The Greatest Gift

TED CLARKE looked up nervously and braced himself for another verbal onslaught from the burly shopkeeper.

‘Why are you out here harassing my customers? Move along, I don’t want to see you or any of your kind hanging around my doorway any more. I’ll call the police, do you hear?’ shouted the store owner, grunting and snarling as he checked his own reflection in the shop window.

It was nearing 6 p.m. on a dark December day and the pavement outside Frank’s Fabrics was the last place that Ted had planned to be. The damp cardboard was all that separated his backside from the compacted ice which covered the concrete slab footpath.

Passers-by stopped to check on the unusual commotion, seeming to will an altercation between the two, the likely winner being the shop owner, Big Frank Molloy. Two teenagers sat on a nearby window ledge, braving the elements to secure ringside seats, one of them recording events on his smartphone.

Snow was falling faster, heavier and colder than it had done earlier in the day, or so it seemed to Ted. He was frightened and confused, yet could still smell the familiar sweet aroma of pine trees that lay in a bundle near the kerb. Distracted only momentarily by the aggressive businessman, he continued to watch Johnny Devlin unload the trees one by one from the back of his black pick-up truck, too busy to care what was going on around him. He reminded Ted of his now estranged son, of similar age and build, with a similar lack of interest in Ted’s existence.

It had only been 30 or so minutes since Ted had taken shelter in the shop doorway. The day had been long and difficult. Walking for miles and rummaging for food had taken its toll. His weary legs were in desperate need of rest, his aching bones frozen and neglected. His fingertips were numb as they protruded through his fingerless mittens, part shredded, damp and pointless.

He cowered as Big Frank leaned down and grabbed his scruffy shoulder, dragging him a little further from the shop doorway, the cardboard acting like a snowboard on the hard ice.

Ted remained silent, passive and confused. He listened to the Christmas jingles that played from a speaker on a neighbouring shop property. The song ‘Last Christmas’ seemed an appropriate tune. It reminded him of the very different lifestyle he had lived only a year earlier. How things can change in an instant, he thought, as he watched the traffic slush by on the main street.

‘OK, if you think you can just sit there and ignore me, then you’ve made a grave mistake,’ said Big Frank, becoming more frustrated with every moment that passed. Ted did not answer. He watched instead as Big Frank ran his large hand through his own thick greying hair, slicked back with more Brylcreem than required. Ted couldn’t help but notice, too, the well shined shoes and overfed stomach, reminding him of his own inferior position in society.

He could console himself at least that he was not at all like Big Frank, clearly a grumpy man, always angry at the world, and the owner of a shop devoid of customers.

‘Please leave me. I mean no harm. My legs are numb, a little mercy, please,’ said Ted, his voice hoarse and only a decibel above silence itself. He was intrigued by the level of attention he had garnered from passers-by, despite the worsening weather conditions. It felt nice to be noticed.

‘WHOA, get a look at this, Big Frank is having none of it,’ said the taller of the two teenagers, ensuring his friend was catching the developments in full HD.

‘He’s not doing any harm there, is he now?’ shouted Bob Muskett as he strolled past, his belly half full of stout. Ted grunted in agreement and offered a sad smile to the unlikely hero who had never seen eye to eye with Big Frank, not since their youth at least. He would gladly grab any opportunity to have a pop at him.

‘How about I send him to sit outside your front door then, Muskett?’ came the shop owner’s response, aggressively squaring up to no more than a shadow, Bob Muskett already having passed by with no intention of stopping.

‘Please, I just need to rest for a while. I’m soaked through,’ said Ted.

Ted had fallen on hard times since bankruptcy took hold 10 months earlier. Having hitched some 80 or so miles from his old hometown, he hoped that few would recognise his fall from grace. Now sipping alcohol from a paper cup, his hands shook. It was all he could do to warm his bones, though he still hated the taste that the first few gulps left in his mouth.

The long days blended into one hazy blur. He would spend most of his time on the streets, hoping for the clink of coins on the pavement at his feet. He liked to listen to the passing conversations, his only real communication with humanity. He churned over the conversations in his head, trying to piece them together. Like the tall foreign sounding gentleman on his mobile phone that casually strolled by, saying, ‘Well I can’t download it now, whatever has happened’. Or the whippet-like lady that breezed past as she uttered the words to another, most probably her husband: ‘You just don’t have any patience’. The conversations sometimes slotted in so well together that it made him wonder. Were we all just part of a larger game? Like puppets on strings, rehearsing lines written by the gods, whoever they might be? It also helped ease the boredom.

Never aggressive, and of sound character, Ted was now resigned to

his fate, homeless and destitute. It was his own fault, after all, that his company had folded. He had failed to take the necessary safety precautions in his factory, despite the professional advice given, choosing instead to provide the best life possible for his wife and son, until a large fire resulted in the death of an employee. His insurers had voided his policy due to non disclosure and false declarations made. His marriage and business left in tatters.

