction of his face visible, there was no mistaking his acrid mood.

  “I really don’t want to be here,” he said glumly. “I think this is a complete waste of time."

  “Is Benedict alright?” Mary quietly asked Charles, as they walked towards the shop doorway.

  “Don’t mind him,” Charles rep
lied brightly, “he’s not been up long and he’s never been a morning person, have you sweetie”. Benedict gave him two fingers.

  “That is not very Christmassy Ben,” Charles laughed, as he led the way into the warmth of the shop.

  They found a small dust-covered supply of stationery, in a rarely visited section of an aisle, at the very back of the shop. Hidden amongst the envelopes, writing pads, ball-point pens and greeting cards was indeed a large supply of shiny wrapping paper. There was a variety of different colours but none of them were red. A quick enquiry with Mr Atalar, the Mini-mart’s owner, and the would-be detectives learnt that the last of the red paper had been sold out. It had been mainly bought by two people: Vic Hollis at the shoe repair shop and Bert the Bouncer, manager of the ‘Pies and Tarts’ restaurant just around the block in the next street.

  Benedict appeared to perk up a bit. He suggested that they split up to save time and meet later at the coffee shop to exchange notes. The three of them then left the mini-mart and headed back the way they had come. Turning a corner, they approached the black and gold fronted restaurant and Benedict ran ahead and pushed open the door.

  “I’ll see you two in a little while then,” he said cheerfully, and then disappeared inside, leaving Charles and Mary to continue round the block toward Hollis’.

  *****

  When Charles and Mary entered his shop, Vic Hollis was stooped over his work station repairing a large brown work boot. He looked up and regarded them both through thick glasses that magnified his eyes to the point of making him look perpetually startled. Long grey hair framed the sides of his face but the top of his head was completely bald and as shiny as the parcel that Charles was holding in his hand. Vic gradually rose to his feet and Charles could hear the old man's knees creaking. Vic slowly walked down the length of the counter to where his new ‘customers’ were waiting for him; he did not seem pleased to see them.

  “What can I do for you?” He said gruffly and Charles showed him the parcel.

  “We were wondering if this was yours or if you know anything about it?” He asked.