Writing for Fun
January 2018
Not What It Seems - Pete Norman
At the sound of the car indicator clicking Susan looked up from her text message and saw the huge sign over the gateway as they drove through. ‘Where are you going, John? That’s a Garden Centre.’
‘I know it is. I thought maybe we could buy a tree.’
‘But we haven’t got a garden.’
John laughed. ‘I know but that doesn’t stop us from buying a Christmas tree.’
‘But we haven’t got room.’
‘The tree doesn’t have to be huge but as it is going to be our first Christmas in the flat then I thought perhaps . . .’
Susan sighed.
The trees were all propped up against the wall beside the entrance doors. John ran his fingers down the branches of the largest tree.
‘Don’t you dare, you rotter! That one’s big enough for Trafalgar Square.’
John moved further along the line.
‘And not that one either – we’ve only got a small room.’
‘Yes but it’s got to have room for all the presents underneath it.’
‘Do you really have that many presents for me this year then?’
John did a mock count up on his fingers and when he got to ten he said, ‘Looks like I just ran out of fingers.’
Susan snorted. ‘I wish! But I know you and I know why you want all the presents to be under the tree, you want to be able to pick them up and look at them and squeeze them and rattle them.’
John grinned. ‘That’s the best part, trying to guess what you’ve got.’
‘But that spoils the surprise, the surprise of finding out what it is when you unwrap it on Christmas Day. All you want to do is to prove that you guessed right.’
‘But that’s how blokes do presents.’
‘Well I don’t. If you want to put the presents under the tree then I suppose that’s ok but be warned that I will wrap yours up in such a way that you’ll never guess what’s inside.’
‘I’ll take that as a challenge then. All sorts of odd shapes it is.’ His voice dropped to a deep and dramatic tone. ‘Everything will be not what it seems – Mwa ha ha ha!’
The tree they finally settled upon was a compromise. It was small enough to stand in the corner of their new lounge and for them to still be able to use the table (just) but large enough to put all of their presents underneath – although John soon came to realise that in order to justify the size of the tree he was probably going to be a few presents short.
Over the next few days the presents began to appear. Susan was her usual efficient self and John was impressed with the effort she had made to disguise her presents. They were all sorts of weird shapes and sizes and one even felt as if she had wrapped the present around a house brick. He did, however, make time in his lunch break to slip out to the shops for a few more bits and then sneak upstairs for clandestine wrapping sessions in an effort to keep pace with the growing pile of presents with his name on.
Soon the floor underneath the tree was ablaze with grotesquely shaped presents and try as he might he had not managed to identify a single one. He had to admit that this was a lot more fun than it had been in the past and he tried hard to match her ingenuity with the wrapping. Finally he was left with just one last present – a large and awkward shaped present which no matter how he tried he could not disguise. In the end he gave up trying and wrapped it up exactly as it was, knowing that she would still enjoy the surprise when she unwrapped it.
On Christmas morning he woke really early. It was still dark. He had never been able to shake off the childhood excitement of Christmas and he had never really tried that hard to do so.
Susan snored and turned over and snuggled down and grunted and turned over and John had to make a concerted effort not to awaken her in his excitement. In the end he slipped out to the kitchen and brewed a coffee. The enticing smell finally achieved what half an hour of determined fidgeting had failed to do.
‘You’ve made coffee.’
‘Oh, you’re awake then . . .’
‘I thought we were going to have Bucks Fizz this morning.’
‘Perhaps you need to wake up a little first – but don’t take too long, it’ll soon be Boxing Day.’
‘Ha, ha.’ She slipped on her dressing gown and pulled out a card from her bedside cabinet. ‘Here, you can open this over your coffee.’
John opened the card and smiled at the irony, a very Tatty Teddy was holding out a huge present and wishing A Very Merry Christmas To The One I Love.
Susan said, ‘I hope you like it, I tried all the, you know, To My Partner and To My Boyfriend and to My Significant Other ones but this looked so much more personal.’
John said, ‘Ditto!’ and handed over her card – it was identical.
Over a glass of Prosecco and orange juice they finally attacked the presents from under the tree.
‘Right, just so’s you understand the rules – we do one present each and you can squeeze it and rattle it as much as you like but you have to try and guess what it is first, ok?’
John smiled. ‘Ok, but let’s up the ante, shall we? – the one who gets the most wrong has to pay a forfeit.’
‘It’s a deal.’
They shook hands.
John started and managed to convince himself that there really was a house brick inside the paper. He carefully ran his finger along the indentation and along the rectangular shape inside. ‘It’s a watch,’ he announced.
‘Well, unwrap it then.’
He ripped off the paper and there in the ‘V’ of the brick was a small box with ‘Sheaffer’ printed in gold letters. ‘Oh, bugger!’
‘One down.’
Susan picked up the one that was shaped like a Christmas cracker and shook it. It tinkled but she knew that the tiny bell was part of the deception. It was quite heavy and it rocked inside the tube. She sniffed it but there was nothing to give the game away. Nevertheless she went with her first thought. ‘It’s perfume.’
‘Ok then, clever clogs, which one?’
‘Oh, so you want precision, do you? I will go with Coco Chanel.’ She pulled the cracker and gasped as an SD card and a large pebble dropped out.’
‘One each down.’
It took some time to work their way through the presents and a second bottle of Prosecco was uncorked. The game became more frivolous as the wine evaporated until finally there was just one present left. They were even, they had each only guessed one of their presents correctly. Susan looked at the parcel which had been so carefully wrapped . . . but wrapped so that there could only possibly be one thing inside.
‘A bear,’ she announced, ‘and I think you were being very kind to me for making it so obvious.’
‘You have to be a bit more specific if you want to claim your prize.’
‘Ok, from the shape I think . . .’ she looked at the Christmas card, ‘I think it is Tatty Teddy and I am thinking of a very, very good forfeit for you.
‘Don’t be so hasty, little lady, you haven’t unwrapped it yet.’
Susan tore off the paper as fast as she could but it was wrapped around his head, his body, each of his arms and each of his legs. Eventually she held it up in triumph. Tatty Teddy and I claim my forfeit.’
John smiled. ‘No, actually you lose.’
Susan looked puzzled and held up the teddy. ‘See, he is even holding the same present as the one on the card.’
‘Everything is not what it seems – Mwa ha ha ha!’
Susan looked at the present more carefully – it was true, the parcel was not exactly the same as the one on the card. She carefully unwrapped it and inside was a small black box. She prised open the lid and the Christmas tree lights sparkled in the multi-faceted solitaire.
John dropped onto one knee. ‘Now, do you want to know what your forfeit is?’