I wrote a Christmas story a few years back. I know it’s not the season, but perhaps a little bit of cheer is needed right now. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know.
What’s in a name?
There’s nothing sadder than seeing an old man crying, all alone on Christmas eve.
Even so, she walked on.
Too much to do! Presents to wrap, a ham and turkey to prepare, last-minute housework, dinner for the kids – she had so much to get done. Meanwhile, hubby Aiden pissed up at the pub with his workmates.
She took a breath, trying to let the anger go. It would be nice if just once he would help her out on Christmas eve. Instead, he would sail home three sheets to the wind at 10 pm, wrap his arms around her waist, and try to plant a slobbery beery kiss on her face.
“I loves Christmas, and, Sky, I loves you too!”
He’d always been a reluctant helper, especially when the kids arrived, so he needed to change his ways. Even more so now he wanted to have another one. When he finally got home tonight the kids would already be in bed, pretending to be asleep, desperately trying to stay awake and catch out Santa on the job. The housework would be done, but she would still be slaving in the kitchen. Just once, she’d ponder, just once.
She would send him to bed if he got in the way or became too frisky. Like a child, he would pout, feign hurt and accuse her of lacking Christmas spirit. Men or children? Sometimes it was difficult to distinguish between the two!
It had taken fifteen minutes to find a car park, but it felt four times longer. She imagined it would take just as long to find her car again. She studied the shoppers charging in on her way out of the mall. 90% of them were women. All of them were on a mission. Their gritted teeth, fervent marching strides, and straight-line navigation all signalling that this was no ordinary shopping trip. This was a Christmas eve sortie – an operation not for the faint-hearted – in and out, casualties expected – God bless them all.
On exiting the mall, desperate drivers surreptitiously followed her. All at crawl speed, hoping to manoeuvre their car to the most advantageous spot and slip into her park the nano-second she left. She issued a bemused smile, her first smile in over an hour, as she counted four stressed-out drivers gunning for one park. Like the kids’ presents under the tree, it was inevitable there would be some disappointment among the excitement.
Finding the car only took half as long as she thought it would. She opened and loaded up the boot.
“Just leave the trolley there,” called the driver of the car in the primo uno spot, “I can take it back to the mall for you.”
Sky hesitated.
What’s sadder than seeing an old man crying on Christmas eve?
“It’s okay,” she called back. “Thank you, but I’ve realised I’ve forgotten something.”
Head down, Sky scurried away quickly, knowing the driver would be cursing her, probably slamming her hands on the steering wheel in pure repetitive exasperation. As she zig-zagged through the parked cars, toots erupted, sharp short ones, followed by much longer multiple blasts. The mechanical horses were getting testy, their drivers agitated. Tempers were flaring. Trouble was brewing. North City Mall car park was quickly becoming Dodge City.
Sky was relieved of her trolley 30 metres distant from the mall entrance.
“Are you bringing that back?” an eager woman asked, already reaching for the push bar before Sky could answer.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” Sky mouthed as the woman stormed her trolley, tank-like, into the melee.
Sky approached the ridiculous kiosk selling ridiculously priced calendars and diaries in the mall’s centre. She needed a diary, but it could wait. After boxing day, they would drop to half price. She studied the filled-to-the-brim shelves, stacked with empty calendars, measures of time yet unfilled. She smiled to herself. If a calendar or diary remained unfilled, did time really exist? She would leave that one for Schrödinger, the physicists, and the philosophers.
Beyond the kiosk, the old man was still sitting alone on an uncomfortable bench designed for appearances rather than ergonomics. In a sea of tumult and activity, he cut a lonely figure, a remote island of destitute. She watched for a moment, and her heart melted. He was still crying.
She reflected on how nothing in the world was as pure and sad as an unseen or unwatched tear. She knew that from personal experience. An unheard scream was a plaintiff cry from the heart or mind, but an unwatched tear was a sorrowful wail behowling straight from the soul.
