CHRISTMAS CALLING

CHRISTMAS CALLING

Maggie didn’t want to wake up. In fact she didn’t care if she never woke up again. She forced her eyes to stay closed, listening to the sounds outside. Church bells ringing, carols on a radio, laughter of children.

Somewhere a dog barked. She turned and buried her head in the pillow, her glistening tears making a damp patch on the warm fabric.

She huddled in her bed for a few minutes, putting off the moment when she had to face the day.
It was always harder at this time of the year. Everyone going around with smiles on their faces, carrying bursting packages and always in a hurry. Twinkling stars on TV commercials, Disney feel-good films, and families holding hands. Only two days to go and then it would be over, and perhaps life could get back to normal. Whatever that was.
Maggie gripped the bedclothes for a moment, drew a deep breath, and struggled out of bed.

She pressed her lips together as the effort of getting up overwhelmed her. As she rested briefly she looked around her sparse room. Cream walls, green carpet, matching curtains, and a worn chair facing a tired television. Not a lot to show for her 85 years in the world.
She sighed, the first of many sighs that day.

A sharp tap on the door, and in walked the carer, cheerful and busy. She chatted all the time as she worked, helping Maggie to wash, brushing her hair, helping her to dress. Maggie blocked it all out. She’d heard it all before. The son was doing such and such, the daughter had a new boyfriend, husband was a pain. Same old news.
Then another carer entered and they helped Maggie to her chair and then began making the bed, straightening the sheets, smoothing the quilt and pummelling the pillows. They chatted to each other now, ideas for presents, recipes for festive goodies, excitement building. Busy houses, busy lives.
They smiled and waved at Maggie as they left, laughing in the corridor as they went about their work.

Breakfast came and went, barely touched. A weak sun shone through the window and Maggie turned her head away. The brightness made her eyes blur then she couldn’t focus for ages.
So she sat, alone. Memories often tried to interrupt her day, but she forced them away. Faces and voices from the past persisted as she dozed and brought the determined tears to her eyes as she woke.
A knock on the door was unexpected. Someone was delivering a parcel for her. She checked the name on the packaging. Maggie Watts. Definitely her name, but obviously a mistake. She shook her head and handed it back. It couldn’t be for her. It was, they insisted. It was a parcel for her. It had her room number on it.

Maggie held the parcel in her hands for several minutes, turning it over and over, trying to think what it could be. A square box of some sort, not very heavy. Something rattling. No return address.
She slid a crooked finger beneath the wrapping and looked in amazement at the box in her lap, a glossy photograph of a mobile phone declaring it was the answer to all her communication needs.

What on earth was she supposed to do with it? She had no-one to call, and no-one was likely to call her either. Curiosity drove her to open the box. The carers were always fiddling with their phones, ‘mobiles’ they called them. Sending messages somehow, apparently. Giggling together over shared pictures. Maggie could never understand what they got so excited about.
Well, now she had one. She was still looking at it in confusion when her lunch arrived. A laughing carer fitted the battery and turned the thing on. There was a bleep and some strange tune erupted from it. The carer left with a wave.

The lunch grew cold as Maggie continued to look at the mobile, still turning it over and over in her hands. She pressed a button, and the screen lit up, and she saw there was some writing. She had a message.

“Hello Maggie.”

She stared at it. Then there was another beep. Maggie paused, then pressed the button again.

“Do you like your Christmas present?”

Maggie shook her head. She shoved the mobile back into the box and threw the whole thing into the bin by her chair.
She looked at her lunch and pushed it away. A cup of tea stood cooling on the tray. She lifted it carefully to her lips and began to sip. She looked at the box in the bin several times, but left it there. The tea actually tasted good, and she picked up a piece of bread and butter and chewed it thoughtfully.
A beep came from the bin. Maggie finished her bread and sat looking at the box. No more beeps. She waited.
Lunch was cleared away and the lights dimmed. This was doze time. Televisions were turned off, radios became quiet, carers took a break. Routine was important. Maggie lifted the box out of the bin and looked at the screen.

“Remember Christmas in Scotland?”

Maggie stifled a cry. Who was this? What was going on? She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Christmas in Scotland. How long now, twenty or thirty years ago? Memories long buried. She closed her eyes and the memories flooded back.
The room was warm with a sparkling fire throwing shadows across the ceiling. The Christmas tree was aglow with twinkling lights, and the soft sound of a children’s’ choir singing ‘God Rest You Merry Gentlemen’ filled the air. Maggie sat on the sofa beside Dan as they watched Julia helping David open his presents. David ripped at the colourful paper, exclaiming in delight at a new car, or bus, or storybook. Maggie laid her head on Dan’s strong shoulder and he gripped her hand and squeezed it affectionately. Maggie could feel him smiling. This was what Christmas was all about. Family together, parents children and grandchildren, enjoying the company of one another.

