It's a bit cheesy, since it was written for a rather old-fashioned women's magazine, but, what the hell? It's Christmas: enjoy a cosy tale from me, with my best wishes for the season.
A
Display of Love
‘But, what’s it all for, Dave?’
‘What’s it all
for? What’s it all for? Isn’t it obvious, love? I’m not having that moron next
door outdoing me again.’
‘Does it
matter?’
‘Of course it
matters, Shirl. Look, he got a first for his marrows, a second for his carrots
and then, to cap it all, they give him a commendation for that lousy holiday
snap he called a landscape. I tell you, Shirl, that so-and-so knows someone.
Else he knows where the skeletons are hidden.’
‘That was all
last summer. What’s it got to do with Christmas?’
‘Well, we all
know what Christmas means to him, don’t we?’
‘You’re obsessed,
do you know that? I just want this Christmas to be normal, Dave. Like everyone
else’s. I’m fed up of the time, trouble and cost we put into decorating the
outside. Stuff I only get to see when I’m coming home or leaving. Why can’t we
do the inside this year?’
‘No one sees the
inside, Shirl. What’s the point of that?’
‘I see it. You
see it. The kids and grandkids see it. No, Dave; I’ve had enough of this stupid
competition. I want my Christmas back.’
Her stance said she
was serious and, even if he’d had his back to her, the tone of her voice made
her feelings clear. And when Shirl meant it, you’d better do as she expected. He
looked at the collection of lights, blow-up figures, plastic lawn decorations
and flashing signs he’d gathered over the years and felt a small pang of
disappointment. But Shirl had a point. He’d spent good money, too much time and
far too much effort on the whole project. Why, he wondered, hadn’t she said
before it got almost out of hand? What was it all for, she’d wanted to know.
And he knew the answer. It was pathetic, really. To outdo his show-off
neighbour. Hell, he didn’t even like the man. Why was he so intent on competing
with him?
He looked out of
the window and saw Bob fixing the first lights to the cherry tree in his front
garden. He felt an urge to go out there and start on his own display, a slight
urge to make this year’s display a sight the whole village would come round to
view. But, really, he knew the motivation was just to do something better than
Bob and be recognised for that for once. Bob always got the prizes, never Dave.
Prizes. Prizes?
‘You know,
Shirl, who cares about the odd silver cup, a certificate signed by the Vicar? I
mean, what’s it mean, after all?’
Shirley,
unexpectedly, embraced him. ‘Thanks, Dave. I appreciate it. I know it’s hard
for you to give it up after all this time. But I’m proud of you. I don’t need
awards and certificates to tell me how good you are at all sorts of things. And
they never give prizes for the things that really matter anyway.’
He saw that look
in her eye, knew what she meant and abandoned the pile of decorations for a
while. He’d decide what to do with them later. Probably return them to the
loft, for now, anyway.
He still had a
spring in his step when he returned home from work the next day. He parked up
outside as usual and noticed Bob back at it next door.
‘Not botherin’
this year, old man?’
Dave forced a
smile at the condescending tone and just nodded noncommittally as he strode
down the path. The Christmas tree was in the window; a few effective lights
decorated the Magnolia in the centre of his lawn, as a greeting for visitors,
but that was all. Understated, was what Shirley had called it.
‘Looks lovely.
I’ve always felt too much looks just cheap and gaudy. I mean, Bob’s display’s
just showing off for the sake of it. The man’s too full of himself.’
It was good to
know she preferred him to the moron next door. Shirley’s appreciation was a
prize worth having.
‘No, Bob, I
decided against, this year. I see you’re up to your usual standard. Mind you
don’t blow a fuse.’
‘Oh, no chance
of that, old man. Taken all the precautions, I have. No danger of a power cut
here. Not like some I could name. All the power on one big fuse. I’ve got a
special circuit for this lot, you know.’
He did know. Bob
had boasted about it two years ago on the memorable occasion when Dave’s power
cut blacked out the house for a day. He’d really rubbed his nose in it,
smirking as the electrician came round to sort out the problem.
‘Aye, well, have
a happy one. I’m off in for my tea.’ And in he went, before he was tempted to
wipe the condescending smile off the moron’s face.
Shirley greeted
him with her usual warmth, the aroma of homemade lamb stew welcomed him into
his home, and Christmas carols played lightly in the background.
‘Nice, but it’s
a bit early for that, isn’t it?’ He nodded at her outfit, the one she normally
reserved for their private Christmas party, on Boxing Day.