She walked over and sat beside him.
“Excuse me, sir, are you okay?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head in unconvincing affirmation.
Sky reached into her handbag, meticulously organised as always.
“Tissue?”
“Thank you, missus, that’s very kind.”
He grabbed three. He needed them—one for each eye, then one for his nose. The tiny tissue didn’t cut the mustard for his ham-shaped nose. He grabbed another two.
“Sorry,” he said.
Sky smiled. “It’s okay, but clearly you aren’t, is there anything I can do to help? What’s wrong?”
“You are very kind, missus, but…”
“Oh, please call me Sky,” she interrupted.
He smiled timidly. “What a lovely name. In my day, girls were named after martyrs, patron saints or queens. To be named after something natural is wonderful. We were very unimaginative back then. Evidently, alas, I was named after an English Duke. My name is Clarence.”
Sky smiled again. “What if I were to tell you that your name Clarence may actually be derived from a river?”
“What? How would you know such a thing?”
“I studied etymology at university. I majored in it. Clarence is actually derived from Latin. It means someone living near the river Clare. The Suffolk Dukedom came well after that!”
“Well, I’ll be! Here we are, then, you and I, the sky and a river. Well, I’ll be. I never knew that.”
As he spoke, Sky studied him, still concerned. There was something sweet but vulnerable about the old man.
“So, Clarence, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?”
“It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” he insisted, “I’m sure you have more important things to be doing on Christmas eve other than talking to an old man, a perfect stranger nonetheless.”
“Nothing is as important as keeping the river Clare from breaching its banks. Obviously, things aren’t fine when you sit alone, crying your eyes out.”
Clarence became embarrassed. “I’m just a silly old man. Sorry, I must be going. Better get home.”
“No,” Sky insisted, placing her hand on his forearm. “Stay, at least for a little bit longer. Will you do me the honour?”
“Oh, my goodness, Sky, why would you want to talk to an old fossil like me?”
“What if I told you I also studied palaeontology!”
Clarence made a noise somewhere between a snort, a cough, and a laugh. This made him giggle.
He sat there shaking his shoulders uncontrollably, his chuckles trapped in his vocal cords reversing direction, making his belly wobble.
More tears followed, happy ones.
“That’s better,” Sky interrupted, “but I still don’t know what’s troubling you. Are you lonely?”
Clarence collected his composure running amok with his emotions.
“Oh, heavens no. My life is full. I barely have a moment to myself. I help out at Chamberlain House, the rest home. I play the keyboard and sing all the old songs to keep the residents entertained. Then, when I’m not singing, I play cards and listen to the old farts whinge about better days and the younger generation.”
“Do you live there?”
“Oh, Lordy, no! I couldn’t think of anywhere worse to live! You walk in the grand front doors, admire the marbled floor and the glass-walled atrium and wait. You wait and wait, wait some more until you are eventually wheeled out dead through the tradesmen’s entrance out the back. No, I have my own flat on Nile Street.”
“Oh, so you get paid?”
“No, no, I do it because I care. The residents were lonely, and I was lonely, so it worked well. Everyone knows me down there. I’m part of the family. I’ve been going for years. My darling wife, Anne, spent the last few years of her life there. That was after I could no longer take care of her at home. I used to visit her every day, and after she passed, I never stopped calling.”
“Oh wow, you are amazingly kind, Clarence. But please tell me, why are you crying? Please. You don’t deserve to be sad, especially on Christmas Eve.”
“I’m a silly old man, Sky. If I told you, you would think I’m mad!”
“No, of course, I won’t.”
“Well, my tote bag has just been stolen. I was sitting here, taking a break, when I felt the need to pee. Please excuse my vulgarity. I was only going to be a minute. I don’t know whether you know, but old men’s bladders are like poltergeists. They tend to play devilish tricks on you when you least expect them. I’d only just gone a few minutes before. I half expected my bladder would change its mind when I got there, a false alarm. I was wrong. It turned out I did need to go. Anyway, I foolishly left my tote bag here. Of course, when I came back, it was gone.”