Outside the snow floated to the ground like a million feathers, pausing on the windowsills before tumbling in a heap to join the white marshmallow mass below. Dan kissed her softly on the cheek, and she sighed contentedly.

Maggie awoke with a start, her face and neck damp from countless tears. A sob escaped from her lips and she fumbled for a handkerchief. Damned memories. It all came rushing back before she could stop it. Dan, her beloved Dan, gone now these many years, leaving her all alone. And her Julia, emigrating with dear little David to some distant shore and then dying out there, without ever having come home again. Her lovely daughter buried in some remote graveyard that she could never visit.

Again the tears fell, and Maggie dabbed half-heartedly at them, gave up, and let them come.
All these years alone. Never a word from Julia’s husband or from David.

Then the mobile beeped. Maggie picked it up and pressed the button, and the screen lit up.

“God Rest You Merry Gentlemen!”

Maggie stared at it, then put it in the box and tucked it under her bed. The carers came and she was amazed to see it was evening and time for bed. The day had sped by. Almost immediately she fell into a deep sleep. The dreams were queuing up. One minute she and Dan were walking hand in hand alongside a meandering river and the next she was in the hospital and Julia was born. Then it was their first Christmas as a family, Julia a tiny baby and Dan as proud as a man could be, and then the scene changed and it was Julia cradling David in her arms. So much laughter. Then the sadness all came at once. Dan’s graveside, Julia and Maggie standing side by side, and then Maggie at the airport, watching as Julia and her husband and David departed for their new life in some God-forsaken country. Even the gut-wrenching pain in her chest felt the same.
An insistent noise woke her. It was the mobile again, but not just a beep this time. It was making a continuous noise. Maggie struggled out of bed and hooked the box out with her walking stick. Just as she picked it up, the noise stopped. She took out the mobile, pressed the button, and looked at the screen.
“Dan calling.”
Instinctively, she threw the mobile away from her onto the bed, like it was a glowing ember.The stupid mobile began to buzz and vibrate, moving across the bed as it did so. Maggie reached for her walking stick and tried to hit the thing, missing every time. She knew she was getting senile, forgetting the silliest things, but a heightened imagination was not something that was supposed to come with senility. She stopped whacking the bed and tried to think logically. It seemed someone was trying to communicate with her. Was it Dan, or was it God? Probably more importantly, was it possible?
Of course, she couldn’t mention it to the carers. They would just make a note in her notes that she was “losing it” or some such comment. What had the box said, ‘the answer to all her communication needs’? Well, if it was God, what happened to good old-fashioned praying? If it was Dan……well she couldn’t even think about that possibility.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, she grabbed at the mobile, placed it to her lips, and shouted

“Dan, is that you?”

The screen remained blank.

“Hello?” she whispered to it.

Still no reply. Then she felt really silly and was glad there was no-one near to see her. That wasn’t what the carers did with their mobiles. They punched keys and somehow sent messages. Maybe that was what she needed to do.

She began to press different buttons, but nothing happened. Totally frustrated, she threw the mobile on to the bed again. She tried to stop herself from looking at it. She searched the ceiling, examined the floor at her feet, even looked out the window.

Always her eyes were drawn back to the bed and to the now silent mobile.
Then she felt a tiredness come over her and she surrendered to the feeling. It was all too much to take in. Maybe she had imagined it all anyway. Maybe she would open her eyes and everything would be the same as always, and there would be no mysterious package and no mobile sitting on the bed.

She jumped, as someone tapped on the door. Not the carer, not yet. She needed time to think, to compose herself.
Too late. The door opened and a tall man stood there, smiling nervously at her. She stared at him for a long time, trying to recall why he looked so familiar. There was something about his eyes that triggered a distant memory.

“Gran?” he whispered “It’s David.”

He opened the door wider then, and a troupe of three children shyly followed him into the room.

“These are your great grandchildren – Tanya and Dan – and Maggie”.

The mobile beeped. Maggie looked from her visitors, to the bed, looked at David, and then leaned forward and took hold of the mobile. She pressed the switch, watched the screen light up, and took a deep breath.

“Happy Christmas, Maggie”.

She stared at the message for a long time, and then handed the mobile to David. He took it gently, turning it over in his hands, pressing buttons, putting it to his ear.

“The battery is dead,” he said “there’s nothing there. Is it new? You have to charge it up first and put a Sim card in before it will work.”

Maggie took the mobile back and looked at the black screen. She pressed the button a few times but there was nothing. Then she looked up at her family and opened her arms and welcomed them.

“Happy Christmas, Dan” she whispered.

From the corridor outside the strains of God Rest You Merry Gentlemen floated through the air.