My wonderful friend Amanda has been helping me this year in my writing. It's been a simple arrangement. Every now and again I've asked her for a writing prompt, a half sentence to begin a story or a poem or just a short piece of prose that I might return to later. A few of the results of this process have appeared in this blog. Do you remember how Gerald ate the washing?
I recently asked her for another prompt and it turned out to be seasonal:
He saw the Christmas lights had been up for months, and he thought to himself ...
That's it. Simple.
Christmas Lights |
When I saw those words I knew that I would be writing a small piece about the horrors of a Christmas starting in October rather than at Christmas. I knew I'd probably grumble about the over commercialisation of the festival and how none of what was seen on a city street had anything to do with Christ. You'll have noticed that I am not currently giving myself the title Christian. That doesn't mean that I don't see a greater meaning in the stories surrounding Jesus than in the way we're all encouraged to celebrate. I knew I would be bringing in Christian ideas from those stories and celebrating those.
I knew it. But sometimes knowledge is wrong.
And I knew my knowledge was false knowledge by the time I finished typing the first sentence.
What follows is the result of continuing to type. It's a Christmas story and is my present to you all this year. If you want to give me something, proof read this tale. I know it contains plenty of typos. My entire blog undoubtedly contains many such errors. If you spot them, feel free to let me know.
Here it is. The longest piece of fiction I've ever written. At about 15,700 words it's approximately 15,000 words longer than I had expected!
This year has seen a beginning to my writing. Next year will see a more serious continuation. Next year might see a Christmas story worthy of publication in something more noteworthy than this blog. That doesn't mean it would be published. Lots of very worthy stories never see publication and across the country thousands of writers know only to write for the joy of writing rather than for the privilege of being read.
Note: The characters and street in this story are fictional. The cafe is not.
Note: I type this on the morning of December 19th. The story mentions certain weather conditions that happen today and on Christmas day too. These weather conditions are fictional.
Note: Don't expect the greatest story ever told. But I hope you find some enjoyment in what follows.
STARSTRUCK
Carl. June 2016
He saw the Christmas
lights had been up for months, and he thought to himself, “My,
don't they look fantastic?”
He smiled, sighed
contentedly, and looked at his house.
It was truly sumptuous.
It shone like the star of Bethlehem as if the light of the angels had
come and landed upon his home. It was as if God was celebrating. He
was pretty sure that Bethlehem had been no brighter when the Magi
approached the place where Jesus was born.
Carl suspected that he
was getting his metaphors and the story twisted up somehow but it
didn't matter to him.
He scratched his face
absent mindedly and ran his hand through his beard and watched as the
lights shone, sparkled, changed. Surely this year he would win the
Christmas decoration competition. Surely nobody would be able to
challenge this display.
There wasn't a space left
to fill on the outside of his three bedroom semi. The roof was
arrayed with a layer of white lights to show the snow and they
periodically flashed messages that Carl had spent days programming
into a computer, each of five thousand lights controlled
independently. Just simple messages like “Merry Christmas
Everybody” and “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” but each letter
was comprised of lots of lights. Carl had enjoyed the challenge and
each word was now perfect on his roof. He had combined his
programming with listening to his favourite carols and watching
Christmas movies from his DVD collection.
Landing on the snow was a
life sized sleigh made of lights, pulled by life sized reindeer. The
bells on the sleigh sparkled as they swung back and forth. Carl
would have preferred to be able to hear them but out of courtesy to
his neighbours he wouldn't switch on the loudspeakers yet. Santa was
on the roof too – or part of him. A life sized Santa with a
perfectly formed red cloak and white beard was squeezing down Carl's
chimney.
Carl knew that if the
loudspeakers were switched on he would hear Santa laughing and saying
“Ho, ho, ho,” every five minutes and “Merry Christmas one and
all” every six minutes and five seconds. Once for every year of
three hundred and sixty-five seconds. Carl had programmed Santa so
that the “Ho”s wouldn't clash with the “Merry”s. So every
few hours Santa would be saying “Merry Christmas one and all, Ho,
ho, ho.” Carl knew that his heart and mind would scream with
delight every time that happened.
The front of Carl's house
was a blaze of lights. Snowmen, decorations, a Christmas tree from
the ground right up to the eaves, robins, a perfectly baked Christmas
pudding, angels, and all manner of the most beautiful lights Carl had
been able to buy – and some even more beautiful ones he had made
out of wire frames and long strings of fairy lights.
The rest of the houses in
the street looked bare.
Because they were bare.
Carl felt quite sorry for
the people in those houses. They had drab houses and he couldn't see
the Christmas cheer in any of them. No lights. At all. Oh well, at
least they could all see the special sight that was Carl's house. He
was doing everyone a big favour. Bringing happiness and smiles into
a sad situation, just like God did when he sent Jesus and gave the
world its first Christmas. There hadn't been fairy lights then of
course. When you have a blazing star and the lights of the angels
you don't need electric displays of joy.
Carl's garden was also
filled with the sweet sensations of Christmas.
A Christmas train ran
round the front garden and down the side of the house. It was a very
clever display that Carl had designed himself. The train would
appear from the back of the house filled with presents in the wagons
it pulled. It would then make a slow tour of houses across the
garden, all lit up for Christmas and all with their own little
“Santa, Stop Here” signs. At each house the train would stop and
presents would be left – all lit up fabulously of course. Then the
train, empty now, would return to the back of the house ready to be
filled for another circuit as the presents – in an effect Carl was
particularly proud of – would be taken into the houses.
The train was a new
addition for this year. Much more impressive than the inflatable
snowmen and reindeer that had been there before. They were now
stored up in Carl's loft. He couldn't bear to part with them even
though he knew that he would only ever need them again in an
emergency.
This year was the year.
This year he would win the national Christmas decoration competition.
He had already won his local competition six years running and
people from across Farnworth and even from the other side of Bolton
came to drive past his house and put a little offering in the buckets
Carl left out to support the hospice. Last year he had raised nearly
eight thousand pounds for them. Before electricity costs and the
cost of all his lights. After all of that was taken into account he
had been able to send the hospice a cheque for three hundred pounds.
Carl was pleased to do it.
And this year he would
achieve national fame. He was sure of it. He wouldn't just appear
on the cover of The Bolton News and get on the local news bulletin at
Granada TV. He would be famous. His name and face would be on the
Nine O'clock News on the BBC. And everyone would see what a
wonderful thing he had created.
Carl sighed again. It
was all good.
Except for the gap.
In the middle of the
railway was a gap. Empty space.
Carl had considered just
filling it with some of the inflatable snowmen but they felt out of
place among the wonders of his railway. Once the loudspeakers were
switched on Carl knew that the train would make real train noises as
it drove along the track and after visiting each house it would make
a “Toot! Toot!” noise. He was looking forward to that.
No, an inflatable snowman
wasn't right for his garden any more and Carl knew it.
He had been thinking
about this problem for weeks. And as he stood there inspiration came
to him. Yes. It would be the perfect solution. He knew exactly
what was needed and he promised himself he would labour every night
to make the right centrepiece for his garden display.
Carl knew that everyone
around would just love it.
He clapped his hands in
joy and then went inside to start planning his new project.
It would be wonderful.
More than wonderful. It would.
Hannah. June 2016
She saw the Christmas
lights had been up for months and she thought to herself, “When
will this hell end?”
Hannah almost wished she
had never moved to her home in Welford Avenue. If only she had
known. She would never have bought the place if she had. No wonder
the previous owners were so keen to move away.
It was a perfect home.
Three spacious bedrooms upstairs – with hers at the back of course
– and a lounge that was to die for. She thought she would be happy
there, a home for life unless she ever married again and got whisked
away to some paradise by the man or woman of her dreams. Hannah had
vivid dreams.
She knew about the lights
over the road of course when she viewed the house. But that had been
one evening in mid-December the previous year and she was prepared to
overlook such a blight on the neighbourhood. After all, it was only
really for a couple of weeks and people must have put thousands into
those collection buckets.
Hannah didn't like
Christmas. She wanted to avoid as much of the festivities as
possible. Christmas still stung too much. Her marriage had ended a
year previously, the tensions that had built up over five long years
suddenly breaking out into open warfare. Her ex, Dave, had thought
it hilarious to hand her divorce papers on Christmas Day with the
words, “'Appy Christmas Han.”
Hilarious.
She hadn't been amused.
The joke was on him though because he lost nearly everything in the
marriage settlement. Served him right. Hannah could have kept the
house and she tried to stay but it held too many memories. When
autumn came she knew she couldn't stand to be there much longer.
Everywhere she looked there was a memory of Dave, painful, a new
wound inflicted by an absent man. It was time to go.
She put the house on the
market that October and started hunting, half-heartedly for a new
home. Somewhere that could be hers and hers alone. At the start of
December she found an enthusiastic buyer and had to put more effort
into hunting. The combination of regret and hope was exhausting.
Hannah found her dream
home a couple of weeks later. It was everything she could imagine it
could be. At least, it was everything it could be within her budget
– a nice budget thanks to the house she had afforded with Dave and
his wage packet, but not an unlimited one. Yes, he may have been a
shit but he had been a shit with money. Now he was a shit with less
money, paying off the mortgage on a house that wasn't even his any
more.
