24 December 1968 evening
Harry pulled the front door of his flat closed and climbed upstairs. With a shake, he removed his damp coat, the smell of rain clinging to the fabric, and hung it in the dimly lit hallway.
The flat was freezing, but he resisted the temptation to light a fire. He grabbed a blanket from his armchair and threw it over his shoulders.
Harry rummaged around in a drawer in the sideboard and pulled out a writing pad and pen. He sat at the dining table and thought about what to put in the letter to his sister. He started the letter several times, each attempt ending with a crumpled piece of paper and a frustrated sigh.
Harry stood and made his way to the kitchen; He would take a break to have something to eat and then try again. The distraction would clear his mind.
He wanted beans on toast, but he had eaten that for lunch, so made a sandwich instead. It should be something more substantial ahead of a night of drinking with Jimmy, but he couldn’t face it. He could go for chips after the pub shut. Although he wasn’t sure the chip shop would be open so late on Christmas Eve.
Harry finished his sandwich and returned to his letter. He glanced at the box of Christmas cards and decided on a different approach. He picked up the box and rifled through the contents, settling on the best card in the box. At least the best card, in his opinion.
Harry sat back at the table with the card open in front of him. He scribbled a message of best wishes for a happy Christmas to his sister. Then he paused. The words had been running through his mind while he ate his sandwich. It would be lovely to see you next year, I can come down to see you.
There that was it. The words were simple, clear, and direct. He had reached out with an offer to meet. He couldn’t do anything more. Now it was up to his sister.
Harry slid the card into the envelope. He had a couple of stamps in his wallet. He would put one on when he left to meet Jimmy and post the card. With luck, his sister might receive it before the new year.
Harry picked up the card and put it on the hall table, then flicked on the radio. He glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece. Just time for a cup of tea before getting ready to meet Jimmy.
***
Arthur Newman stood behind the bar in the Arches washing glasses. He looked across the empty bar as he worked, anticipating how packed the pub would be in the evening ahead. It would be a long night, but profitable.
Arthur was in his early fifties but looked ten years older. A life of long working hours and poor wages had worn him down. He was also carrying a couple of extra stones. But his eyes were bright and sparkled with humour. He was a born barman, a cheery word and a smile for every customer. Not that he wanted to be a barman. That was his wife Lene’s idea. Working in a bookie’s would have been his perfect occupation. They had been married for over twenty years and Arthur had followed her from one get-rich-quick scheme to the next.
When Lene first suggested going for the tenancy of the pub, he had laughed. They knew nothing about running a pub. Despite his doubts, Lene’s persistence secured them the tenancy. That had been five years ago, and somehow, they were still there. They had to be doing something right.
‘Have you washed those glasses yet?’ said a voice, interrupting his thoughts.
‘I’m doing it now,’ said Arthur, holding up a towel as if to prove the point to Lene.
‘I told you to do that ages ago,’ she said. ‘Have you moved the piano yet?’
Arthur sighed. No matter how many jobs he did in the pub, Lene always had another one for him to do.
‘I’m going to do it after I’ve seen to the glasses. Anyway I can’t move it on my own. I’ll have to wait for Adam to get here to help me.’
Adam was their part-time barman; Arthur was keenly awaiting his arrival to move the piano and do some of the heavy work in the cellar.
‘I don’t know why you want the piano in here anyway,’ said Arthur.
‘You know why. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone likes a singsong on Christmas Eve.’
This was news to Arthur, but he knew better than to argue with his wife. He had learned over the years it was best to keep his thoughts to himself.
‘What time are your old bags arriving?’ asked Arthur.
‘Don’t call them that,’ said Lene. ‘They are my customers.’
Lene left the bar, and Arthur raised his eyes heavenward, then returned to washing his glasses.
***
Lene made her way upstairs to their sitting room. The fire roared in the hearth, its intense heat making the room unbearably warm, a thick, suffocating blanket of heat. She had dragged a few extra chairs and squashed them around the dining table. She was expecting a large group of customers for her Christmas séance.
Lene wandered around the room, making last-minute changes, and adjusting a chair to give its occupant more room.
She crossed to a coffee table, opened a couple of boxes of mince pies and took a moment to arrange them on a plate. A bottle of sherry stood next to the plate. She had to give her customers something for the double price she was charging for her Christmas event.
Arthur scoffed at her séances. They were a con, of course, but he didn’t object to the extra money they brought in. They barely survived on what they made in the pub. If it wasn’t for all of Lene’s sidelines, as she called them, they would have been bankrupt years ago. Besides which, apart from the extra money the seances brought in, she enjoyed doing them. It was a rare chance to get dressed up and put on a show.
