Home for Christmas: unforseen complications

'Happy Christmas, lover.'

Elsie came forward and gave me a big kiss. She tasted very different from cook. 'Here's your present.'

I took it from her; it felt soft and squashy. What could it be? What did I want that was soft and squashy?

I tore off the paper, and - joy of joys: A Christmas sweater. With a reindeer's head, antlers and all. The reindeer had a red nose. But who was bothered with minor innacuracies at a time like this. Certainly not me.
'Oh, thankyou Elsie, you have restored my faith in the Yuletide season.' I blubbed

'Well, and where's mine?' demanded Elsie.

I was dumbfounded, embarassed and a little fearful. And it's hard to be all three at the same time.

I had forgotten to get her a present, but I couldn't tell her that. 'Ah, well... err... I prevaricated.

'You haven't got me one, have you?' Elsie was omminously quiet. And I knew that, when omminously quiet, she was dangerous' Of course I've got you a present. Do you really think I would forget?'

'Well, where is?' Elsie sounded suspicious.

I had a sudden brainwave. 'It's in my bedroom. I wanted to surprise you by presenting it to you at dinner, in front of the whole family.'

'Oh, you're so romantic, darling.I wonder what it can be!' And Elsie winked, and then kissed me again - hard and lasciviously.

'Not in hear, my precious,' I said, 'Someone might come in.'

'So what!' demanded the brazen hussy.

I was saved from answering by the appearance of Mrs Brownlow in the doorway. 'Ah, there you are, you little lovebirds,' she said. 'your mother wishes you to partake of a glass of sherry with her and Mr Borris, on the terrace.'

'On the terrace, Mrs B! ' I expostulated. 'But it's freezing cold - and I do believe it is starting to snow!'

'Yes, but your mother is sharing a herbal cigarette with Mr Borris. And you know she won't allow smoking inside the house.'

'But father smokes his pipe in the house.' I objected.

'Look, why don't you just do as you're bleedin' well told!' hissed the housekeeper, in that ugly tone she can effect when faced with a superior intellect.

'Now look here,' I began... But Elsie was too quick  for me.

'How dare you speak to my fiancee like that!' She shouted.

'Yes, that's right, how dare - ' I stopped suddenly "Fiancee!". What on earth was Elsie talking about?

Mrs Brownlow sniggered. 'Fiancee my arse. I know all about your antics with that rugby team, you little tart.  I think most of them scored that night.'

'You nosey old cow.' screamed Elsie and straightaway went for the housekeeper.  I, fearing that an ugly fracas might ensue, tried to insinuate  myself  between them, promptly receiving a blow to the head from our housekeeper's mighty fist. I shouted out in pain, felt my vision blurr and slid to the floor.

'Sorry, George,' apologised Mrs B, 'that was meant for the harlot.' She bent down to assist me to my feet, giving Elsie the chance to kick her in the corsets. But Elsie, lifting her leg too high, overbalanced and fell on top of the housekeeper who fell on top of me.

We were all scrabbling in an undignified heap on the Axminster, when a voice, resonant with authority, irony and whisky, called called out, 'May anyone join in?'

It was father.