“Oh, that’s awful, Clarence. Did you have your valuables in it?”
“Sort of yes, and sort of no.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“There was no money in it, no priceless heirlooms. Nothing in it that would appeal or be of any value to anyone else.”
“Well, why are you so upset then? I don’t understand.”
“Because it had my collection in it. My lifelong collection of regrets and mistakes!”
“What?” Sky asked, thoroughly confused.
“Every mistake I’ve ever made, every regret and lament, I collected them and put them in that bag. The bag was filled to the brim with the errors of my ways. I always carried it with me, took it everywhere. Now, I have nothing to guide me. I have no moral compass.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you do such a thing?”
“Like everyone else, I strive for perfection. I strive to be the best person I can be. By keeping the errors of my ways, hopefully, I wouldn’t make the same mistakes over and over again.”
Sky scratched her head. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Did it work?”
“Sort of. I generally don’t make the same mistake twice. But life is always throwing things at me, challenging me. There is always something and normally something new. There are many things I still get wrong. It’s a never-ending mission. Voltaire said, ‘Perfection is attained by slow degrees; it requires the hand of time.’”
“Clarence. We all make mistakes, and we all err in our judgement. That’s because you and I and everyone else are human. It’s part of the human condition. What makes us human is how we adapt and how we respond.”
Clarence studied Sky’s eyes. They were the softest blue as skies should be. “Do you have memories?” he quizzed.
“Yes, of course.”
“Good ones or bad ones?”
“Both, like everyone else. Why?”
“Tell me, then, Sky, why do you remember them? What makes these memories special? I know you are young, but you will have accumulated thousands of other memories over the years. Why do you hold onto these in particular?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it. I suppose it’s because there’s an emotional attachment to them, either happy or sad.”
“Exactly, so I collected everything that mattered to me in the hope it would make me a better person.”
“Oh, Clarence, just in the few minutes we have shared, I can see you are a good person, but you did not need a tote bag full of regrets to make you like this. Please don’t be sad. Now that your bag is gone, you are liberated and can live freely without it.”
“I’m 84, Sky, and in May, I will be 85. I have lived for over 80 years with my tote bag. My parents gave me the bag for Christmas in 1936. They gave my brother one as well. His was Navy blue, and mine was forest green. It was the loveliest colour, strong, fresh and cool. Over the years, like me, the bag has faded. The only green left is on the inside of the canvas. I’ve had to replace the drawstring many times, but my bag and I are still together. I mean, we were together. Regardless of what’s in it, I’m bereft without it.”
Clarence started to cry again.
“Right,” Sky said, grabbing his hand. “Come on, let’s go. Let’s report your bag as missing to Mall Management. You never know. Someone may have found it and handed it in. If it was stolen, and the thief realises there is nothing of value, he might discard it. You just never know.”
Clarence knew where the Mall management office was, and they clambered up two flights of noisy wooden stairs. A woman behind a 1970’s desk rolled her eyes as Clarence entered, red-faced and puffing.
“You have to fill out a missing item form,” the woman said, sadly lacking Christmas spirit. “And you need to do it quickly, too. I’m knocking off in 10 minutes.”
It seemed to Sky that after 84 years of living, Clarence immediately recognised this woman was a jobsworth and held no serious inclination toward helping him. He immediately turned and left the office. “Merry Christmas,” he called out as he went.
“Why didn’t you fill out the form, Clarence? I know she was less than helpful, but at least if your bag turned up, they would know who it belonged to.”
“The bag is old. It is worn out, threadbare in places. If people saw it, discarded, they would put it in a bin. They would assume that it is rubbish.”
Sky thought for a moment, wondering whether Clarence’s tote was, in fact, a metaphor for himself or the residents at Chamberlain House.
“Where are you spending Christmas Day?” Sky asked. “I hate to see you upset like this.”