Hannah could hardly
believe her luck and she made an offer for the house straight away.
The lawyers on both sides worked at a speed that merited their wages
and contracts were exchanged at the start of February.
Moving in day had been
excellent. Saying goodbye to the memories. The day before she
buried her wedding ring under the apple tree in the garden. The end
of an old life. The beginning of the new. At last.
The removal company
worked very hard to move the possessions Hannah was taking. She was
leaving behind as much of the furniture as she could. New house, new
chairs. The divorce settlement could pay for some new furniture. It
wouldn't be as plush and ornate as the things she was leaving but it
would be hers, without the stink of Dave still tainting every stitch,
every knot in the wood, every little damn thing.
She felt free. For the
first time since marrying Dave. Free.
While the removal men
unpacked she drank tea and sat on the front garden wall, watching the
stream of possessions as they were carried into the house. It was
strange to see everything boxed as if her entire life consisted of
sealed brown packages.
Joyce from next door
popped round to say hello. She seemed nice and offered to drop round
a meal that night to save Hannah from having to think about it.
Hannah hadn't known that anyone did that kind of thing in real life.
She thought it was a soap opera device to lead the viewer into the
existence of a new character. Maybe Joyce was from a soap opera.
Hannah found herself wondering which soap Joyce was in and what kind
of dark secrets she had. Was Joyce a Corrie woman or an escapee from
Ramsay Street? Or was Joyce from some crazy mash-up of The Archers,
Cell Block H, and Dynasty?
It wasn't until she was
sitting on the wall drinking her second cup of tea that Hannah
noticed them.
The Christmas lights.
They were still there.
In February.
That came as something as
a shock. But maybe there was a perfectly good reason. Maybe someone
living there had been ill so nobody had found the time to take the
lights down. Maybe they had started the job and got distracted.
There certainly seemed to be a few less decorations in the garden.
All those horrid inflatable snowmen had gone. Quite scary things
really. Sinister.
Hannah decided that she
could even offer to help with clearing them away into boxes once she
had emptied some of her own boxes. She finished her tea, concluding
that the lights would be gone soon and she wouldn't have to put up
with seeing them again until next Christmas.
She was wrong.
As it got dark outside,
the lights came on.
Bright. Flashing. Boom,
boom, boom in Hannah's head and she hadn't even got curtains to put
up.
She was shocked.
Dismayed. Annoyed. Her dream spoiled by the bright lights of a
loathed time, inescapable. In February. 'Tis the season to be
sorry. Tra la la la oh crap it all.
So that was moving day.
The lights were the same every day after that. Apart from two
blissful weeks when Carl had gone on holiday and the lights stayed
off. Joyce said that it was the same every year and though it was
annoying there really wasn't anything anyone could do about it. She
knew. She had tried. In the long run though she supposed it was all
harmless.
It was now the end of
June. Hannah returned home from work. She looked, hoping beyond
hope, as she did every time she came back to Welford Avenue. The
lights were still there. As they had been for months. Years even.
As she walked up the
street to her home – fitted now with some heavy duty blackout
curtains that still didn't quite prevent Christmas entering her house
during the spring nights – she saw Carl in his garden. He looked
up at his house and smiled and Hannah could have sworn she heard him
sighing. He looked very pleased about something up on the house and
then had looked down, staring at the garden. Staring at that space
where those snowmen had been.
Carl suddenly shouted,
“Yes, Yes, Yes, that's the one,” and clapped his hands before
punching his fist into the air. He then ran back into his house and
closed the door.
Hannah wondered what “the
one” would be. Presumably a space filler of some garish and
distasteful and tacky variety. Carl had already added a quite
horrific train track with a multi-colour train of presents. It was
awful
Hannah wondered how much
more of this hell she could take before she exploded. She didn't
want to explode at Carl. Apart from his Christmas obsession he was a
nice man. But Hannah knew that even she had limits and she felt
resentment bubbling up within her.
As she entered her home
and put the kettle on she tried, without success, to put those
feelings of dread from her mind. It would be okay. It would. Would
it?
Hannah. Summer 2016
As the summer passed
Hannah forgot about “the one.”
The gap on the lawn
remained and each night the train circled a large bare patch of grey
paving slabs. It would be a stretch to say all was quiet. For
although the loudspeakers remained silent the lights made up for it
by their own noise and busyness.
The summer was easier for
Hannah to bear because the nights were shorter so the lights
displayed their garish Christmas horrors for less hours and on some
nights, if she pulled the curtains early, Hannah was almost able to
forget about Carl's obsession for a while.
It wasn't that Carl was a
bad man. Quite the opposite. The two of them had even shared a
drink and a bite to eat a couple of times after bumping into each
other when shopping in Farnworth. It turned out that they shared a
love for a little café just round the corner where the service was
friendly, the portions huge, and where no music ever played. Neither
Hannah nor Carl wanted their meals or their conversations disturbed
by the intrusion of music whether that be from someone else's CD
collection or – even worse – from a badly tuned radio.
Yes, she had to admit it.
If you could get Carl away from Christmas he could be quite the
gentleman. Joyce had stuck her nose in though. She had spotted the
two of them leaving the café one day and put two and two together to
make eighty-six. Joyce had popped round that evening and had asked
about the “relationship” and whether she should be buying herself
a new hat. And then she had discussed it with Mrs. Ashwood down the
street and with Brian Greene too and before long it seemed that the
entire street – if not the entire estate – knew that Hannah and
Carl were an item. Which they weren't. Hannah was so embarrassed by
the whole thing that she got Carl to agree that they wouldn't share
any more meals together. At least for a while.
It was just a pity she
couldn't get him to turn off the lights once in a while. She had
tried. Several times. But Carl just laughed it off and then would
tell Hannah about the different kind of lights and motors and
software he used or about a new DVD he had bought. It was much safer
not to mention the subject at all otherwise the Carl who could make
her smile mutated into a monster from the seventh level of that big
inferno.
Hannah hadn't ever
enquired about the gap in the garden. And now, with summer turning
to autumn, she had put it out of her mind. “The one” lay
forgotten, dead in the midst of the living year.
Carl. Summer 2016
As the summer passed,
Carl worked on “the one” almost every night.
It had proved far more
complicated than he had imagined.
This wouldn't be just
another nativity scene. They had been done a thousand times before.
A stable on the ground and a few lit up figures. Boring. Anyone
would think that the nativity wasn't about the light of the world
coming to Bethlehem because the scene would be the dullest part of
displays. There was a time when a nice nativity was enough to almost
guarantee you a place in the final round of the national Christmas
lights competition. Not any more. The judges would now see through
a nativity. It didn't matter how bright you made the crowns on the
heads of the kings. It didn't matter how many inflatable sheep you
put in the garden. It didn't even matter if you used an actual
garden shed as the stable. None of that would win you the title. It
was old fashioned, passé.
Yes. Jesus was boring.
Dull. An ancient relic in the world of the bright lights.
And the children were
even more bored by Jesus than the judges. They wanted Santa. They
wanted presents. They wanted more and more and more things. They
didn't seem to want Jesus any more. They wanted a Christmas without
Christ and Carl felt terrible about that even though he didn't
personally believe in Jesus or go to church or anything like that.
Except at Christmas. What would Christmas be without Christmas
church? Carl couldn't conceive of it.
Carl had decided that
this was the year that a nativity scene could clinch the title, sway
the votes of the judges and even inspire the children to wonder and
awe and an excitement surpassing the joy of seeing elves helping on
top of the sleigh.
This was the year. This
was “the one.”
A nativity. The greatest
illuminated nativity scene ever seen in a garden on a housing estate
in England. The greatest. Bar none. If he could ever finish it.
The basic plan was drawn
out in a fortnight and Carl realised he had his work cut out if he
was to get his nativity finished in good time. He wanted everything
in place and switched on by the end of October. First he had to
order the materials and he hoped that all the extra costs would mean
extra donations for the hospice otherwise it was going to be a very
small donation this year.
Then the actual work
began.
Six nights a week, four
or five hours a night.
There had been
challenges. Snags. Setbacks. Triumphs. He had never built a
framework this big before or had to string together so many lights in
such complicated arrays. He had never programmed anything quite so
complex into his computer or struggled so much to get everything to
work in perfect timing.
Sometimes it didn't work
and there were times he felt frustrated by the whole project and
wondered if he might be doomed to failure and have to get the snowmen
out again. If it hadn't been for Hannah helping to clear his mind of
Christmas lights occasionally during the summer months he might have
ended up smashing up the display and resigning himself to another
“also ran” place in the competition.
He enjoyed meeting with
Hannah. Her company was relaxing and she took him away from his
troubles for a while and into conversations full of smiles in which
they hadn't had to talk about anything much. They had even been out
for a meal a few times in that quiet café. Carl had been sad when
Hannah had said that they shouldn't meet any more. He liked her
company and knew that she had helped him get through that long,
difficult summer of the nativity.
Towards the end of
September all the pieces finally started coming together. It was
going to be seamless. It had to be. On the tenth of October he
wired up the final string of bulbs and attached them to a frame. It
was time. He had built something spectacular. The nativity to end
all nativities. All he had to do now was put it together.
Hannah. October 2016
She could remember the
date.