Lene had recently turned fifty-one. The once vibrant red of her hair had faded, replaced by strands of grey that felt coarse to the touch. Her blue eyes, normally sparkling with life, were slightly paler, their usual vibrancy dimmed. She crossed to a mirror on the wall, picked up her lipstick and applied a smear of bright red lipstick. The crimson was a stark contrast to her pale skin. She picked up a bottle of hair lacquer and applied a thick cloud of spray to her hair.
Lene modelled herself on her idol, Elsie Tanner, from Coronation Street. But she couldn’t deny the similarity between the two women was fading. It was alright for Elsie Tanner; she didn’t have to stand behind a bar all hours every day.
Lene moved away from the mirror, picked up her jacket and slipped it on. The navy of the jacket and matching skirt were a sharp contrast to the white of her silk blouse. She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the jacket slightly so it sat evenly on her shoulders. She patted the back of her hair to put it in place.
Lene crossed to the window and looked out onto the street below. It had been raining all afternoon and now it was getting heavier. Pools of water were forming in several places on the street below. She hoped the weather wouldn’t put her customers off. She was expecting ten customers for her meeting. At five shillings each, that was two pounds and ten shillings, less the cost of the pies and the sherry. Not bad for an hour’s work, if they all turned up.
***
Harry pulled on his overcoat and slipped the Christmas card for his sister into an inside pocket. He pulled the front door shut, a heavy rain downpour greeted him as he stepped out into the darkness. He pulled his collar up and half-walked and half-ran the short distance around the corner to the Arches.
Harry opened the pub door and a brightly lit bar and warm air greeted him. Arthur and a young lad were pulling an upright piano into the bar and pushing it up against a wall.
Arthur stood, acknowledging the new arrival. ‘You’re keen, Harry,’ he said as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow.
‘I’m meeting a friend and wanted to get a good seat.’
‘Sort those tables out will you Adam? I’ll serve Harry,’ said Arthur as he moved away from the piano and back behind the bar.
‘Pint is it?,’ asked Arthur as he picked up a glass.
Harry hesitated for a moment. He should get a drink in for Jimmy, but he didn’t know what he drank these days.
‘Yeah, just the one. Jimmy will be here in a minute. I’ll get his drink then.’
Arthur poured the drink and Harry pushed a few coins across the bar. The pub was empty, so he grabbed a table in his favourite spot. Next to the fire and out of the draught from the main door.
Harry had only taken a few sips from his glass when Jimmy arrived. He crossed over to Harry’s table and slipped off his overcoat, shaking it vigorously and spraying rainwater across the floor.
‘Filthy night out there,’ he said. ‘I got soaked walking over the bridge.’
‘Have a seat,’ said Harry as he stood. ‘Get dry by the fire, what can I get you?’ He nodded towards his own pint.
‘Thanks, I’ll have the same.’
Harry returned a couple of minutes later with Jimmy’s pint and took his seat.
The two men settled back with their drinks and reminisced about their days in the army. It was a bittersweet discussion. The many friendships they had made and also the losses. Both men sat back and became lost in their own thoughts of the years gone by.
‘So, what are you doing for Christmas?’ asked Jimmy after a few minutes of reflection.
The question brought Harry back into the moment. ‘Not so much. I’ve got a chicken.’
At any other time of the year, it might have been an odd thing to say. But on Christmas Eve it told its own story. Harry felt slightly embarrassed to admit he would spend Christmas Day alone. But a convincing lie didn’t spring to his lips.
If Jimmy picked up on Harry’s embarrassment, it didn’t show. ‘We’re having ham. I’m cooking. I wouldn’t know where to start with a turkey. So, ham it is.’
The implication was that Jimmy cooked because his sister was too ill and did not escape Harry’s notice. This took his mind back to his own sister and reminded him he had forgotten to post her Christmas card on the way to the pub. He would have to post it on the way home. It made little difference; the post wouldn’t be collected for days.
The pub was now full; and the volume rose as people consumed more drinks. Harry looked over at Jimmy’s glass and saw it was empty. ‘Another?’ he asked.
Jimmy nodded, and Harry got up and pushed his way to the bar. It took longer to get served than he expected, but eventually, he returned to the table.
‘I thought you had got lost,’ said Jimmy as he picked up his newly delivered pint and took a swig.
‘So did I,’ said Harry. ‘It’s chaos at the bar. There’s only Arthur and that lad working. Ridiculous on Christmas Eve. It will be a while before Lene makes an appearance.’