“I’ll have a small dinner at home with my cat. Nothing fancy. It’s just another day.”
“You won’t go to the rest home?”
“No, many residents go to their relatives, and many others have family visit them. So, I stay away. I don’t stay in contact with my family. So, I will stay at home.”
“You don’t keep in contact with your brother?”
“No, we aren’t close.”
“Oh, that’s sad, Clarence, really sad. Why don’t you come and have Christmas lunch with my family? There’s just my husband and two sons. I warn you, though, the three of them can be quite loud. And excitable!”
“I couldn’t possibly impose myself, Sky, but thank you.”
“No, you can’t refuse,” she insisted. “You will be very welcomed; besides we always have far too much food. Anyway, it will be nice.”
Clarence smiled. “What shall I bring?”
“Just yourself, no need to bring anything. But I need to go now. I’ve got to relieve the babysitter and feed the kids.” She reached into her handbag again and pulled out a notebook.
“Let me write down my address. See you at 11?”
“Yes,” he humbly acknowledged, “see you at 11.”
—
Aiden woke confused. Anshar and Adrian were jumping on the bed.
“Get up, get up, quick, Santa’s been! Come on, daddy, come on, mummy!”
“Boys, boys, settle. It’s too early; oh my God, it’s just gone 5 am. Go back to bed! Please.”
“No, daddy, presents! You should see all the presents under the tree.”
“And,” Anshar interrupted, “Santa drank the beer mummy left out and ate the pie! The carrots are all gone too! Come have a look – please.”
Sky rolled over, gently elbowing Aiden in the ribs, “Get up, Mr I-loves-you. This rabble won’t go back to sleep now. I’ll get up in a minute; there’s still a lot to do. We have a guest coming, do you remember?”
Aiden stumbled out of bed, grumbling, heading toward the bathroom.
“Be with you in a minute, boys, you guys go sit by the tree, but don’t open anything until Mummy and I get there, okay?”
Sky joined the men in her life 5 minutes later. Two were sitting expectantly in their rocket pyjamas cross-legged, smiling – no, beaming, by the tree. The other sat in his chair, fluffy bedhead, shorts, tee shirt, scratching his stubble. She smiled, wondering whether the boys would eventually be like this. As much as she was offended by Aiden’s dawn dishevelment, she loved his rugged looks and especially loved the way he interacted with the boys. I hope so, she thought.
Her prediction from the previous evening was realised. The boys loved most of their presents. They oohed and aahed over the multitude of toys and games. They griped about and hated their new clothes. Then laughed again gleefully, nonchalantly throwing their grandparents’ Christmas cards asunder after relieving the envelopes of the $50 bills contained within.
“Wow, oh my goodness, I’m rich.”
After thirty minutes of fleecing the glittering tree of generosity and all it afforded, the boys were instructed to play nicely with their new toys while mummy and daddy tidied up and made breakfast.
“I know it’s Christmas, Sky, but I still don’t understand why you invited a stranger to Christmas lunch. Who is this guy again?”
“I told you last night,” Sky replied, putting on the kettle to make a much-needed pot of tea. “He’s an old guy called Clarence. He doesn’t have a family and was going to spend Christmas alone. Some bastard at the mall stole his bag. He was crying, and I felt sorry for him. I’m sure you’ll like him. He’s a bit quirky but very gentlemanly. Clever too.”
Aiden flicked his fingers through his hair. “You have a big heart, Sky. I’m sorry I was late and a bit pissy pants last night.”
“It’s okay. It’s Christmas morning. I don’t want to argue with you. Just don’t drink too much today, okay? I want the kids to have a great time. Some of my best memories are from Christmas. I want theirs to be as well. I want us to have fun as a family.”
“And Mr Cry-baby,” Aiden added.