If she were to live a
thousand lifetimes on a planet as yet unevangelised by ardent and
zealous Christian space missionaries preaching about the joy of
Christmas she would never forget the date.
October the eleventh.
That was the day Hannah's
state of partial relaxation turned to fear.
That was the day she
returned from work and found Carl at work in his garden moving a
seemingly unending series of wooden panels and wire frames into
position. The noise was terrible as he drilled dozens of holes
through his paving to attach his creations.
Hannah couldn't yet tell
what any of it was meant to be. But whatever it was, it was already
huge.
Hannah entered her house
quickly and slammed the door. She sunk to the floor in the hall and
just shook. What new torture was Carl going to inflict on her? How
could she have enjoyed his company when he was a monster? Why had
she ever moved to Welford Avenue when that house on Kipling Drive had
been nice too? She lay on the carpet and cried, lost in panic,
mislaid in fear.
Later that night, as she
lay in bed, she tried to forget about the lights, about Christmas,
about the bad memories of her marriage, and about the
irresponsibility of a world that inflicts such an unavoidable
festival on its people.
Hannah failed.
It was a bad night.
When she left for work
the following morning she half-hoped that the thing in the garden
opposite was just a bad nightmare.
It wasn't. It was there.
Real. Ugly in the light of a new day.
In her lunch hour she
went out and bought herself herbal tablets, lavender oil and camomile
tea.
When she returned home
Carl was at work again. The frames in the garden were unchanged but
he had placed ladders against his house and was just finishing
hanging an entirely new set of lights across the entire house front.
Not replacing the old lights. Covering them. As if one circle of
Hell was not enough.
And so it went on.
The next day Carl had
placed ladders right across his roof and he was attaching even more
lights.
On the Friday things got
even more worrying as Carl attached some kind of metal frame to his
roof and chimney. It stuck up about ten feet from the house and
lengths of strong plastic tubing now ran from the top of the frame on
the roof to the top of the frame in the garden. Hannah could hardly
see how he had managed to achieve such a feat.
A weekend of construction
followed. Lights and figures were attached to the frames and more
lights hung across the tubing too. Lots of lights. The tubing
formed its own frame, perhaps four or five feet across and in that
frame hung dozens of sets of lights each hung on a transparent sheet.
There must have been thousands of lights. Hannah wondered how much
it had all cost. She couldn't help but wonder what it would all look
like when finished. These illuminations were almost Blackpool if it
was multiplied by Vegas. At least, that's the way it felt to Hannah.
On the Sunday afternoon
Carl added waterproof casings into the various parts of his creation
and into each casing he added another loudspeaker. It was going to
be a long and noisy Christmas. Thank God it was only October. There
would be a month of grace at least before the unholy din began.
On Monday the eighteenth
as Hannah arrived home, Carl called out to her. “Isn't this
wonderful?”
“Yes.”
Hannah hated herself for
being so polite. She hated herself for enjoying the company of her
neighbour that summer. She hated Carl. She hated her street, her
home and her whole god-damn life.
“Do you think this year
I'll win the national title?”
“I really couldn't say.
But it won't be for want of trying. Well done.”
Hannah hated herself some
more. All she wanted to do was shout out her true feelings. Tell
Carl just how vile and abhorrent all the lights were. Tell Carl how
her life was being ruined by Christmas. Tell Carl how crazy she
thought his obsession was. She wanted to swear at him. Let loose
everything.
Instead she said, “I
can't wait to see it finished.”
“It won't be long now.
Just a few finishing touches. Then I can wire it into the computers
indoors. Maybe we can watch together as I switch it on. Let there
be lights. Let there be sound. Let there be the greatest Christmas
celebration this country has ever seen. It's going to be magical.”
Carl smiled so eagerly
and looked happier than Hannah had ever seen him.
“Magical, yes. I'm
looking forward to it.”
Hannah didn't know how
much it was possible for a person to hate herself but she guessed she
was getting near the limit by that point.
“I've got to get in.
See you soon,” she said and gave Carl a little wave before leaving
him and getting into her house.
Hannah collapsed onto the
hall carpet again and wept and hit the floor until her knuckles hurt.
She curled up and lay there for a long while. Shivering.
No amount of camomile and
valerian could help that night.
Carl. October 2016
He could remember the
date.
Sunday October the
twenty-third.
The big switch on.
Carl had completed the
work on the Wednesday but it didn't seem quite apt to switch on his
new display on any day before Sunday, the Lord's Day. He had
contemplated waiting two more days for the twenty-fifth but he was
too impatient for that.
For three days Carl let
his garden lie in total darkness. He sat inside and watched
Christmas movies, listened to carols and read A Christmas Carol. He
loved that story and read it at least every couple of months. He had
all the movie versions of it that he had been able to find, including
those that weren't true to Dickens' genius and his story. But no
movie could compare to the words of the original.
Carl couldn't have been
more excited. For each of the three days the anticipation built up
further and he almost gave in and switched everything on one day
early. Almost. He also felt fear. He had been very careful in his
construction and programming but what if something went wrong? What
if the angels appeared at the wrong time? What if none of the lights
came on? What if he hadn't used a big enough fuse and the whole
system blew? What if? What if? What if he didn't win the
competition? What if? There were moments in which the anxiety
outweighed the excitement.
Sunday finally arrived.
The big day. Carl got up early and spent the day checking everything
again. And again. If only the sun would go down earlier. It
wouldn't set until five to six. And then it would be another hour at
least before it was dark enough for the lights to have their full
effect. Just to be on the safe side he decided that the switch on
should happen at seven thirty precisely.
At seven fifteen Carl
switched on the computers and the power supply to the light display.
Just one more button and his home would shine again with the glory of
the season. He had arranged it so that the final button was a big
one, operating a smaller switch by remote control. A big button. A
two person button. An experience to be shared. He carried the
button into his garden.
At seven twenty Carl
knocked on Hannah's door.
His face radiated
happiness at her and he said, “It's time. Let's do it.”
Hannah grabbed her coat
and slowly followed Carl across the road.
As they reached Carl's
garden he pointed and said, “Look, I've made a big switch-on
button. You've been good to me this year, sharing those moments in
the café and allowing me a place to relax and smile. Thank you.
This moment is big for me, as you know, and I decided I wanted to
share it with you. We can press the button together.”
Hannah
Tonight was the night.
At seven thirty the
unquenchable blaze of Hannah's hell would be ignited. At seven
thirty her worst fears would be realised. She wished she had never
agreed to watch.
She sat on her sofa
rocking, trying to prepare herself mentally for her doom. She
watched the clock as the time drew nearer.
Six o'clock.
Seven o'clock.
Ten past seven. God help
me to be ready.
Quarter past.
Then at twenty minutes
and thirteen seconds past seven came the expected, dreaded,
loathsome, fearful knock at the door.
Hannah stood up. She
would face her fate. And next year she would cheat fate by selling
her house. Maybe she would leave Farnworth altogether and move
closer to the centre of Bolton. She told herself it would be okay.
Just one winter of discontent to survive.
She took a deep breath
before opening the door and for a moment hoped that through some
miracle of nature she wouldn't find Carl standing outside. Anyone
would have been preferable. Even a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses
trying to sell her eternal paradise.
But Carl stood there,
smiling. He looked so happy that Hannah did her best to smile back
and she hoped her fake grin was convincing enough.
He looked at her and
said, “It's time. Let's do it.”
Hannah grabbed her coat
and followed Carl across the road. This was going to be terrible.
After the happy darkness of the previous three nights, tainted only
by the threatening spectre of bright lights, big racket, this was
where the abyss truly fell away before her. Judgement Day had
arrived.
As they reached Carl's
gate he pointed to a big red button sticking out of a festively
coloured box. Carl said something about wanting to share the
occasion and how he had dreamed of pressing the button together.
Hannah couldn't quite process the words but she thought she had
caught the general idea.
Carl's house was in
darkness. The last moments of peace. Hannah tried to count off the
seconds.
They stood in silence and
she didn't want to disturb whatever Christmassy thoughts were running
through Carl's head. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Hurry up ticks and
tocks. Get it over with. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Carl turned to her.
“Seven twenty-nine. I'd better get ready.”
He reached to the back of
the box and pulled out a red ribbon from a hole. “Safety cord,”
he explained. “To prevent accidental switch-on.”
“Thirty seconds to go.
Isn't this the most exciting thing ever? I bet I'll win the prize
this time.”
“Let's count down from
ten.”
“Ten.” Shit.
“Nine.” It's really
happening.
“Eight.” Please God
no.
“Seven.” Bloody
hell!
“Six.” Why why why
why
“Five.” why why why?
“Four.” Can we stop
now?
“Three.” Aaaarrgh!
“Two.” Stoppppppp!
“One.” God dammit!
“Zero.”
Despite herself, Hannah
found herself pressing down hard on the button.
And out of darkness came
light.
Light
Hannah was almost blinded
by the sudden light and had to cover her eyes with her arm until they
got used to the shock of thirty thousand LEDs suddenly springing to
life like a 21st century version of the Modern Prometheus.
Carl grabbed her hand and
shouted, “Yes!”
Then he shouted it again.
Twice. And said, “Look, it's starting.”
Hannah took her arm away
from her face and looked up.
