Home for Christmas - Part III

Borris speaks excellent English - albeit with an accent, which I suppose must be Latvian, although it sounded to me a bit like Aberdeen.  Such a credit to mother's teaching. She told me she had always wanted to be a teacher, but father had said to her 'No wife of mine goes out to work.' and indeed his previous three wives had all stayed at home to look after the children. It was late in life when father embraced female emancipation.

My new friend shared one of his herbal cigarettes with me. I was a bit concerned about the hygiene hazards endemic in accepting a cigarette from the lips of another man but, remembering mother's injunction not to offend, I accepted his kind offer. And mother was right: the cigarette certainly had a calming affect upon my nerves. Never before had I experienced such a feeling of inner peace and tranquility. Indeed, when I returned to the house I felt I was floating upon air.

I had to cross the kitchen to reach the main staircase, and cook grabbed me again. 'Come here, mi young lad, and give old cookie one o' them special kisses.' I sailed on the billows of her bosom, a tide of euphoria sweeping me away.
' 'Ere, you been at the wacky backy?', expostulated cook, withdrawing her tongue from my mouth.
'I have no idea what you are talking about.' I whispered, dreamily.

We were interupted by a thunderous knocking at the front door. 'Annie!' shouted cook. But there was no sign of the maid.  'Where the bleedin' 'ell are you?' Cursing, she shoved me away. 'You'd best go and see who that is, while I try and find that lazy Slovak slapper.'
'Oh, I say, ' I protested, 'that's not the kind of language to use in front of a young gentleman'.
'Well go and open the friggin door, dear.' she hissed in my ear.

You can imagine my surprise when, upon opening the door, I discovered my father's colleague, Badger, standing on the step, his hat and shoulders covered in snow. And beside him, a large gentleman in a long black overcoat, whom I did not recognise. He wore no hat and his hair was plastered to his head with the snow. He did not look happy.

'Wotcha, Georgie boy' beamed Badger.
'Good evening Mr Badger. I replied, politely. (I don't think Badger is his real name: I think it's a sort of pet name father has used since they were school-chums at Harrow, but he didn't seem to mind my calling him 'Mr Badger')
'Home for the hols eh George! That's the ticket. And how's things at St Wetherspoons?'
'St Welchesters, sir.' I politely corrected him.
'Of course - just joshing. Well, aren't you going to invite us in?'

I stepped aside and they entered the hall, shaking snow everywhere. Mother will be furious, I thought

'We've called to see your father.' The other man spoke for the first time.

'Oh, father is in Thailand, on a fact-finding tour', I said.

The two men exchanged glances.

'George, 'said Badger, not unkindly, 'Perhaps we could speak with your mother?'

'She is in the drawing room at the moment,' I replied, 'dealing with a small domestic matter. But if you would like to take off your coats I will arrange for mince-pies and a glass of sherry to be served to you in the study, while I go and get her.'

'Capital!', enthused Badger. His companion said nothing.

Showing them into father's study, I went back into the kitchen. Cook had found Annie and was berating her most unmercifully. Politely interrupting, I acquainted them with the news of our two visitors and their need of sustenance.

Without waiting for a reply I went to my room, for I was feeling rather dizzy and felt the need to lie down. Perhaps it was all the excitement, I thought. Nothing a little nap would not put right.


(to be continued)