At 11 am exactly, there was a knock on the door. Sky glided down the hallway, her liberty print Christmas frock portraying an image of comfortable elegance, immaculate femininity. It was an illusion. She was hot and bothered, her hair was still undone, and she had no time to shower. Her remedy was to splay Jo Malone a little too liberally, although she was confident the steam rising in the kitchen would soon water it down. Her brain was frazzled, trying to remember timings and temperatures. Perhaps she should have bought a diary last night after all. God, how she was looking forward to her first wine!
After breakfast and waiting for a decent hour to ring their Grandparents, Aiden wanted to take the boys to the park. She could have done with his help preparing the succulent treats headlining her Christmas menu. But, taking the boys out was of some help – sort off. Although, she, too, would have dearly loved to have gone to the park. They had only been back an hour before the door knocked. Time enough for them to shower, for Aiden to have a shave, and for them all to get dressed in their Christmas outfits.
Clarence was dressed in an old tweed jacket, faded shirt and an ancient bow tie. His black pants and brown shoes clashed, although it was clear he had made every attempt to dress up. Unsure whether to do the European air kiss, Sky put her hand out.
“Clarence, how lovely to see you,” she said cheerily. “Merry Christmas! Please come in.”
“I’ve brought the family some gifts,” he said sheepishly, “just something little.”
“Oh, you naughty man, I said not to. Let me take these off you, I’ll put them under the tree. We can open them after lunch. Follow me, and I’ll introduce you to the family. Then, my husband Aiden can get us a drink.”
The next three hours passed quickly. Sky’s Christmas feast was a triumph. Clarence was the perfect guest, regaling stories of his life with Anne, his life and work. He had a natural way with people. Aiden and the kids warmed to him with the affection of a rediscovered long-lost relative.
After Sky had cleared up the main course, the boys retired to their room to play a game.
“Phew,” Sky exclaimed. “Nearly done.”
“Sit down, dear,” Aiden suggested, topping up her wine. “Every year, you surpass yourself. Next year, why don’t we have a picnic or BBQ, something easy?”
“I would like that. I really would.”
“Right,” Clarence interrupted. “Thank goodness, you two are finally in the same spot together. I want to give you your presents.”
“Shall I call the kids?” Sky asked.
“No, no, they can wait. These gifts are for the two of you.”
Clarence walked toward the tree, rescuing three shoddily wrapped presents from the falling pine needles and drooping baubles.
“Aiden, you’re first.”
Aiden didn’t take long to strip away the tacky Christmas wrapping. He studied the present with a confused smile.
“It’s a mini tote bag. I made it myself,” Clarence announced proudly. “Made it last night.”
“Well, thank you very much, Clarence, but I’m afraid you’ve embarrassed me. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get you a gift.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Aiden. Sky told me not to bring anything, So I was a little naughty. Anyway, the memory of such a superb meal and sublime company is a gift I will always treasure. Aiden, there is more to that bag than you think. Please listen to me. Listen carefully. You are a good man. A very good man. I can see you love Sky very much. You love your children and nurture them as great fathers do. You are a good provider and do not have wandering eyes or hands.”
“Oh, I don’t know about the last bit,” Sky interrupted with a grin.
Clarence continued, “But for these amazing qualities, Aiden, you have one quality that needs some work.”
“Oh,” Aiden responded, half wondering whether this was the start of a joke.
“There is no easy way to say this, but, Aiden, sometimes you can be a little selfish. I have watched Sky slave away in the kitchen today, and while you’ve kept the kids and me wonderfully entertained, you could have offered to help Sky, but you didn’t. You told me of your night down at the pub. You’ve told me about your golfing at the weekends. When does Sky get a chance to live her life when you are living yours to the maximum? So, I want you to put all your selfish thoughts into that tote bag. Please collect them. Sky can help you. Then after a while, you will start to recognise selfishness and stop it before it happens.”
Aiden wondered if the old man had had too much to drink. He looked over to Sky, who was glowing. She mouthed the word selfish before breaking into a grin. Was this a set-up? he wondered. He poured himself another drink.