Carl's house was lit up
with all the usual festive treats. Snowmen, flashing holly,
reindeer, bells, Christmas puddings and Yule logs, Santa and his
elves. The brand new frame remained dark. Maybe it hadn't worked.
Hannah half hoped the whole thing had failed and, for Carl's sake,
half hoped nothing too terminal had happened.
“Isn't that beautiful?”
Carl asked.
“Er, yes, I suppose it
is … but what about the rest.”
“Ah, just wait. You'll
see. It's not your usual display.”
The lights continued to
shine and flash and the roof shone out its “Merry Christmas”
message boldly. Up on the roof Santa shouted out “Ho Ho Ho,” and
his beard seemed to twinkle light reflected from the illuminated
snow.
Still the brand new
lights did nothing. Carl didn't seem worried. He gripped her hand
tighter and said, “I couldn't be more excited.”
Hannah watched. It was
all very flashy of course and she had to admit that the way the train
delivered presents was a nice touch. But she was confused by the
darkness in the centre of the garden. And she felt a strong sense of
foreboding about it. It was all just a lot too ominous.
Suddenly all the lights
went out. House and garden plunged into darkness.
“Because it's not all
Santa and puddings, is it? They don't make Christmas Christmas.
Watch.”
As Hannah watched, the
framework in the garden slowly got brighter. Just a patch of white
in the centre, spreading out until the lights formed a scene. A
woman in a blue robe was kneeling on the ground by a well. Thousands
of bulbs shone in harmony. Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. The
new lights weren't just more of the same old noisy Christmas
tackiness she loathed so much.
All was quiet. Then the
railway track lit up and the Christmas train appeared from round the
side of the house. It wasn't carrying presents. Not this time. An
extra rack of lights had been mounted on the first carriage and as
the train approached the woman they grew brighter.
It was an angel.
The train stopped by the
woman and from the loudspeakers came a voice, “Fear not. Fear not.
You are Mary, full of grace, and you will bear a son.” This was
quite beautiful. For a garden light show. The train departed, the
woman rose and lifted up her hands and sang, “I am the handmaid of
the Lord. Let it be so.”
Then the scene faded
momentarily before being replaced with another.
“Yes. It's a nativity.
It's the whole story, beginning to end. The whole shebang. In a
ten minute show. It's all on a cycle you see. Ten minutes of Santa
and Christmas trees and fairies and parties. Then ten minutes of the
real meaning of Christmas. Watch.”
Hannah watched.
Presently she saw Mary and Joseph leave for Bethlehem by train, which
seemed a little anachronistic, and arrive at the stable on the same
train.
She saw a sanitised
version of the birth of Jesus. Something similar to the miraculous
sudden appearance of a Jesus doll in a primary school nativity play.
She saw the cows and
sheep appear in the lights on Carl's house and then, high above the
house the brightest light of all appeared in the sky. The Christmas
star had come to Farnworth.
She saw shepherds out in
a field, sitting with their sheep. She watched amazed as an angel
appeared above them and told them to go to Bethlehem. She watched
astounded as a dozen more angels appeared in the layers of lights
hanging from those pipes. She listened in shock as the loudspeakers
blared out “Glory to God” straight from Handel's Messiah.
And so it went on. The
Kings appeared too. The shepherds arrived at the stable too – on
the overused train. After their scenes they stood aside on the wall
of the house.
“This next bit isn't in
the story,” Carl said and he clapped his hands together and did a
little dance on the spot.
In an excitedly squeaky
and giggly voice he said “This is my masterpiece coming up … wait
for it … NOW!”
Suddenly the whole roof
lit up. The words now said, “Rejoice and be glad.” Santa seemed
to pull himself out of the chimney and get in the sleigh and then it
honestly looked like the reindeer pulled the sleigh off the roof,
along the hanging lights, in full three dimensional glory, and
deposited Santa down on top of the stable. Santa then appeared in
the stable with Mary and Joseph.
The speakers proclaimed,
“Ho, ho, ho, I bring you gifts. My gift tonight is to wish you
peace, a merry Christmas and the happiest of years. My gift on
Christmas night is … well, you'll just have to wait and see. Ho,
ho, ho.”
Then it felt like every
light went on at once and Hannah's eardrums felt like they would
burst because the Hallelujah Chorus began to play. As the music
continued most of the nativity scene faded and was replaced by the
trappings of a modern Christmas. By the end, Mary stood there
holding her child, surrounded by reindeer and on the walls and roof
of the house it was as if the lights became a firework display.
The music faded. As did
the lights.
All was silent. All was
dark.
“It's over. In thirty
seconds the whole show will start again. Twenty minutes of the best
Christmas fun ever seen in a garden. It worked perfectly. Do you
think I stand a chance of winning the competition?”
“Er, er, er ...”
Hannah was having trouble finding any words at all after that show.
It hadn't been as awful as she had thought it might be. She had to
admit that it was completely different from any Christmas lights she
had seen before. “Er, er, yes. I think that was astonishing.
Quite astonishing.”
“Shush. Let's watch it
again.”
Light. Again.
And out of darkness came
light.
Again.
It was all just as
astonishing to Hannah when she stood with Carl and watched the whole
thing for a second time before managing to escape to the relative
quiet of her own home.
And again.
Carl had agreed to turn
the sound down very low. At least until December when the crowds
would appear to see his lights, as they did every year.
And again.
For three hours. Every
night until the middle of November.
And again.
For four hours. Every
night from the middle of November.
And again.
Twelve times a night.
Christmas traditions.
Mary and Joseph. Angels.
And again.
December came. The
speakers were switched on. Full volume.
Carl had added a full
multi-channel soundtrack to the whole thing.
Twenty minutes of
Christmas sounds and songs with speeches from Santa and his little
Angels.
And again and again and
again.
Carl
Carl couldn't have been
more pleased with himself and with his creation.
At the start of November
he submitted his application to the National Christmas Lights
competition.
A week later he received
word that his application had been received and that the judges would
visit Farnworth and view his display on the first of December. A
good day to come. On that day he would be adding an extra surprise –
an advent calendar the size of his house. Each day a new door would
be opened to reveal an exciting gift.
Carl went out and watched
his lights every night. During the day he did a bit of necessary
tweaking and had to replace a few bulbs. His joy overflowed and he
wished a happy Christmas to everyone he saw and shook their hands.
He bought dozens of advent calendars and little Christmas cakes and
donated them to a local food bank because Christmas is for the poor,
just like Jesus said in his sermon.
As the days went on more
people came to view the lights and the takings grew. At this rate
everything would be paid for well before Christmas and the hospice
would get a nice donation. Carl was gladdened by the generosity he
was seeing and gladdened by the obvious enjoyment on the faces of
hundreds of children and adults too. He would have done all of it
anyway but making people happy was a big bonus.
On the first of December
the judges arrived. Four of them. In a black Vauxhall Corsa. Carl
was disappointed. As he was every year. Every time he hoped they
would arrive in a brightly coloured vehicle covered in Christmas
cheer. Every year the let him down.
And what could be more
disappointing than a black Vauxhall Corsa? The judges. That's what.
They couldn't have looked less Christmassy if they had tried. The
driver was wearing blue jeans and a plain jumper. The other judges
were all dressed in suits.
They stood and watched
the display for an hour taking notes and murmuring to each other and
pointing to different things. Carl didn't know whether that was a
promising sign or not. Last year they had only stayed for fifteen
minutes. Were they suitably enraptured by it all? Or were they
condemning him? They didn't smile once. They never smiled.
Afterwards they each
shook hands with him and thanked him for his entry before getting
back in the car and leaving.
The result would be
announced on Christmas Eve.
Carl was nervous. He put
the judges to the back of his mind as much as he could and tried to
enjoy the lights and the faces of the children.
He invited Hannah for a
celebration at his house on the day of the results. Not just Hannah.
Joyce too - a gossip but a neighbourly one. He invited most of the
people on the street. Even Brian Greene who had never been friendly
to him and who had said something very rude to him about Hannah.
Very rude, but Christmas was a time for goodwill and forgiveness.
Carl had done all he
could.
So he waited.
Hannah
On the night of the big
switch-on Hannah had gone back to her house torn between impression
and depression.
She could see that Carl
had done a really good job with his lights. She just wished he
hadn't done a job at all. Or had done it somewhere else. Or that
she was somewhere else, far away from the intensity of Welford
Avenue. Perhaps Nepal. Perhaps some uninhabited Pacific island
paradise. Even Christmas Island would be better than witnessing the
spectacle of the lights every night.
As October turned to
November she had taken to walking up the street as fast as possible
in order to be away from the lights as soon as she could.
During November she had
been caught by Carl a few times. He was nice to be with. If you
liked your pleasantness enriched by pain worse than having spikes
stuck into your fingernails. Carl liked to point out the different
things she might have missed in his show. It would have been
unbearable had he not had redeeming qualities that she couldn't quite
put her finger on. She should have found him utterly repellent and
abhorrent. Yet she didn't. Standing there in the cold with him felt
like some kind of steadying influence in her life. Hannah couldn't
understand it. Not at all.
Apart from that, being at
home wasn't too miserable. The blackout curtains cut out most of the
light apart from the star and those demon angels. It was okay. It
was.
She told herself so.
Every night.
If only it were true.
