Writing for Fun
December 2017
Mistletoe - Jenni Bowers
The snow was falling heavily now, Dora peered into the gloom, it was definitely settling, so her son was right in cancelling their Christmas drive to be with her again this year. How many years had this happened? Well last year it hadn't snowed but he was 'so busy with Lynette's family, sorry mum, will make it up to you' he'd pleaded. As usual she'd told a little white lie – 'don't worry son, I'm so busy myself with choir and church activities – see you when I see you then,' putting the receiver down and weeping as she stared at all the little gifts waiting under the lovely 'real' Christmas tree she'd spent her meagre pension on, especially for their visit.
That year she had promised herself, it won't happen again, I will go out and see other lonely people, it won't be so bad sitting alone on 25th December whilst other families gather happily together. Yet here she was again, now looking forward to what? Cooking that large turkey for just herself in the morning, no plans with friends either, as Adrian had promised this year they would definitely be there with her in her 85th year.
She dried her tears, poured a large sherry and toasted her long dead husband Ted, his picture on the wall surrounded by tinsel this year – aiming to keep him with her for as long as possible. 'Well, yet again I have to cheer myself up, carry on I guess – Adrian will come eventually, probably when the children return to school, I've almost forgotten what they look like, thank goodness for Skype'.
After an early night, she rose to a pink dawn and stillness in the freezing air, sprinkling seeds out for the blackbird and robin, her constant delight these days, she looked for Freddy's footprints, had her friendly fox enjoyed the sausages she left last-night near the pine tree? Tiptoeing across the path to inspect the area he usually frequented, she slipped and fell, 'Aahhh!' the pain which shot through her hip was ghastly. 'Oh no I can't move, what should I do?' she thought, whilst trying not to scream.
Then she remembered the mistletoe which grew in abundance on her vast hawthorn bushes, Sam the gardener had asked if he could come and take some this morning. Dora managed to drag herself to the kitchen door and lay gasping for breath and waited for the doorbell – Sam was an early riser and he turned up at 10am, having waited for her to enjoy breakfast. She called and called and was just about to give up when a sandy head appeared over her lovely new security gate at the side of the house, 'Oh my goodness, Dora – what have you done, ambulance to be called now I think.'
Sam had been keeping Dora's garden tidy since Ted passed away, as an old friend, it was the least he could do and this year he was going to spend the yuletide with his daughter in London, taking the mistletoe as a gift.
After finding an old bench in the front garden, clambering over the gate & calling the ambulance he covered her with a blanket & picked up her phone book.
In a few hours Dora was tucked up in a hospital bed, with lovely young nurses running around and her son on his way having received a call from Sam. After the operation to set her broken hip she spent a few days recovering and Adrian and his family arrived to celebrate a belated Christmas with her. 'Who'd have thought a bit of mistletoe would bring them here after all?' she thought.