Troy and Me (A Christmas Tale) Part 1

Troy and Me 

 

It was round about Christmas when Troy knocked on my door and told me that he was going to lose his arm.

 

    “The doctors told me they can’t do nothing,” he said. 
 

    Troy had his arm up in a sling and it did look pretty painful. I had broken my arm once and it hurt like hell. I didn’t lose it though.

 

    “Would you like to come in?” I asked.

 

    Troy shook his head. “It’s ok. I just wanted to let you know my news. That was all.”

 

    I watched as he made his way down the path. Troy rented a little caravan in the back garden. Our landlady let him have it for three-quarters of what I paid for my bedsit because it didn’t have any central heating. It didn’t have a toilet either but the landlady never mentioned that. She was kind of old and didn’t like to talk about such things, although where that left Troy I wasn’t sure. Up until this day Troy and I had never really had a proper conversation.

 

    I gave Troy a little wave as he stepped inside the caravan. Then I felt guilty about this. I didn’t want Troy to think I was showing off, having such a flexible arm and all.

 

 

The next day I made two cups of tea and took them both down the path to the caravan. After about five minutes of knocking the door finally opened. Troy was in his pyjama bottoms and his hair was all sticking up on end. He was rubbing his eyes with his one good arm.

 

    “Did I wake you?” I said.

 

    “Is that for me?” asked Troy, nodding towards one of the cups of tea.

 

    We went and sat down on either side of the little table and I pulled that morning’s paper out from under my arm. I opened it up to the right page and pointed to the box I had already circled.

 

    “I think I’ve found us both jobs,” I said.

 

    “Are you forgetting about this?” Troy was tapping the side of his head with the end of a pencil but I knew that he meant his arm.

 

    “I’ve read the advert,” I said. “It doesn’t mention anywhere about having two arms. Besides, these days there are all sorts of laws to protect the disabled.”

 

    “I’m not disabled,” said Troy.

 

    “Then you should be perfect for this job.”  

 

    I knew this would win the argument. If Troy didn’t go for the job then it would be as good as admitting that he was disabled. I guessed he wasn’t ready to go down that path yet.

 

 

The manager had this way of looking both of us up and down as if we had just walked in off the street. I sensed right off that Troy didn’t take to him so I thought I had better do most of the talking. I got the impression that Troy didn’t talk much anyway, like people had let him down badly in the past and now he kept his emotions close to his chest, like cards.

 

    I said that we had seen the advert in the paper and that we were the men for the job. 

 

    “So you’ve worked as elves before, have you?” asked the manager. “And what about his arm?”

 

    “This one’s alright,” said Troy, rotating his left arm. “Look.”

 

    A woman with long legs and hair in a bob ran up to the manager. “They’ve caught some kids in haberdashery stealing needlepoint kits. They need you there right away.”

 

    “Yes, yes,” said the manager impatiently. He ran a hand over the top of his head and turned to us. “You’ll find Santa on the forth floor. Just follow the signs. He’ll gen you up.”

 

    “So we’ve got the job?” I said.

 

    “It’s only until Christmas Eve, you understand? There’s no call for elves after Christmas. They’re seasonal.”

 

    “Got it,” I said.

      

 

From what you read, you normally expect these department store Santas to be alcoholics or kid-haters or something, but right off I could see this wasn’t the case. We found Santa sitting in his grotto with a smile on his face and a bible in his right hand. He had an ‘I love Jesus’ badge pinned to his red suit just below his beard.

 

    Santa told us where to get changed and then it was straight down to work. There was a cash desk at the front of the grotto where parents paid for their kids to go in, there was a tunnel behind this, and then there was Santa.

 

    Troy and I had to stand in the tunnel and entertain the kids before they got to Santa. Entertaining the kids involved saying ‘Merry Christmas’ a lot and generally smiling.

 

    “Couldn’t we just throw sweets at them?” said Troy after an hour or so of this.

 

    “Sweets aren’t good for their teeth,” said Santa.

 

    “It’d be a whole lot easier,” said Troy.

 

    Santa fixed Troy with a stare when he said this and I hustled Troy back into our tunnel.

 

    “Look,” I said, “when’s this operation of yours?”

 

    “What?” he asked.

 

    “To remove the arm.”

 

    “Boxing Day,” said Troy. “Although boxing is the last thing I’ll be doing.”

 

    “Look,” I said. “We’ll keep our heads down here for a couple of weeks, save up some cash and then why don’t we go away somewhere. Once your arm is all sorted out.”

 

    Troy didn’t say anything to this, but when the next kid came down the tunnel he let out a big ‘Merry Christmas’ and did this funny dance that I hadn’t seen before. It even made me laugh.

 

 

After the lunch rush the manager came down to see how we were doing. 

 

    “They’ve got this whole dance thing going on,” said Santa, putting down his bible.

 

    The manager wanted to see it and I couldn’t see how we could get out of it although it felt weird doing it in front of him seeing as he wasn’t a kid or anything.

 

    “I like it,” he said, as we finished. “I don’t know that it’s traditionally elfish but keep it up and there’s an extra fifteen pence an hour for you.”

 

    “Traditionally elfish,” said Troy under his breath as the manager walked away and I could tell he was annoyed.

 

    “Think of the holiday,” I said and already it sounded like something Troy and I were definitely going to do. The day before we had hardly said a word and now we were best mates or something.

 

    There was a rush between about three and four as some kids finished school and there was a bit of trouble when one little girl accidentally poked Santa in the eye with the prow of a model sailing ship she had been given. Apart from all that, it was easy.

 

 

It was almost six o’clock and I was thinking about going home when this big bloke appeared in the tunnel. I guessed straight away he was up to no good. He had this aura about him like in those old fifties black and white films.

 

    “Oy,” I said, “you can’t come down here. This is kids only.”

 

    “Shut it,” hissed the guy and it was then I noticed he was holding a gun. “One false move from either of you two elves and you can kiss my arse goodbye.”

 

 

 

Read Part 2

 

 

 

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