By the end of November
Hannah had managed to half convince herself that the lights were just
a mild inconvenience in an otherwise idyllic situation.
But then December began.
And with it the noise. The full cacophony. For four hours. Over
and over and over. Never changing. The same songs. The same music.
The same voices sounding the same words. Over and over. Twelve
times that night. Hannah counted. Twelve lots of Christmas songs.
Twelve Rudolphs. Twelve playings of Slade. Twelve of Wizzard. And
then twelve run throughs of the Christmas story. Glory to God and
the bloody Hallelujah chorus. Again and again and again and it was
only the first of December and it already felt to Hannah like she was
losing her mind.
On the ninth of December
Carl called Hannah over to the garden again.
“It's all going wonderfully isn't it? All the children? And I am crossing my fingers about the competition but it doesn't matter because they're so happy.”
Hannah snapped.
She shouted at him.
Right through an entire twenty minute cycle of the show. She told
him just how she felt and how he could stick his ****ing lights right
up his *** and explode for all she cared and how she wished she was
dead or he was dead and how much she hated Christmas and hated having
all this ****ing stuff forced on her whether she wanted it or not and
how he hadn't even asked and had just assumed and how he was just a
big ****ing *****.
Carl stared at her and
looked more and more sad but once she had got started she couldn't
stop.
Afterwards he walked into
his house in a flood of tears and a woman with her three children
told Hannah that she should be ashamed of herself.
Hannah did feel ashamed.
She felt a lot better though for having let her feelings out.
She went back home and
slept better that night than she had in a long time. She didn't even
need the tablets or the camomile.
On the tenth of December
she tentatively knocked on Carl's door, apologising with almost the
same fervour she had shouted with. The two hugged on his doorstep
and she suggested that they get away from Welford Avenue for a while.
Together. Not that day because they both felt too fragile. And
not the next because their cafe would be shut. But on Monday.
Because she had a day off work. Yes, Monday, okay? A good meal.
With lots of tea. And pudding too. Her treat.
Hannah spent the eleventh
of December away from Farnworth. She needed the space and she found
solace and sanctuary in a tea room in Southport, the one
establishment in the town that seemingly hadn't noticed that
Christmas had ever been invented. As she drank her tea she found
herself thinking of Carl and looking forward to seeing him somewhere
other than in front of his lights.
On the twelfth of
December they met at the café. Carl had brought her a present.
“I wanted to bring
flowers but I didn't know what you would like so I got you this.”
It was a Christmas cactus
and Hannah found herself laughing.
She laughed a lot during
lunch and wished she had never called a halt to their meetings. She
decided that after Christmas she would suggest another meal. Perhaps
they could even find a quiet place and have dinner rather than lunch.
Maybe she could even
convince Carl to turn off his lights after Christmas. Otherwise she
would still have to move, just to get away from him and them and the
festive Mister Hyde side to his personality.
After lunch they had
walked back to Welford Avenue together and even hugged in full view
of Joyce, and Hannah found she didn't care who Joyce might tell about
the passionate embrace she had imagined or how much the tale would be
exaggerated with tales of kisses.
Hannah returned home,
closed the door behind her, and sank to the floor. Smiling.
Hannah. Late Advent.
It was the week before
Christmas and Hannah was miserable.
She had felt grumpy when
she got up and her mood just kept sinking more and more into the
realm of angry moodiness.
Her bus to work had been
even later than usual. People at the bus stop just smiled and blamed
the Christmas traffic. Great. Another way for the season to screw
up her life. Monday mornings were bad enough without Christmas
making them worse. Six days until the big day. The world had gone
crazy and Hannah would have given anything to live somewhere that
didn't lose its mind every year.
Work had been terrible.
First the new office
assistant quit. He had been a hard worker and a friendly worker and
quite an asset for the workplace. After only a month in the job his
absence would leave a big empty space in the office.
Then Hannah was unfairly
told off by her boss who was livid about a piece of work not being
completed on time. It wasn't Hannah's fault and she tried to say to
but that only made her boss shout at her. She hadn't even been able
to begin doing the work until the day after the deadline because her
boss had failed to provide the necessary information. So unfair and
her boss couldn't see it.
In many ways Hannah
couldn't blame the new assistant for leaving so quickly. She half
wished she had the courage to do the same. The boss could be a bit
of a shit. Maybe next year Hannah would move on. Move job. Move
house. Move her whole damn life.
When Hannah got off her
bus that night it was raining hard. Great. And then a speeding car
went through a puddle at just the wrong moment and soaked Hannah's
legs and feet. Great. And Welford Avenue was just as bad as usual.
Those sodding lights and the noise of the songs. Crap, crap, crap!
The weather forecast had
predicted rain. But nothing as heavy as this and it hadn't predicted
the car and the puddle and the lights and the boss from hell and the
rubbish bus service and a life that wasn't worth living.
Hannah arrived home and
slammed the front door.
At least home was warm.
At least it was hers. At least there was tea and a bath and a music
collection that didn't include all the Christmas songs she couldn't
fail to hear forty times a day.
As Hannah lay back in the
bath she let some of the worries of the day wash away from her mind.
Yes. Life wasn't really that bad. Not when it held the happiness of
bubbles and dimmed lights, scented candles and hot water. She closed
her eyes and listened to the sound of rain on the roof. She liked
the rain. When she didn't have to see it or feel it.
The rain got harder. The
sound got louder. Mixed in to the thrumming she heard a rumble. A
distant thunder. Hannah felt a thrill. She liked thunderstorms.
The sound and light show provided by nature. The way the changes in
the air made her skin tingle. The excitement of witnessing the power
of the sky.
Hannah let the sound wash
over her. She sighed. Smiled. And then began to laugh.
The thrumming continued.
The thunder grew louder and more frequent. Hannah was torn between
two joys. Should she get out of the bath and watch the lightning?
Or should she top it up with hot water and prolong the pleasure?
As she dried herself and
got into some clean, soft pyjamas she listened as the storm got
closer, louder, more intense. She pulled back her bedroom curtain
and stood in awe as fork lightning lit up the sky. She counted the
storm. Four seconds. Three. Two. One second. Hannah flapped her
arms and giggled. This was a brilliant storm and she couldn't have
been happier.
Flash. Boom. No gap at
all. Magnificently loud. One of the greatest of all the things
bright and beautiful. Stunning. Stunning. Stunning and Hannah
shouted it out, “Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow! Yes!”
The storm passed over.
One second. Two. Three. Four. The ferocity departing and leaving
behind a cleansed stillness as the earth breathed again.
Hannah wrapped her
dressing gown round her and went to make a cup of tea. There were
chips in the freezer too. This was a chip night. A comfort night
and Hannah was going to enjoy every moment of it. She deserved a
thousand treats after such a rubbish day.
As she poured the water
on the tea bag she heard sirens in the distance and she hoped that
nothing serious was happening. As she put the chips in the oven the
sirens grew louder. And louder. Very close. Then they stopped.
Carl
Carl had been enjoying
Advent immensely.
Every evening he had
watched as people came to see his lights. Every evening he had gone
out to talk to the people and give little Christmas sweets to some of
the children. The looks on their faces made up for all the
frustrations he had had to conquer when creating the show. No child
had ever looked so joyful and full of amazement as when Santa came
down from the roof to join the nativity. At least that's what Carl
chose to believe.
On December 15th
he hung a big sack of lights next to his door and a sign that simply
read “Santa. Stop Here.” He didn't believe in Father Christmas
but he did believe in dreams and in the magic of the story. He
believed in joy and celebration and in the beauty of all the smiles
he saw. Santa wouldn't be stopping at Carl's house. But that didn't
matter and Carl couldn't have been happier. Donations in the buckets
were up this year too and he knew the hospice would be given a
healthy cheque in the new year.
Life was as good as it
had ever been. Christmas was nearly here and joy had come to the
world. Just ten days to go. And then the happiest time of the year
would be over. Carl had to admit that Christmas itself always came
as something of an anticlimax. He deeply loved attending the
Christmas Eve crib service. Then the evening carol service. Then a
beautiful midnight mass. Then a service on Christmas Day. But after
that he would probably be spending the day alone with the quiet of a
meal for one, a few Christmas movies and an early night.
The weekend passed and
the crowd of passers-by was bigger than it had ever been. Parents
seemed to enjoy pointing all the little details out to each other.
Their faces were often just as animated as their children's. There
were just a few who weren't swept along by the magic and thrill of it
all, a few who stood there looking bored, as if they resented having
to be there.
Joyce of course hadn't
got a good word to say about any of it. Every year it was the same.
She would spend December complaining vociferously about all the
people clogging up her street. She would tell almost everyone on the
street how much it was an unwanted imposition on her life and how
inconvenient the whole thing was. Some of them would nod and say
that it was awful that sometimes it would take them an extra minute
to park their cars. Then they would follow it up by saying, “But
it's for a good cause I suppose.” Joyce didn't seem to care about
the good cause and this year she had even written to the local
council and even the MP asking for Carl's lights to be banned.
Carl was surprised by
Hannah. He knew that she didn't really like Christmas or all of his
lights but she always managed to say something kind about them.
Except for that once of course when she shouted at him. That
experience was followed by a very enjoyable one, but it had in itself
been the most unpleasant of Carl's whole year.
So far.
Then came December 19th.