‘Thought I’d
treat you. You’ve been so good over the decorations and I know how much you
like me in this. Anyway, thought you might like a surprise this year on Boxing
Day.’
He raised a
quizzical eyebrow.
‘Oh no. You’ll
have to wait and see. Now, come and have your tea, love.’
‘I’m supposed to
eat whilst you sit opposite me looking like that?’
‘Think of it as
an appetiser.’
It was, so he
did.
Two days to go
and Bob was still in the garden when Dave arrived home a little the worse for
wear, after the works Christmas do, as the taxi dropped him off outside the
gate.
‘Now then, Bob,
nothing better to do than festoon your house with lights and Santas, eh?’
Bob’s wife, a
mousy woman with a sharp tongue who, Dave suddenly realised, he’d never spoken
to, was watching tight-lipped from behind the glass in the front room. Though,
whether she was watching Bob with approval or dismay was impossible to say from
her expression. But Dave realised that he had one thing in his life that Bob
didn’t have. He had Shirl. Shirley was worth a thousand, a million cups and
medals and certificates.
‘Wait there,
mate.’
Shirley was waiting
in the hall, her face covered in questions but the greeting kiss ready as
always. He indulged her and himself first and then extricated himself with
reluctance and difficulty.
‘Come and give
us a hand, love. Then I’ll be able to concentrate better.’
He dropped the
loft ladder and started handing all the stored decorations down to Shirley. The
look on her face was hard to ignore, but he was determined. She took it all
downstairs with him, disappointment written large on her pretty face. But she
said nothing; knew him too well when he was in this mood.
He gathered the
stuff together, with her help, in the hallway.
‘Right, the rest
I’ll do on my own. Won’t take long, love.’
‘Tea’s almost
ready.’
There were tears
in the corners of her eyes, her lovely eyes, and he almost capitulated. But
he’d made up his mind and, once started, he was going to finish.
‘Won’t be long.’
Bob was still
putting the finishing touches to his display. His wife still watching. Dave
transported everything from the hall into the crisp garden until the house was
empty of the Christmas show.
‘Wonder if you’d
give me a hand with these, Bob?’
Bob looked
shocked at this suggestion but seemed unable to resist the opportunity to
boast. It took the pair of them another three hours but when they’d finished,
both were happy with the result.
‘Best ever, Bob.
What do you think?’
‘Brilliant,
Dave, brilliant. Got to hand it to you, this time.’
‘One more touch,
I think.’ He went round the back to his shed and found what he was looking for.
Bob looked at the small wooden box with its slot in the top and the
hand-painted sign advertising the display as a charity raising event and asking
for donations.
‘Village Hall
fund, I thought?’
Bob nodded,
dumbfounded. A few neighbours had ventured out into the chill of the night and
looked on admiringly as Dave affixed the box to the fence. A few even emptied
their pockets of change into it. Dave nodded his thanks.
He said good
night to Bob, thanked him for his help and went inside. Shirley was still
disappointed.
‘Tea’s ruined.’
‘Come and have a
look, Shirl.’
‘I don’t think
so, thank you.’
‘Bob says it’s
the best ever.’
She looked up,
tears still threatening.
‘Come one, love.
Just a quick look. Then I’ll not say another word about it. Promise.’
Reluctantly, and
because she loved him in spite of his failings, she went with him to the door.
He put his hands over her eyes and guided her down the front path to the
pavement to give her the best view. Once in place, he removed his hand.
Shirley gasped
and then was silent as she took it all in, including the box and its sign.
‘Oh, Dave,
you’re brilliant. And Bob’s all right with it, is he?’
‘Think he’s
still getting over the shock, to tell you the truth.’
They stood and
admired Bob’s house and garden, covered with lights, figures and all the blaze
of commercial Christmas, then at their own place, still with just its simple
white string of lights twinkling on the Magnolia and the Christmas tree in the
window.
‘Wonderful,
Dave. The whole village will be talking about this. I think you’re marvellous.’
They wandered back
down the path together and inside to the warmth of their house. Shirley closed
the curtains on the lights from next door and settled happily for the gentle
glow of the Christmas tree.
‘I think you
deserve your Boxing Day surprise early, Dave.’ She poured him a small measure
of his favourite and dashed upstairs to change.
When she
returned to the room, he was ready and waiting and he knew no amount of awards
and certificates could ever mean more than the woman he loved.