“Thank you,” he replied, unsure about what he thanked Clarence for.
“Now, Sky, it’s your turn,” Clarence said.
“Oh, I think I know what this is! Yes, I’m right. It’s another tote bag. Thank you, Clarence. What shall I put in this one?”
Aiden leant forward. He was dying to know, also.
“Sky, seldom have I met a woman with your kindness, intelligence and humour. Aiden knows these things well and how he is a lucky man indeed. Your charm and elegance, maternal spirit and gentleness…”
“Oh, stop, please, Clarence,” Sky interjected, her face and neck blushing. “That’s enough.”
“It’s not modesty that makes you feel uncomfortable hearing these things, Sky. It’s you thinking that you don’t deserve it, that somehow you are unworthy. This is why you accept being second best. This is why you allow Aiden always to do what he wants. You put everyone else first. Now, please put these feelings in the tote I’ve given you. In doing that, you will eventually recognise you are very worthy.”
Clarence looked up. Sky now had tears in her eyes. Aiden rushed over to hug her.
Clarence continued, “You are a lovely family. You have all the elements of being the perfect family. All the elements bar one. So, I am going to give you both this envelope. In it is a name, just a name. The name of a little girl. A girl called Ila.”
Sky got out of her chair, bawling, raced over to Clarence and hugged him.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“As an etymology student, I thought you might like it,” Clarence replied, passing a knowing wink.
Aiden stood by, confused.
The kids came racing into the lounge.
“Mummy, mummy, are you okay?” Anshar asked. “We heard you crying.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” she blubbed. “These are happy tears, darling.
Adrian ran over to hug her just in case.
“Well, what shall we do now, guys?” Aiden asked, wanting to lighten the mood.
“Let’s sing some songs,” Anshar suggested,
“Yeah,” Adrian chimed in, “Christmas carols!”
“What a great idea,” Sky added. “Clarence entertains at the rest home, plays the keyboard and sings. Aiden, do we still have the old keyboard in the garage?”
“I think we do. It won’t take long to find. Shall I go see what I can find?”
Clarence interrupted, “I hate to be the party pooper, but I’ve just remembered I didn’t feed the cat. Twiggy will be beside herself. I don’t like to leave her for too long. She frets. Perhaps I can play next time. I really better get going – sorry, kids.”
“What about dessert?” Sky asked, “There’s pavlova, a Christmas pud, ice cream and custard.”
“Did you not make the trifle?” Aiden asked, sounding disappointed.
“Oh yes,” she added, “and trifle too!”
“It sounds amazing, but I don’t think I could eat anything else – honestly. But thank you, everyone. It’s been an amazing Christmas. You have made me very happy.”
“I understand,” Sky placated, “but I wish you could have stayed longer. How can we contact you if we want to see you again?”
Clarence thought for a moment. “I am out and about most of the time, so maybe at the rest home. Just ask for me there.”
“Awesome, but who do we ask for? We only know you as Clarence. What is your surname?”
“It’s a little embarrassing,” he said sheepishly, obviously stalling, eyes drifting then focussing on the tree.
“A name is a name, Clarence; what’s yours?”
“Sparkle,” he muttered almost inaudibly.
The children giggled.
“That’s a lovely name,” Sky replied. “Boys – shush!”
Boxing day arrived, and not too long after that the kids rode in on its tail.
It was another short night.
“Mummy, daddy, why do you have those silly bags tied to the end of the bed?”
Sky groaned. Aiden was still fast asleep. “Because, while they might look silly, they were one of the best Christmas presents we’ve ever received. Apart from the ones you give us, of course. You go into the lounge and play with the toy cars Clarence bought you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Sky made her way to the bathroom. Six minutes later, she gasped. The totes weren’t the best present ever after all! She sped to the bedroom, jumped on the bed, and ruffled Aiden’s hair. “Look,” she said, wagging the stick in front of his face. “Look!”