The night of the storm.
Carl didn't like
thunderstorms much and this one was more vicious and angry and
violent than he wanted to live through. He sat on his sofa with his
hands over his ears and rocked back and forth for comfort. He
supposed that he should have turned his lights off but he was too
scared to move. It would be okay, wouldn't it?
As he rocked he repeated
an incantation.
“Let it end. Let it
pass. Go, go, go, go, go.”
Over and over for what
felt like hours. “Let it end. Let it pass. Go, go, go, go, go.”
But it didn't end. It
didn't pass. If anything it seemed to be getting louder and closer
as if someone in Farnworth had stolen the thunder god's blanket and
he wanted it back. “Let it end. Let it pass. Go, go, go, go,
go.”
Carl slithered down onto
the floor, stuck his head between his knees and pressed cushions over
his ears. But it was no good. The storm continued. “Let it END.
Let it PASS. Go, go, GO, GO, GO!”
He lay down on the floor,
shaking and crying and stayed there for what seemed like hours as the
world suffered the terrible wrath of that angry god.
Then there was a boom
louder than all the rest. Louder than anything Carl had heard in his
entire life. The whole house shook and he screamed.
Silence. For a moment.
Then a crashing sound
from above, more crashes and the sound as if a meteorite had fallen
on the roof. More crashing from the garden.
Then two explosions.
That's what they sounded like to Carl. One came from outside. One
from inside.
And then the lights went
out.
Carl lay on the floor in
a state of shocked terror. He couldn't move. He knew something bad
must have happened but also knew there was no way he could do
anything about it. He covered his head with the cushions and tried
to breathe deeply and find some calm inside.
There wasn't any to be
found.
The storm continued.
Thunder still raged. But quieter.
And then Carl heard
distant sirens. Closer. Louder. And he realised he could smell
fire. He tried to move but panic held him to the floor. Helpless.
Hopeless. Useless. Lost.
Found
He was found, unconscious
but alive, on his lounge floor.
As he was put into the
ambulance one of the firemen was heard to say that he was lucky to be
alive. Had it not been for the cushions covering him he would have
died from smoke inhalation. Had it not been for the pleading of a
neighbour from across the road they might not have checked inside so
quickly and found him. Lucky indeed. Although this wouldn't be the
Christmas he'd planned, poor sod.
The fire had been a bad
one. Though the house could probably be repaired, he wouldn't be
returning to it quickly. Homeless. A week before Christmas.
The ambulance crew nodded
sympathetically and shook their heads at the smoking wreckage in the
garden, the melted and charred remains of ten thousand lights.
More sirens sounded on
Welford Avenue as he was taken to hospital.
Carl moaned audibly while
he was being admitted.
He didn't wake up.
Hannah
Hannah rushed to her door
as soon as she realised that emergency vehicles had stopped right
outside her house and she opened her door to a nightmare. Carl's
house was in flames. Every light hung limp and dead. Every figure
in the scene was either twisted into a nightmarish abomination or
seemed to be laughing at the grotesque travesties of shattered joy.
Three fire engines had arrived and firefighters were rushing out to
survey the scene and tackle the blaze.
No sign of Carl. Where
was he? It wasn't like him to be out somewhere on a December night.
Hannah looked at the rain, looked at her bare feet, and looked at the
house. What if he wasn't okay? What if he were stuck in the fire
somewhere? What if the storm she had been enjoying so much had
killed him? How would she feel then? How could she ever live with
herself? And she would miss him too. A lot. Which surprised her.
“Oh God let him be okay.”
She ran across the road,
not caring about her bare feet and flapping dressing gown, and
grabbed a fireman. “Have you seen Carl? Is Carl okay? Where is
he? Have you seen Carl? I want Carl. He might be inside. Have you
checked? Where is he? He's got to be okay? Please look.”
The fireman touched her
arm, said “Yes miss, will do,” and walked quickly to the other
fire-fighters. Hannah stood in the road watching while the
fire-fighters searched the house while tackling the fire. Presently
she saw two of them take in an empty stretcher and carry it out with
Carl lying on it. Not moving. He wasn't dead was he? Was he? That
couldn't be happening. Could it? It wasn't fair.
Hannah ran across to the
ambulance and relief flooded through her when she learned that Carl
was still alive. Alive and unburned. The ambulance crew let her
know that he would probably make a good recovery from the smoke. It
was just a matter of waiting and seeing. Excellent news. Except
they had said probably. Not definitely. There was a chance that the
storm had damaged him beyond repair. Hannah found out where they
were taking Carl and then watched the ambulance as it left.
Having got dry and
dressed again, she grabbed a few things and left for the hospital.
Even before getting back into her house she had decided that Carl
wouldn't be alone there. She would be there with him until they had
both finished their waiting and seeing and knew how seriously his
lungs were damaged. Even if she had to call in sick all that week.
She would do it. She left Welford Avenue in a hurry, rushing past
the fire-fighters who were still tackling the last of the blaze. One
of them stopped her.
“Hey there, it's you.
Thank you for your information about the man inside, you probably
saved a life tonight. Well done.”
“It was the least I
could do for him. Look, sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry right now. I
want to get to the hospital and see if he's okay and whether he needs
anything.”
“Okay miss. Tell him
he's a lucky man when you see him. Tell him he's lucky you were
there.”
The fireman insisted on
explaining a little about the fire and how it had progressed and
pointed out a gaping hole in the roof and talked about how the whole
place would be water damaged as well as fire and smoke damaged.
There wasn't any way anyone would be moving back there. Not any time
soon.
It didn't look good at
all and Hannah felt so sad for Carl.
She sat with him all that
night.
He moved around in the
bed and once he spoke in his sleep, in a very hoarse voice.
“Go, go, go, go, go.”
He didn't wake up.
Hannah stayed.
December the Twentieth
Carl woke at about six in
the morning, bleary, foggy, dazed, confused. His mouth was dry and
tasted bad and he found it was harder to breathe than he was used to.
Everything felt wrong as if something terrible had happened. This
didn't feel like his bed or his duvet. Yes, something must have
happened. Had he been drugged and kidnapped? Had he gone on holiday
and forgotten about it? Had he died? Carl was a grand master in the
games of catastrophising and exaggeration.
He opened his eyes, half
expecting to find himself in some kind of heavenly waiting room where
he could prepare for whatever kind of afterlife existed. Not that he
believed in that kind of thing but maybe he had died. Death didn't
seem too bad so far. Maybe it would be better than life and there
would be bigger lights and better Christmases. It was just a shame
he would never know the result of the competition. Carl supposed it
didn't really matter now whether he had won or not if he was dead and
his creation destroyed but he would have liked to know all the same.
Carl didn't find himself
in heaven. Jesus wasn't smiling at him. It definitely wasn't hell
either. No devils with pitchforks although it was a little bit too
warm. Okay. So he wasn't dead. That was something of a relief. He
looked around at the hospital ward he found himself in, the lights
dim but bright enough to see what was there. Much to his surprise he
saw his neighbour Hannah. She was slumped on a hospital chair by his
bed and covered with a plain hospital blanket. She was obviously
asleep. Her position didn't look at all comfortable and Carl hoped
she didn't ache too much when she woke. What was she doing there?
Carl didn't know. He couldn't even guess. And though he wanted to
find out he couldn't bring himself to wake her. If she needed sleep,
let her sleep.
Carl lay back on the bed
and tried to make sense of it all. Obviously he had somehow got out
of the house. Everything was a blur though and the last thing he
remembered with any clarity was sitting on his sofa feeling anxious
about the noise of the thunder as it got closer. Slowly it came back
to him. The storm. The strike. The sound of explosions. The
panic. The total paralysis of terror. The smell of the smoke. And
then nothing.
Obviously he had been
rescued and taken to this hospital. Obviously Hannah had decided to
come along for some reason. Carl couldn't quite understand why she
would have done that but he was very glad to see her there. He
didn't feel so alone or scared. He felt fortunate, lucky to have
found a friend in his neighbour. On the other hand, maybe she just
felt guilty for shouting at him. He hoped not. Water under the
bridge. And that meal they shared had been happiness from the moment
they sat down together right through until the final spoonful of
custard. Maybe after Christmas he would invite her out for another
meal and this time it could be his treat. For coming with him to the
hospital.
God, his throat was dry
and breathing was uncomfortable. He began to worry again.
“What if I'm
permanently disabled? What if I can never breathe properly again?
What if I've lost the house, lost everything? What if I can never
see another Christmas movie? What if I can't take Hannah for that
meal? What if I'm disfigured by fire and so ugly she won't even look
at me?” Although that last question didn't seem likely because
apart from the breathing he wasn't in any pain.
“Stop it Carl. Stop it
with your stupid, stupid spirals of doom? You're okay. You'll be
okay. And Hannah will look at you again and you'll see the way her
eyes light up when she smiles. Hang on. What? That last thought
was a surprise. ... Still. It's true isn't it? I do like it when
she smiles. I hope my house is okay. I hope Christmas isn't ruined.
I wonder what Hannah does on Christmas day. What if my lights are
all gone? What if she hates me? What if ...” and his thoughts
rose to such a crescendo of chaos and worry that it was impossible to
make out one from another.
