For a wide range of services for writers, visit our links page

A HUMBLE CHRISTMAS
by Linda Jenner

‘Mum, there’s someone at the door,’ shouted Gavin as he pulled back the closed curtains.
Little Maisie’s only five but she’s as discreet as me and can peep round the curtain and take a good look without ever being noticed. But Gavin, although he’s two years older, has no sense at all and just drags the curtain back so that everyone can see inside. I rushed to close it again but it was too late; Uriah was on the doorstep and he was waving to me. His real name is Mr Snelgrove but he always reminded me of Uriah Heep.
He’d caught me out again. I’d hidden when he called yesterday but I wasn’t expecting him first thing in the morning when I was trying to get the kids off to school. This must be a new strategy.
He was smiling his smarmy smile when I opened the door and stooped as he leaned his tall lanky frame towards me in an unnecessarily intimate way.
‘You must have been out when I called yesterday Mrs Baker, so I thought I’d come nice and early today so I didn’t miss you again.’
‘Oh, you’ve caught me on the hop Mr Snelgrove, I wasn’t expecting you this early in the morning. I’ve not had chance to go to the Post Office yet so I can’t pay you just this minute.’
He’s not that old but he always looks slightly unsavoury in his ancient suit that is shiny and worn round the cuffs and elbows, and he looks a bit grubby round the collar area. His tie, which is never tied tight enough, has old food stains and he wears soft collars that curl up at the ends.
‘I’ll call round again later this morning then, say about eleven o’clock Mrs Baker.’
I hate the way he keeps repeating my name; he emphasises the ‘Mrs’ as though he suspects I’ve never been married.
‘Just one more thing Mrs Baker, you know better than anyone how I always have my clients’ best interests at heart, so I though you might be attracted by one of our new credit crunch Christmas loans.’
He thrust a brightly coloured leaflet in my hand and smiled yet again; nodding his head back and forwards as he leaned a little closer and I caught a whiff of his unpleasant stale breath.
‘I know what a difficult time Christmas can be when you have kiddies. You don’t like to disappoint them do you? There’s nothing quite like seeing their little faces on Christmas morning when Santa Claus brings them just what they asked for is there? Do you think you might be interested Mrs Baker?’
‘I’ll have a think about it when I’ve a moment. I’ve got to get the kids off to school now.’
‘Well don’t leave it too long because these loans aren’t available to everyone. But I like to look after my special clients, you know that,’ and he gave me a wink as he picked up his battered case. ‘I’ll see you later then Mrs Baker.’
I watched as he set off back along the walkway, past the front doors of the other maisonettes, heading off to harass some other poor souls trying to keep their heads above water.
It wasn’t until I got back from the school that I had a chance to look at the leaflet he had left. ‘Make Your Christmas Merrier’ it advised. It was brightly coloured, all red and green with baubles, ribbons and streamers. There was no need to allow the ghosts of past credit to emerge and ruin the festive season, it assured me. Instant loans were available, regardless of credit history; a quality Christmas loan delivered right to your door. A glamorous young woman in a very short Santa outfit urged me to make my Christmas one that I could cherish forever.
My Christmas was shaping up to be memorable all right, but for all the wrong reasons. I’d been haunted for weeks. Not by ghosts of Christmas past, though there were plenty of those. No, I’d been haunted by a Nintendo Wii. It was sitting there right at the top of both Maisie and Gavin’s Christmas lists. When I shopped in the High Street it beckoned me from shop windows and it lurked in the supermarket, waiting for me when I shopped for value baked beans. Every time I switched on the adverts there was some idiot balancing on one leg advertising Wii Fit. I couldn’t escape it but I also couldn’t afford it, not without a Christmas miracle. Things would have been different if I’d not lost my job earlier in the year and if I hadn’t had that problem with the cooker. But it was no good thinking about what might have been. I picked up the leaflet again, a Christmas miracle or one of Mr Snelgrove’s loans.
He’d be here in half an hour for his money. It would have to be the money I’d been saving up for the electricity bill. My legs felt heavy as I headed towards the bedroom to raid the little stash of notes that I kept hidden at the bottom of my underwear drawer. As I slid my hand under the pile of well-worn cotton knickers my finger nail caught on something lacy. I’d almost forgotten about the black fish-net tights and crimson basque and panties that Maisie’s Dad had bought me the year before she was born. I’d certainly had no occasion to wear them since. I pulled them out and held the basque in front of me. Would it still fit? I’d put a bit of weight on recently.
The seeds of an idea were forming in my mind. I slipped out of my jeans and old jumper and a minute later I was tugging at the laces as I pulled the basque tighter over my bulging middle until my breasts were spilling over the top. I gave a whirl in front of the mirror, trying to ignore the deep ridges that my pop sox had left on my legs. I grabbed the hairbrush and tugged at the knots in my hair. I looked at the clock, nearly eleven, and I quickly rifled through an old make-up bag until I found what I was looking for: bright red lipstick. I smeared it swiftly across my mouth and shivered slightly as I viewed myself in the mirror; I didn’t look like me anymore. I dug deep in the back of my wardrobe for the scarlet stiletto heeled shoes that I hadn’t worn for years. My feet spilled over the sides and the thin straps dug into the white flesh of my protesting feet as I strutted, Tina Turner style, across the bedroom floor and studied my rear view in the mirror.
I jumped at the doorbell buzzer; it sounded, like the shots of a machine gun carrying out an execution. I smoothed my hands down my crimson sides and grabbed my fluffy dirty-white dressing gown. It was a pity I didn’t have anything silky and slinky for the occasion.
As I headed towards the front door, my heel caught on the worn hall carpet and I screamed as I fell and lay sprawled out with my face pressed into the sticky carpet where I could smell the previous tenants’ big mucky dog.
‘Are you all right Mrs Baker? Can you manage to get up and open the door or should I fetch help?’ Uriah’s pale watery eyes were looking at me through the letterbox.
I finally struggled up and opened the door. Mr Snelgrove looked me up and down as I pulled my dressing gown a little tighter, but I knew that he’d seen my outfit.
‘Are you okay Karen? Why don’t you come and sit down here on the settee.’
He’d never called me Karen before. I was trembling now and felt foolish. Whatever had I been thinking of? He placed his cold clammy hand on my arm and I could smell his deeper breaths as they whistled through his teeth.
‘I think there may have been a misunderstanding here,’ I whispered as I drew away from him, ‘I was just trying on an outfit for a fancy dress party I’m going to.’
‘Really Mrs Baker?’
But I’d now gained control and was counting out the money I owed him.
‘Have you thought anymore about the Christmas loan Mrs Baker?’
‘I don’t want it. I’ll do without.’
‘Well please yourself but the offer will still be open next week. I only have my clients’ best interests at heart. You know that Mrs Baker.’
I shut the front door and leaned my back against it and didn’t leave until I heard his footsteps heading down the nearest staircase along the walkway.
I sat down at the kitchen table where a Christmas gift catalogue was open to the page with the Nintendo Wii. Gavin must have been looking at it yet again. I picked it up and flung it across the room. I was in this mess in the first place because of a Christmas loan. A few years ago the Christmas Club I’d been paying into went bust just a few weeks before Christmas and I couldn’t bear to disappoint the kids. I was still paying off that money, what with the interest and a few top-up loans when I’d been really desperate. But never again, I vowed I’d never borrow money again to pay for Christmas. Not as long as I live.
I grabbed the kids’ Christmas lists and with a big black felt-tip I scored through the top item on each list. I’d try to explain to them, I’d tell them that we could still have a nice time. They would be upset, and perhaps they wouldn’t understand, but how would I have lived with myself if I’d done what I had in mind?