OLD MR JONES
By Bob French
I smile as my husband, Jim, cradles me from behind as
I stare out over the countryside. It’s three days before Christmas
and for the first time in ages, he hasn’t had to go into work. I
feel so happy and content as I stand, feeling him holding me, smelling him,
knowing I have him for a whole week. I hear him chuckle and turn to
look up into his hazel coloured eyes.
“What
is it?”
He
nods to the windows and beyond and smiles. “It’s snowing. We are
going to have a white Christmas after all.”
We
stand there in silence just watching the landscape slowly change before our
eyes.
“Who’s
that?” and my eyes are drawn to the drive way down our street. There
wrapped in a high-viz jacket is old Mr. Jones. His face is pinched
with the cold and his hair is slowly turning white as the snow starts to lay on
his exposed head.“
“Good
heavens, it’s old Mr. Jones. He’s a member of our writing group.”
Jim
quietly says that he’ll catch the death of a cold if he doesn’t wrap up
properly. Without thinking, I ease myself out of Jim’s embrace and
move to the cloak-room.
“What
are you doing love?” he calls after me, but all he hears is the click of our
front door. Then laughs as he realises that I’m in my soft furry slippers and a
cotton skirt and blouse slipping and sliding down the lane towards Old Mr.
Jones.
“Hello
Mr. Jones. What are you doing out in this weather? You’ll
catch a death of a cold if you don’t dress properly.” I scold him
like a young child who has disobeyed me.
“Hello
Frances.” A
smile crept across his ice-cold face. “I’m doing my community
service. I couldn’t pay my car parking fine so the council took me
to court and I was awarded fifteen hours community service.”
“That’s
terrible. Who were you up in front of?”
“I’ve
no idea. A woman. I had forgotten my glasses, so I
couldn’t recognize her even if she walked up to me in the
street.” He laughed.
“Well,
here, please put these on,” as I hand him a pair of bright pink gloves and a
reindeer bobble hat which brough a smile to his face, then drops his black
plastic sack and litter claw and slips on the gloves, then looks at the bobble
hat and grins.
“Thank
you so much Frances,
that’s very thoughtful of you.”
My
Christmas spirit kicks in and I invite him in for a hot drink or something, but
he declines.
“The quicker this job is done, the
quicker I can go home.”
As I stand and admire his dedication and the new look
Mr. Jones, the cold air finally reaches my bones and I shiver. Time
to get out of the cold I think.
“Well
take care then.” And I beat a hasty retreat, noting that my foot prints are
nearly covered by a new layer of snow.
Jim opens the front door to me as
I hurry through it, then collapse onto the hall way carpet shivering.
“Cold out there then love?”
I take a few deep breaths, sucking
in the warmth of the house then look up at him as he gently slips off my wet
furry slippers and brushes the snow from my hair and shoulders. I
hold his gaze then he gently lifts me from the floor and holds me. I
melt into his arms as the warmth of my body slowly starts to kick in and he
kisses me.
Go into the sitting room and I’ll
bring you a drink.”
The heat of the open fire makes me
relax as I hear Christmas Carols on the radio and I close my eyes.
“Take this love, mind its
hot.” I slowly open my eyes and grin. He hands me a hot
chocolate in a Santa Mug. Our eyes meet and I thank him with a grin as I notice
he’s added marshmallows to the rich, sweet drink.
“Jim Burton, I love you.”
That evening after washing up the
dishes, Jim, the number one dryer-upper in Essex
asks if the old chap picking up litter in the snow is spending Christmas with
his family.
“Don’t know. I’m not
really sure he has any family to be honest.”
“Then let’s invite him to
Christmas lunch.”
I stare at my husband. A man who
approaches everything with thoughtful planning and precision, being an
engineer. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, why not. I assume you can
get his address from the local council.”
The snow has laid and It’s two
days before Christmas. I cross my fingers, hoping that the council offices are
open. I wait, listening to the ringing tone, then suddenly, there is a
voice. I ask if they could tell me the address of a Mr. Jones who is
currently doing community service. There’s silence as I am put
through to another voice. I explain my request and why I want to
contact him, but the woman states in no uncertain terms that it is council
policy not to give out addresses. But just as she was about to put
the phone down, she quickly and quietly says that if I wanted to speak to the
gentleman, I could try 28 Connaught Road, then the phone went dead.
Within
minutes of the phone call, I am driving my battered old VW through the snow
towards a row of old cottages on the edge of town.
I
note as I stop outside number 28; the place is in darkness and I glance at my
watch. It’s ten thirty. Maybe he’s out shopping, or gone
to family for Christmas.
Suddenly
his front door opens and Old Mr. Jones slowly lifts the lid to his black bin
and empties his waste paper basket into it.
Without thinking, I hurry out of
my car and stride across the snow-covered path. “Good morning Mr.
Jones.” I see the smile creep across his face and with out thinking,
he invites me in.
The cottage is cold and gloomy, as
though happiness and life had passed it by. There were no Christmas
Decorations or a Christmas Tree.
“Fancy a cup of tea?” he askes and
I shudder at the chill in his kitchen.
“That’s very kind of you, but
no. I can’t stop.” I see the loneliness creep into his eyes as he
puts down the tea pot. “The reason I popped over was to invite you
to Christmas dinner?”