Over the next two days, Aiden was a changed man. The contents of his tote bag snowballed and upon every addition there was a corresponding change in behaviour. Aiden and Sky were ecstatic, basking in new found enlightenment, a relationship renaissance. They now enjoyed sharing their thoughts during long conversations, conversations of love, family and Clarence Sparkle, and what he had brought to the family.
Sky pulled out some of her old textbooks and surmised that Sparkle might be a derivative of Sparke. An old Norse name meaning sprightly or vivacious. The Normans then continued the name, giving it to bright or lively people, possibly ironically.
“I think I want to see him,” she said on the 28th. “I might go visit him at the rest home.”
“You do what you need, Sky. I will look after the kids. I know Clarence fascinates you.”
“Yep, I want to thank him for the gifts he gave the boys and also ask him how he knew we were trying for another baby.”
Clarence was right. The rest home had one of the grandest entry foyers she had ever seen. She would take his word the back door was far less salubrious.
“Hello,” Sky said, addressing the well-dressed receptionist. “Would I be able to see Clarence Sparkle please?”
“Is he a resident here?”
“No, he comes here daily to entertain the residents. He plays the keyboard – sings songs.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know that name, or that person. Are you sure you are at the right rest home? We have someone who comes in to play, but his name is Trevor. In fact, he’s due here in 15 minutes if you want to wait. Just take a seat.”
“Thank you, yes, I will wait.”
Fifteen minutes later, a man sporting a blue tote bag walked into the rest home.
“That’s him,” the receptionist mouthed and pointed.
“Excuse me, sir,” Sky said, jumping up. “Sorry to interrupt but do you play here most days?”
“Yes, I do. Why do you ask?”
“Well, I recently met a man who told me he played here. But obviously, he doesn’t. He is about your age. He also told me he had a brother who owned a blue tote bag. I wonder whether you might be his brother, then?”
“No, I don’t think so, sorry. I don’t have any siblings.”
Sky sat down, shocked, trying to make sense of what she had been told and what she had just heard. She wanted to cry.
Trevor stood by, sensing Sky’s shock.
“What did this man look like?” he asked.
She described his appearance, Trevor nodding and settling down beside her.
“This man you describe is ringing some bells for me, but please tell me more about how you met him.”
“Ah,” he said after Sky had finished. “I think I do know this man. I had the same sort of experience in the mall. He didn’t have his tote bag stolen, however. It was his transistor radio. I felt sorry for him and invited him home for tea. I ended up telling him about my life. About how my wife had died in this rest home, and I was lonely. I told him about my love of music. He suggested I approach the rest home to see if they needed an entertainer. It was the best thing I ever did.
“The following week, I called the office at the mall. I’d found an old transistor at home. I wanted to give it to him in appreciation. I thought the office might know who he was and how to contact him. They told me the guy was an old con—a shyster, always on the lookout for a free meal. Just a bludger, they said. He might well have been, but the thing was, he gave me so much more than whatever he took. I am genuinely thankful to him. Unfortunately, they couldn’t give me any more information apart from his surname, which they said was Scambler.”
After thanking Trevor, Sky decided she needed cheesecake. Seeing she couldn’t drink any more, cheesecake was a great substitute. She called into the mall, deciding to pick up a diary while she was there as well. As she approached the calendar kiosk, she spied Clarence talking to a man with a trolley full of beer and ice, topped off with crisps and dips. Clarence’s eyes were red; his cheeks were blotched. The man was leaning forward, sympathy oozing from his form. Sky smiled. Clarence was no doubt organising his New Year’s eve party. She wondered what wonderful New Year’s gift or resolution Clarence would bestow on the unsuspecting man.
Back at home, she pulled out her textbooks again while having her coffee and cake.
She flicked through the pages and found what she was looking for.
Scambler: (19th century Scottish) An uninvited guest who only appears at mealtimes.
What’s in a name? she thought. What’s in a name?
End
Roly Andrews - Storyteller 