Writing for Fun
December 2015
Heaven Sent - Jan Osborne
I gingerly stepped off the bus into a storm of gusting sleet. Head down, with one hand gripping my stick and the other clutching the lapels of my thin coat closer together at my throat I plunged off into the crowds of Xmas shoppers. 'Here, mind where you're shoving that stick, pop!' shrieked an irate woman.
I mumbled an apology and, seeing a gap in the crowd, headed for the shopping mall. Once inside a blessed wall of hot air enveloped me like a blanket and I let out a sigh of relief which instantly turned into a scowl as an equally intense wall of noise assaulted my very old, but not completely deaf, ears – muzak and the tower of Babel combined.
In a fog of bemusement I walked slowly until I found a bench. Sitting heavily I tried to gather my wits and make a plan of action.
A pain shot through my belly and a gurgling sensation headed downwards. Blasted pie! When did I eat it? Yesterday? Damned guts had been playing me up all night. I'm sure the sell by date was next month, but come to think of it what was the date today? Nearly Christmas that's for sure; I chuckled to myself at my own perspicacity as I eyed all the Christmas razzmatazz around me. The chuckle turned into a sharp cough. Oops, I should not have done that. Clenching cheek butts hard did not achieve the desired effect and warmth began to permeate my rear.
Fear turned into mortification when a toddler plonked onto the bench next to me, by his mother, yelled whilst looking straight at me. 'I'm not sitting here Mum; he smells poohey!' His mother tested the air and, wrinkling her nose, agreed with him. Muttering, 'He should be in a home,' and sniffing loudly, she yanked the boy to his feet and stalked off, tutting loudly. Everybody turned to stare and the bench rapidly emptied leaving me close to tears.
Was she right? Was my grandson Tom right? Was I too old and senile to be left to live on my own? Was this not why I was in town today?
My thoughts turned back to a few days ago when Tom had 'phoned to say that he would pick me up on Christmas eve, as usual, to take me to his house to celebrate Christmas and the New Year with him, Polly his pretty wife and their two year old son Jack. This year it would be to their newly bought house – a big rambling old place that Tom was renovating. They had moved in three months ago and I still had not seen inside and, if the truth were known, a little hurt at being excluded. Although what really hurt was Tom hinting over the 'phone that perhaps it was time for me to consider if living by myself was a good idea. He never intimated that I could live with them – my idea of a Heaven sent old age. In fact he had even had the nerve to send Sarah McDonald the social worker to do an assessment of my needs the very next day! Did he mean to stick me in an old people's home? I would rather die of cold and starvation within my own four walls, thank you very much and I told him so in no uncertain terms but Tom had said nothing but just put down the 'phone.
Tears began to trickle down my cheeks leaving clear tracks on my grimy face. I would show them. Tom could do what he liked. I could live without them. See if I cared. After all it did not matter that I was all the family that he had. My son and Tom's dad had died along with Tom's mum in a car accident, the year before Tom had left to begin his training to join the police force. Emma my wife, now also gone, God bless her, and I had, to all extent and purpose, been his Mum and Dad ever since.
Giving myself a mental shake I pulled myself to my feet and set off to do what I knew I must do. To do, in fact what I set out to do this morning. My little mishap would only add to the show: in fact it was the icing on the cake.
Once outside the mall I headed for the local supermarket and purchased a bottle of wine. Leaving I kept the supermarket trolley and headed for the nearest charity shop.
The disapproving gaze of the manageress showed me that she thought I was a tramp who ought never to be allowed to cross the threshold of her domain. Itching to throw me out she realised, rather belatedly, the irony and uncharitable nature of the thought of banning the poorest and neediest. So holding her breath and talking through gritted teeth she sold me an assortment of old blankets and clothes and presented them to me at arm's length.
Laughing out loud I blew her a kiss and left. Once back in the High Street I threw them all into the trolley and slowly and by now painfully made my way to the market square. Under a bright streetlamp and near the gaily adorned stalls I took up residence. Throwing down a blanket and wrapping another around me I slumped onto the ground knowing I would not be able to rise again without help. Opening the wine I took a large swig and waited for the world to stop spinning. I hoped to God my plan worked. Singing loudly but tunelessly I watched the shoppers go by. A good many were stopping and staring. Some in disapproval, some in pity, but none offered help.
Half an hour passed and by then I was not pretending. I could not stop shivering. Only the wine kept me singing and helped to numb the physical pain but nothing could relieve the mental anguish. What if my plan did not work?
Then I saw the cop car. Relief flooded through me. Thank God. It had worked. Pulling up by the kerb the door opened and out stepped sergeant Thomas Rains; my Tom. He was not smiling. He looked furious. Spreading a blanket on the back seat he managed with a great deal of difficulty to manoeuvre me into the seat. Settling into his driving position and switching on the air conditioning to maximum he turned and said, 'What's this all about, Gramps?'
It all came out: my shattered dreams of not being wanted and the bleak realisation that I needed help and that this meant a place in the dreaded old people's home. I explained that by acting this way I knew Tom would be disgusted and hand me over to Social Services and thus save himself the embarrassment of telling me I was not wanted. There was silence. I was beginning to feel sick and faint and a visit to the loo would not come amiss. I looked anxiously at Tom. Slowly his shoulders began to shake and then the car was filled with great bellows of laughter.
Without saying another word he started the engine and after 'phoning a somewhat cryptic message to Polly edged into the traffic and sped away. Ten minutes later he helped me through his front door.
Half an hour later after being showered and fed Tom and Polly asked me to follow them. Puzzled I found myself in the hall facing a closed door. 'Go on in Gramps. We wanted it to be a surprise for you on Christmas eve. When you came to us we hoped you would want to stay forever. This is your new home if you choose. That is why we wanted a larger house and did not want you to see it until we'd done some alterations.'
I pushed open the door and found Heaven. Through a sea of tears I saw a self contained annexe; lounge with French doors opening onto a large garden; kitchenette and bedroom with en suite.
In the meantime little Jack had crept in and clamping his arms around my knees said 'Stay, Gramps, please.'