‘Lene?’
‘The landlady. She is having one of her séances.’
‘Séance?’ Jimmy said, his face crinkling into an expression of clear derision.
‘It’s a load of old nonsense. But some locals fall for it.’
‘Have you been to one?’
‘No fear. I’ve got better things to do with my money.’
‘So she charges for it?’
‘She charges for everything.’
Jimmy chuckled. Just then, the pub door opened and a procession of six women entered and marched through the pub and disappeared into the family quarters behind the bar.
‘They’ll be Lene’s victims,’ said Harry. ‘Parting with their hard earned money for an hour’s entertainment, listening to Lene’s made up stories.’
‘Still, it’s part of Christmas, isn’t it? A ghost story.’
The words rang in Harry’s mind. They both had more ghosts than most. The memories playing on Harry’s mind.
‘Look at us getting all maudlin,’ said Harry, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. ‘It’s Christmas, it’s your round Jimmy, get them in.’
Jimmy laughed. ‘Okay.’ Jimmy glanced at the crowd at the bar. ‘If I’m not back in an hour, send a search party.’
They served Jimmy more quickly than expected, and soon the two men settled into their evening.
At some point, someone began playing the piano, filling the bar with Christmas songs.
Harry looked towards the music and saw the piano player was Jean. Standing next to her, another woman was playing the violin. Seeing Jean in the pub completely took him by surprise; he hadn’t expected to see her there at all.
He knew Jean sometimes played the piano in the pub on a Sunday night. She hadn’t said she would be there tonight, but then he hadn’t planned to be there, so why would she?
Time flew by and near closing time, the pub door opened, and two late arrivals entered the bar. Everyone looked in their direction. Harry glanced over and noticed the snow covering them. They both stamped their feet, depositing snow on the floor. The music stopped and an eager murmur ran around the room. Harry looked to the window; a thick white curtain of snow covered the world outside, muffling the sounds from the street.
‘How long has that been coming down?’ asked Jimmy, a slight note of worry in his voice.
Jimmy got up and crossed to the door, pulled it open, and peered into the night. He returned to Harry and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. ‘I’m going to head off home.’
‘Is it that bad?’ asked Harry. A look of concern on his face.
‘It’s not too bad, but it’s coming down heavy and it’s already lying. If I go now, I’m sure I can get a late bus from the station. Before the snow gets too bad.’
‘I can put you up for the night if you like. I’ve got a spare room.’
‘Thanks Harry. But it will be worse in the morning. There won’t be any buses at all, and my sister will worry if I don’t get back. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. We went through worse in the war.’
‘Okay if you’re sure.’
Harry watched Jimmy pull on his coat, buttoning it to his neck.
‘It was great to see you again Harry. Take care and have a merry Christmas,’ said Jimmy.
‘You too,’ said Harry. But Jimmy was already heading out of the pub.
Harry slumped back into his chair. It had been a good evening. An unexpected evening and the only company he was likely to have over the holiday.
The pub was emptying; it seemed Jimmy wasn’t the only one deciding to cut their night short and get home while they could.
Harry was content to stay where he was. He only had a five-minute walk home ahead of him.
He stayed in the bar until it was empty. ‘Don’t you have a place to go?’ Arthur asked. He said it with a smile on his face.
Harry got up and grabbed his coat. He wobbled a bit as he pulled it on.
‘Careful how you go,’ said Arthur, as Harry stepped out into the night.
A thick blanket of snow fell from the sky, obscuring everything in its path with a pristine white layer. The snow had already hidden the departing pub goers’ footprints. The lines between pavement and road blurred.
Harry peered hard through the snowfall to make his way along the street. Snow covered him within seconds.
As he reached the end of the street, he remembered the Christmas card and changed direction towards the post box. I might as well post it now. Then I don’t have to come out again, he thought.
He looked across the road. There wasn’t a car or bus in sight. He pulled the card from his inside pocket as he neared the post box, but in a second, he lost his footing. He slipped on snow or ice; it made no difference. Harry gasped, trying to steady himself, but the world spun, and he felt himself falling backward. His body hit the ground with a heavy thump, the air whooshing from his lungs on impact. The sharp crack of his head hitting the kerb echoed in the silent street, a sickening sound.
Harry’s body lay on the ground. A gust of wind blew the Christmas card from his hand. Harry hadn’t sealed the envelope, and the card slipped out. It lay open at Harry’s greeting, written only hours earlier.
Snow continued to fall and soaked through the card. The thick, falling snow blurred Harry’s writing, smudging the ink and washing his words away into a white oblivion. oon as he got home.
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