A Christmas to Remember

It was quiet in the recreation room at the retirement village. Mr Beaton was doing his crossword and muttering to himself each time he had to look something up the dictionary. The television was on mute, and Mrs Goldsmith paged through last week’s People, looking up at the enthusiastic talk show host every now and then. If Alice listened carefully, she could hear the soft tick of the clock that the local Rotary Club had donated last year.

She sighed. She hadn’t heard from either of her children in over two months. Ben was so busy at his job in Cape Town, and Janet’s twins – her grandchildren – were enough to keep anybody busy full time.

I suppose I’ll spend Christmas here, just like I have for the last five years.

Alice thought back to Christmas the previous year.

I hope I don’t have to sit next to Mr Harrison at dinner. I hate the way food falls out of his mouth when he eats.

The roast chicken isn’t the same as turkey, but it’s tasty enough. The Christmas pudding is quite nice, but I hope the custard isn’t lumpy, like it was last time. Or am I thinking of the year before?

Alice frowned, trying to remember. The last few years merged into a blur of colour and sound. She looked up at the television, now showing an enthusiastic shopper mouthing about the virtues of her new furniture polish.

I wonder if those nice people from the dramatic society will put on a show for us again. What did they do last year? A bit from Christmas Carol? Or did they sing for us? Oh, I don’t know. Whatever they do, every Christmas just seems the same these days…

“Mrs Moss,” called Sister Joan from the doorway. “There’s a telephone call for you. I think it’s your daughter.”

“Oh, lovely. Ask her to hold on please. I’m coming as fast as I can.” Alice said as she reached for her walking stick.

“Don’t worry, Mrs Moss,” said Sister Joan, coming towards her,“I’ll bring it to you. We’ve got a nice new cordless phone now, remember?”

Alice smiled gratefully as she reached for the handset. It was difficult for her to walk, having twisted her ankle in a fall last week. Everyone had been so kind and helpful.

“Hello?”

“Hello mum, it’s me.”

“Hello darling. How lovely to hear your voice.”

“Good to hear you too. I’m so sorry I haven’t called. Things have been very tough with this recession, and Rob’s been retrenched. Jamie and Nicky go to crèche now, as I’ve had to find a job.” Her voice caught, and she stopped talking. Alice knew how Janet had been so proud of being a stay-at-home mom, and it broke her heart to hear Janet so distressed.

“I’m so sorry my darling. Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh mum, I don’t know. I feel so helpless. And how must the really poor people be coping? I just feel like we’re all going down a big, black hole.”

Alice was aware of her own tears welling up. If only there was some way she could help…

“I’ve got an idea, Janet,” she said. “Why don’t you sell my old writing desk? “You should be able to get about R2,000 for it.”

“Oh no, mum, I couldn’t. It’s part of my childhood. I’d never forgive myself.”

“Oh come on, dear. Don’t be silly. It’s just a couple of pieces of wood. Christmas is coming up, and it’ll give you a few extra rands to spoil the children.”

Alice tried to sound cheerful. The desk had been given to her by Tom when she’d turned 21. It was the only piece of furniture she’d kept after he’d died and she’d moved into the village.

“And besides,” she continued, “It’s what your dad would have wanted.”

“Thanks mum. I’d rather not sell it though. I’ll speak to Rob, and see what he says. He’s got an interview today. Maybe he’ll get the job, and we’ll be okay.”

“Talking of Christmas,” Alice said, “Will I see you this year, or are you going up to Rob’s parents in Pretoria again?”

“That’s actually why I phoned, mum. We can’t afford to go up this year, so I wanted to know if you’d like to come to us for Christmas Lunch?”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful! I’d love to, thank you.”

“Right we’ll pick you up at 11.  See you next week. Bye, mum.”

“Bye-bye darling, and good luck.”

Alice didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was going to be a Christmas to remember after all.