At just gone seven
o'clock a nurse entered the ward bay to check on the patients. She
saw that Carl was awake. She smiled and said, “Hey, welcome back.
How does it feel?”
Carl talked with the
nurse about his worries and his breathing. She helped him sit up and
gave him a glass of water and did her best to reassure him that he
would be fine, letting him know that the doctor would be round later
to check things properly but he would probably be discharged that day
or the next day.
As they talked Hannah
woke up and stretched herself and said “Ow, ow, ow. That hurts,”
and she laughed. She looked across to Carl and smiled. “You're
okay. I was so worried about you, you might have died and they said
you had been very lucky. We can talk about it all later.” When
the nurse had gone Hannah stood up and gave Carl a big hug. He
didn't like hugs much but this one didn't feel too bad.
“Thank you Hannah.
Thanks for being here. It means a lot.”
“It's fine. I wanted
to come. I couldn't bear seeing you on that stretcher and then you
didn't wake up and I was so scared. I'm sorry it happened. I'm
sorry you're here and I'm sorry about the fire and the storm and the
lightning and for shouting at you and for stopping our cups of tea
together just because of that silly woman and I'm sorry for not being
a better friend to you and I'm sorry for everything and I'm glad
you're going to be okay and I'm glad I came to be with you and I can
be here all day because I'm not going to work and work was awful
yesterday and I don't really want to go back at all and why am I
moaning about my problems when you're sitting here in a hospital bed
with no home to go back to when you get out. Oh hell, I wasn't
planning on telling you like that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” And
she grabbed Carl and hugged him again. Tightly. And she managed to
stop talking.
“No home? Was it that
bad?”
“It's fixable. Don't
worry too much. Look. We can talk about it after breakfast. Yours
should be arriving pretty soon and I need to go and eat something too
if I can find a canteen or a café somewhere or just a packet of
crisps. What I wouldn't give to be able to take you to that café in
Farnworth for breakfast. We should do it. Soon.”
“You do talk a lot.”
“Sorry. I'm just glad
you're okay and last night was so scary and thanks for not dying.”
“Don't be sorry. I
like it. Could you pour me a glass of water please?”
Breakfast arrived. It
didn't look very appetising. Hannah went off to try to find
something for herself and promised to bring back something more
exciting than the hospital food. “Maybe I can even bring you some
cake. We'll talk when I'm back. Try not to worry, things will work
out. I promise.”
Carl sat and ate the
breakfast and drank a mug of hospital tea which he was pleasantly
surprised to find was tasty. It felt good as he drank it too, the
warmth of the steam soothing his lungs and the warmth of the liquid
easing his throat. He couldn't face the bowl of cornflakes but
there was a yoghurt that was easy enough to swallow.
He finished eating and
hoped Hannah would find him something more substantial otherwise he
was going to be very hungry. Carl sat back on the bed and closed his
eyes, wondering what the doctor would say and trying not to panic
about the previous night and the fate of his home. He hoped Hannah
wouldn't be too long. Another one of her hugs would be very helpful.
She didn't return for
more than an hour. Carl knew. He watched the ward clock, sometimes
counting the seconds as the hand went round each minute. There
wasn't much else to do except sit on the bed and worry. Counting
seconds seemed a much better option than worrying. He hoped the
doctor would say he could go home that day. If not then he would
have to ask Hannah to get him something better to read than the face
of a clock. Home. Oh yes. That was impossible wasn't it.
Christmas ruined. Life ruined. Fuck.
Hannah had managed to
find an excellent canteen in the hospital and had treated herself to
a cooked breakfast. It wasn't nearly as good as the one in the café
and cost quite a bit more but it was good enough. She also found a
shop and had not only bought Carl a slice of chocolate cake but an
ice lolly too. She said she thought he might like it and it wouldn't
hurt his throat on the way down.
Then they talked.
About the fire. How the
lightning had almost certainly struck the bright star of Bethlehem as
it stood tall above the house on a metal frame. The heat and force
of the blow had broken the frame it sat on and it crashed down the
roof adding to the hole already made by the lightning. It had then
fallen straight onto the nativity scene below which at that moment
had been displaying the virgin Mary holding up the newly born saviour
of the world.
Jesus and his mum.
Killed by the holy star.
Not quite the kind of
nativity tale Carl had been wanting to tell.
That's what one of the
few passers by said anyway though whether you could trust the
testimony of someone crazy enough to be looking at Christmas lights
in a storm was another matter entirely.
From what the fireman
said before Hannah left for the hospital the current seemed to have
split. Some had passed through the wires and down into the ground,
causing much of the display in the garden to explode in one blinding
flash of colour before being extinguished. The rest had passed into
the house and caused the power supply to the lights to overload and
burst into flames. The fireman said there would have to be a full
investigation but it didn't look suspicious at all. Stupid. But not
suspicious. Why would anyone have lights on in a thunderstorm and
why the hell wouldn't anyone with a whacking great star on their roof
not attach a proper lightning conductor? Stupidity, that's why.
Hannah decided not to tell Carl that part.
Carl lay back on the bed
in shock. How could this be happening? Why? He thought he could
really use that hug right about then but didn't feel able to ask.
Hannah sat with him in silence for a while, watching as he fought
back the tears. Poor Carl. He didn't deserve this. She put a hand
on his arm to comfort him and said, “Don't worry, it'll work out.
It will. I promised it will and I promise again. In the long run
things will be fine and in the short term I have a plan that might
help you. At least over Christmas.”
Carl looked at her. “But
I have no home. Everything's gone. Christmas is screwed. I have
nothing. Nothing.”
Hannah smiled at him.
“You have me. I'm here and in the middle of last night I decided.
I have a spare room. You're welcome to use it. At least over
Christmas until we can get you sorted with something a little more
permanent. To be honest I could do with the company. Last year I
spent Christmas alone and I really don't want to talk about how bad
the year before was. Come, stay, if you like. But I'm not having
any lights, okay?”
Carl was stunned. He
wouldn't have expected such an offer of kindness even if Hannah had
been the Virgin Mary herself. He didn't know what to say. Having a
roof and a friend for Christmas sounded wonderful. Or as wonderful
as things could be after losing a house. But he didn't want to be
such a burden and perhaps the insurance company could set him up in a
B&B or a caravan until his house was fixed. So his response,
when it finally came, was “Oh I couldn't possibly do that. I
wouldn't want to impose myself on you or cause you any difficulties.”
He mentally kicked himself: “Why didn't I say yes?”
“No, no, you wouldn't
be imposing. I'm offering and it would be nice to have you there.
How do you feel about an Indian takeaway on Christmas Day? There's
one open as usual.”
“Okay. Thank you.
I'll come and stay. It won't be what I planned but it'll be nice.
I'll try not to be any bother. Thank you.”
Later that day the doctor
appeared on his rounds. He said that Carl's lungs should recover
fully. It would take a while but he would be back to full health
within a year. There wasn't much more that could be done for him at
the hospital so he would be discharged that day. As he left the
doctor wished Carl and Hannah a happy Christmas.
Hannah sat herself
outside the curtains while Carl changed out of his hospital gown and
back into his smoke infused clothing. A sudden shout. “Clothes!”
Then quieter, “Oops, sorry. I'll need clothes! What am I going
to do about clothes? And everything else. Oh god Hannah, what am I
meant to do now?”
“Don't worry. We'll
sort it. This afternoon or tomorrow morning we'll sort it. We'll go
shopping in Farnworth and I'll lend you the money until you get a
replacement card through. A bit of underwear, a few socks and then
we'll hit the charity shops. They always have something good. We'll
manage. I might even find myself a few things too. I keep promising
things will be okay. And they will. I promise.”
“Thanks Hannah. I
don't know how I'd have managed this morning without you. I'd have
been in such a state that they never could have let me go. Back to
the home I've lost. What a mess. You do know that they won't be
able to stop gossiping about us now?”
A bit of waiting. More
hospital tea. A bit of paperwork. And it was time to leave.
Home
So Carl moved in with
Hannah for Christmas. The spare room was quite bare. It needed some
Christmas lights but he had promised to behave and not to try getting
any. The spare room was at the front of the house and Carl
resolutely kept the curtains closed. The view from the room was far
too painful to see.
That night Hannah had
gone out to the supermarket and bought the suggested underwear and
socks and a few other essentials for Carl. A basic T-shirt too so he
would be more comfortable the next day. And some extra food. She
was eating for two now. They watched a couple of movies together.
Films intimately unrelated to Christmas. Before heading for bed,
early, Hannah had given Carl a big hug and said how sorry she was
that things had gone so wrong for him. Carl thanked her for
everything and with a few tears in his eyes wished her goodnight.
The next day was
Wednesday. Hannah called in sick again. The Farnworth charity shops
didn't let them down. Carl would have easily enough clothes to get
him past Christmas Day and they had hardly cost anything. Hannah
found herself a couple of tops and the kind of skirt that would make
most women jealous. Perhaps some men too.
Hannah went back to work
for the rest of the week and found her boss to be in an even fouler
mood than usual. Oh well, she only had to survive two days of it
before Christmas. Perhaps she would quit in the new year. No. Not
perhaps. She would definitely quit. She deserved something better
and a boss who didn't treat her like crap. She would quit. And
things would be okay. She promised herself. Somehow. It would all
work out. The decision made Hannah feel much better about her life.