I could see the confusion creep
across his face. “Jim and I are inviting to you to come over to our
place, say around eleven, and stay for Christmas lunch, then leave after tea
time or whenever, if that’s alright? I’ll pick you up and drop you off
if you like.”
I arrive home to find Jim
whistling ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas’ so I know somethings
up. After quickly looking around and under the tree, I find nothing
that looks out of place.
“Alright, what is it?”
He grins. You know my boss Gerald;
well he’s taking his family off to Barbados for Christmas and leaving
his mother behind. She doesn’t like flying, so I invited her to
Christmas lunch as well. Thought it might cheer up Mr. Jones.”
I look at Jim thinking how
thoughtful he is and I nod my agreement. “What a wonderful idea, bless you
darling.”
“I’m picking Mr. Jones up around
eleven, so you want me to pick up the mother?”
“No, I’ll take care of
that. She lives the other side of town.”
“Oh, I thought she lived with her
son and family.”
“No, I think she doesn’t get on
with Gerald’s wife, Lucinda. Or Lucinda doesn’t get on with
mother-in-law. Not sure.”
I slowly open my eyes to the smell
of roast turkey wafting from the kitchen and realise it’s Christmas
Day. Jim backs into the bedroom with a tray with breakfast on
it. “Come on lazy bones, turkey’s in the oven and the potatoes have
been boiled and flaked.”
Note to self, add Best darn
cook in Essex to the list of things that he
excels at.
I’m late back from picking up Mr.
Jones and I notice that Jim’s car is already in the drive. A quick
glance through the front windows tells me that the Christmas Tree lights are
on. I turn to Mr. Jones who is now a little apprehensive as we
approach the front door. “It will be alright, I promise.”
Jim opens the door and greets us
both with a hearty ‘Merry Christmas,’ and leads us into the sitting room.
Darling, may I introduce Jillian,
Gerald’s mother. Jillian, Frances my wife and Mr. Jones a friend of
ours who we’ve invited to join us for Christmas lunch. As we get to know
each other, Jim appears and offers a Bristols cream sherry to everyone.
I leave to deposit my coat in the
cloak room followed by Mr. Jones. When we are out of earshot of Jim
and Jillian, I ask Mr. Jones what’s his Christian name.
“Gareth.” He says with a smile,
and I take his arm and lead him back into the warm conversation of the sitting
room.
I take Jim’s arm and thank Jim
with my eyes for a beautifully cooked Christmas dinner as we all retire to the
sitting room. Jillian asks me what occupies my time and I tell her
that I’m a writer, though yet to be published. Smiles and I see a
hundred questions coming my way. Jim saves the day and as he fills Gareth’s
glass, he asks what he does in retirement besides picking up the litter in a
snow storm.
He laughs, I help deliver food to
the old people’s homes in the mornings and in the afternoon’s I teach chess to St Johns school.”
“What about family? Any
children?” We all see his crest fallen face slowly take shape.
“Mildred passed away eight years
ago and my two children have grown up and moved away. We don’t keep
in tough I’m afraid.”
I sip my glass then ask Jillian
what she does.
“I’m a Justice of the
Peace. It keeps me busy most days of the week I’m afraid. I do miss
having friends and socialising. It seems all work and no play.” I
see behind her eyes that she too is lonely.
Jim, who has had a sherry too
many, suddenly sits up and I see what is on his mind.
“In your capacity as a JP what do
you think of an old man picking up litter in a snow storm because he failed to
pay his car parking fine?” It’s too late. It’s out and there is a
stunned silence in the room.
Following the tried and tested
formula of ages gone by of awkward situations, I stand. “Coffee
anyone?” and quietly leave the room, giving one of my deadly stares
as I pass Jim.
I can hear the mumble of
conversation in the kitchen and think the worst, but to my surprise, when I
return, Jillian is sitting next to Gareth all smiles and in deep
conversation. They appear to be getting on like long lost
friends. I glance across at Jim and flash my eyes as though
demanding an explanation.
He smiles at me. “It
would appear that Jillian and Gareth went to school together not far from
here. They were good friends until they left school and went their
own way.”
I turn around and see that Gareth
is gently holding Jillian’s hand. His face is a picture of happiness
and there is a sparkle in his eyes.
The Christmas celebrations
continued well into the night with hilarious rounds of charades and festive spirit
until it was time to go home.
It was the second week of January
and I was on my way to my Zumba Class when who should I see crossing the road,
but Garth.
“Happy New Year
Gareth. How have you been.” Before he answered me, he
leant forward and gently kissed me on my cheek.
“Frances, I’ve been meaning to give
you a call. Jillian and I have decided to sell out properties and
buy a little cottage not far from you.”
I smile and hug him back. “Gareth,
that’s wonderful news. What’s Jillian think of it all.” This
brings a huge smile on his face.
“Well we’re off on a Caribbean cruise at the end of the month. Be
away for a couple of months, but I just wanted thank you for inviting me to
Christmas dinner.”
I feel happy for the two lonely
people who found a spark of happiness at Christmas. We hug each
other one more time then part.
“You look after yourself and give
out love to Jillian please.” How nice it is to be kind to someone,
especially at Christmas. You never know what lies in store when you do.
Copyright
Bob French