Christmas Eve 2016
It was December 24th.
Christmas Eve.
Carl's house was a mess.
The remains of all the lights were still there but the hole in the
roof had been covered up and the broken windows boarded up. Carl had
been given permission to go back inside and see what could be
salvaged but he hadn't been able to face it yet. After Christmas, he
thought. With Hannah's help if she offers.
Hannah's house was dark.
No Christmas lights. No tree. No decorations. Nothing. That's the
way she wanted it but she couldn't help but feel a little sad for
Carl because of the lights he had loved and lost. She had offered to
allow him to put a few things in the spare room but he had refused
the offer saying that it was her house and he knew how she felt about
the things.
At eleven o'clock in the
morning, a black Vauxhall Corsa pulled up outside Carl's house. A
man in a suit got out and stood, staring at the shattered dream that
lay before him. He walked up and down past the house, shaking his
head and sat down on the garden wall looking miserable. Inevitably
it was Joyce who spotted him sitting there. She spotted nearly
everything and was very proud of it too.
Joyce went out to talk to
the man. She had to know who he was.
“Er, you there … yes
you. Who else would I mean? Didn't I see you here before? A few
weeks ago. Yes. I remember you and the car. You were here with
some other men weren't you? Pointing at the lights and writing
things down. Are you from the council? Have you finally come to do
something about it because it's a bit too late now isn't it? That
storm did what you should have been doing all along. I wrote you
know. Eight times. Eight! And did you sort it? Of course you
didn't. You council people are all the same. You keep talking but
nothing ever gets done and it's a wonder the whole town isn't much
worse with people like the councillors in charge. I should run next
year. I'd show them how it should be done, just watch me.”
“Madam, if you would
just stop talking for one second. Please. I assure you I'm not from
the council and I'm not even from Bolton. I'm from Cheltenham and I
want to get back there before this evening and I was meant to be
delivering something to the man who lived here. This looks
catastrophic madam. Do you know if he is okay or where I might find
him?”
“Who are you? You're
not the police are you? He's in trouble isn't he, I always knew he
was up to no good in that house.”
“Madam, I'm not the
police and as far as I know he's not done anything wrong. In fact
he's done something right. Yes, I was here a few weeks ago with
those other men and what we saw impressed us immensely. It was a
superb display and now it's all gone. I wonder, would you know where
I might be able to find a Mister Carl Bailey? Or if you would know
of someone who could help me?”
“Oh that's easy. He's
gone and shacked up with that Hannah over the road. I knew they were
an item all along and probably at it like rabbits and it's no good
them denying it now he's living with her. She said I didn't need to
buy a new hat too and they both kept pretending there was nothing.
The things that go on on this street. You wouldn't believe half of
them. Not that I would tell you of course, I keep it all to myself,
see?”
“Madam, I am in a bit
of a hurry. Traffic up here was bad and I'm running late. If you
could just point out the house in question I would be obliged.”
“It's that one there,”
Joyce said, and pointed.
“Thank you for your
help. Happy Christmas to you.”
The man turned away
quickly. He couldn't wait to get away from the obnoxious character
he had just had the displeasure of meeting.
He was just about to
press Hannah's doorbell when the door opened. Hannah and Carl had
been just about to walk into the centre of Farnworth to see whether
their café was open on Christmas Eve.
Carl looked at the man.
Surprise covered his whole face. “It's you isn't it? It's really
you? Does this mean? ...”
“Yes sir. It does. I
am here to offer you our official congratulations. You've won. In
every single category, and that's never been done before.
Congratulations to you, your lights were the best we've ever seen.
I'm very sorry to see what's happened. I do hope I get to see
something as good before I retire from judging.”
“I won? All of it?”
“Yes sir. You are the
overall winner of the British Christmas Tree Garden Light Display Of
The Year competition. But you also won Best Secular category, Best
Nativity category, Best Wall Lights category, Best Ground Lights
category, Best Audio Accompaniment category, and you won the popular
vote too that we ran on our website. You scooped the lot.”
“I did? Really? This
can't be happening. Not when I've lost it all.”
“The fire doesn't
matter. Well obviously it matters. But for competition purposes the
rules state that they lights are judged on the merits of how they
look when we visit. And on that night they were staggeringly
beautiful. You've lost it all now – though maybe you can make
something brand new one day – but on that night you won it all.”
The man reached out and
gave Carl a strong handshake, the kind that hurt.
“Normally I wouldn't
have driven up on Christmas Eve, I would have just phoned you but
you're a special case because you won in such a manner. So I've come
up to present you with your certificates today and with the prize
money too – I know it's not much but it's the taking part that
counts. After New Year we'll arrange for a bigger ceremony and we'll
invite you to London for that. It's going to be a good day. Many
congratulations to you sir, from myself and the entire judging
panel.”
The man passed over the
certificates and a cheque and then left quickly. It was a long way
back to Cheltenham and he feared the worst for the motorway traffic.
Hannah gave Carl an extra
special big hug and spun him round – in full view of Joyce who had
been pretending not to listen in to the whole thing. She looked at
Joyce, smiled at her and then lifted up one finger to her and waved.
Perhaps that wasn't in the spirit of peace and goodwill to all people
but it was in the spirit of making Hannah laugh.
As they walked out from
Welford Avenue Carl remarked, “This calls for a celebration. How
about an extra slice of cake today?”
“Better than that,”
Hannah replied, “How about we buy a little tree, a few lights and
maybe a nativity scene where Jesus and Mary won't get slaughtered by
a falling star from God? You deserve it and I'm sure that shop near
the café will have something suitable.”
They ate their meal in
happiness and did enjoy their extra dessert.
“I'll tell you what,”
Hannah said. “Church. I think I could do church this year too and
I know it would mean a lot to you. Let's go. I'll sing those carols
as loudly as I can and ignore it if people stare.”
“Han?” He hadn't
called her that before and was surprised to find himself doing so
now. “What do you want for Christmas?”
After Christmas
Christmas came.
Christmas went.
As it turned out, Carl
stayed with Hannah right through to the middle of February. He kept
offering to find somewhere else to stay but she wouldn't hear of it.
In truth, she liked having him there and they had only argued a few
times. She had quite enjoyed their Christmas and the weather had
been good enough on the day itself to walk down to Moses Gate and
spend some time in the park. Apart from a few dog walkers it had
been pretty much deserted and they challenged each other to use every
single thing in the children's playground. They fed the ducks and
swans too and walked down to the river. It was the best way to spend
Christmas.
The insurance company
quickly decided the damage to his house was just an act of God and
they settled quickly for the expected cost of repairs and the
replacement of Carl's possessions, most of which had been too badly
damaged to save. All his lights. All his DVDs. His furniture. His
clothes. Almost everything.
Between them Hannah and
Carl had managed to find some excellent builders who could start work
on Carl's house as soon as the insurance company gave the go ahead.
They had to replace the lot. Electrics. Plumbing. Plastering.
Windows. Some ceilings and floors. The roof. And a brand new
kitchen needed to be put in. They were there every day sorting
things out but there was a lot to do and when Carl moved back in
there was still work to be done.
The year progressed.
Hannah quit her job at
the end of February, walking out without serving her notice. She had
happened to bump into the guy who had walked out before and he told
her they had a couple of vacancies at the theatrical agency he was
working at and asked if she would be up for applying because it was a
great place to work. So that was that sorted. The day Hannah walked
into her bosses office, slammed down her resignation letter and told
him exactly what she thought of him was one of the best of her life.
The work on Carl's house
was finished by Easter and on Easter Sunday they celebrated together
with another trip to the park. They took lunch with them and a
bottle of wine and toasted the return of good times.
As the year continued
their friendship developed further and they tried to go out for a
meal most weeks and explore a few other cafés and restaurants. They
felt a warm affection for one another and smiled in each other's
company but there was no romance, no wild love affair. Carl still
had a key to Hannah's house and he had given her a key to his house
when he moved back and they would often turn up unannounced with some
news or just to spend an evening together.
Joyce continued to be
Joyce. She couldn't believe that there was still no hat to be bought
so kept telling anyone who would listen that wedding bells would soon
be ringing and asking them whether they thought they would hear the
patter of tiny feet too. Hannah and Carl just laughed at the gossip
and hardly anyone believed it anyway so what did it matter?
Spring turned to summer,
summer to autumn. Christmas was coming again. They agreed to spend
it together and if the weather was right to stay up all night, find a
hill to climb, watch the sunrise, and sing carols and Christmas songs
to each other.
Christmas 2017
December came. The
crowds gathered from the start of the month to see Carl's house. His
triumph the previous year had made him famous for at least an hour.
The BBC had been wanting to make a television movie about the whole
affair but after much consideration he had decided he didn't want to
be a part of that and refused to sell anyone the rights to his story.
He had found all the media attention very tiring and wanted a quiet
life no matter how much anyone offered him.
The crowds gathered.
They left disappointed.
Outside Carl's house
there was a single Christmas tree, decorated brightly and lit just by
two long strings of 120 bulbs.
That was enough. There
was more to life than Christmas.
Outside Hannah's house
there was an illuminated inflatable snowman. And two signs.
The first read “Santa.
Please Stop Here!”
The other?
“A
Merry Christmas To You All!”
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