Many years of toil were forgotten and events had ironically provided meaning to his favourite saying: ‘You are only ever as good as your last day’s work’. The small town had suffered too. Ted Clarke Industries had been the largest employer in the town up until the time of the fire. He carried with him daily the regret and hatred which followed him like a dark cloud, shunned by a town short on memory, loyalty and forgiveness. If only he could turn back the clock or somehow make amends. It was his only wish this Christmas.

It was the eve of Christmas Eve and Ted was aware that many shops would be closing for the seasonal break. He had hoped that perhaps a sheltered doorway might offer sanctuary, though he would have to move on from Frank’s Fabrics whenever he could muster the strength to do so. He had already noticed the steel shutter door that would shortly be brought down on his hopes and needs, though the turkey and ham feast would surely taste better for Big Frank knowing that his interests were secure. The hilly town had a low crime rate, yet the overly cautious residents guarded their property with their lives, fiercely proud of their achievements in the world, just as Ted had once himself been.

Ted watched as a well dressed lady glanced at his stricken figure, now seated uncomfortably on the pavement in front of the shop window. She offered a brief, perhaps sympathetic smile, though appeared in a hurry as she tightly gripped the hand of her young son, struggling to keep pace with her long strides. The boy was clearly distracted, continually checking behind, his eyes following the long string attached to his other hand with a bright red balloon floating at the end. It bobbed up and down in the light wind as it battled the snowflakes, relentlessly falling, as if in an attempt to eclipse the flickering light cleverly placed inside the boy’s new favourite object.

‘Hi, Johnny. You can drop one of those trees off at my house if you like,’ said the lady to the busy workman and only half joking.

‘Can do, ma’am, but I thought that mansion of yours would have been decorated already?’ he said, while hurriedly attempting to complete his unloading duties.

‘I suppose it will have to do for now,’ said the woman, as she walked towards Big Frank, who still hovered around the shopfront area for fear his prisoner might move a fraction back towards his shop doorway.

Perhaps she might be his saviour? Ted considered. She would probably give the store owner an earful on his behalf. She certainly didn’t look like a mean woman and was surely motherly, with her well cosied son in tow. Besides, he had heard of such goodwill gestures over the years, where strangers would stop and help the needy in a random act of kindness. What better time than Christmas for such a miracle to happen?

The boy switched his focus to Ted’s long grey bushy beard and even at his tender age, pondered on his strange choice of seating.

‘Mummy, look, it’s Santa,’ he shouted, though her disapproving glance punctured Ted’s hopes in an instant.

‘Don’t be silly, Josh, that’s just a beggar. He’d want to have more sense and find himself a shelter,’ she said. ‘Santa will come tomorrow night.’

The boy’s disappointment was etched across his face, his expression speaking a thousand words. It was a look that Ted had witnessed many times over the past few months. Not pity, not sympathy, it was a look that put him in a different category altogether. A look that told him he was a failure to society, disgusting and pathetic, yet the man inside was as good as any on offer. Was it instinct? Or was it perhaps the boy’s intelligence that allowed him to read his mother’s body language so effectively?

Either way, Ted was sure that an animal would have received more love and respect.

HE WATCHED as the lady’s brown knee-length boots left imprints on the ice. Her long beige coat was not suitable for such a night but fashionable all the same. How he wished he could borrow her brown woolly hat to warm his frostbitten ears, though he didn’t care much for the designer labelled brown leather bag which hung from her slender shoulders. It reminded him of his now-estranged wife, Penny, and her beautifully arranged collection of bags, boots, coats and jewellery.

There was something about the well dressed woman, however – a dubious connection that he felt with an elegant stranger and her young companion. She was different than the others nearby and might yet have a part to play after all. Ted still held out a little hope that she might in fact grant him pity as she purposely approached Big Frank, perhaps about to unleash a well considered rant on the unsuspecting bully.

‘Hi, Dad, are you ready?’ were the devastating words that came from her from her mouth, as she threw her slender arms around Big Frank’s extra large body frame.

‘The spawn of Satan,’ he mumbled, almost surprising himself with his negative and vicious thoughts. Big Frank patted the top of his grandson’s bobbled hat. Ted watched their family interaction closely, as much in envy as despair.

‘Hi, Josh, how’s my favourite four-year-old?’ said the store owner, though Josh’s eyes still wandered towards the strange man who chose to sit on the cold ground. His mother’s warm hand clasp offered him momentary freedom while she rummaged in her oversized bag.

Josh took a step closer to Ted, as if to make sure his mother had been correct in her assertion that Santa had not yet arrived.

Ted’s kind eyes had always made him approachable. He had the ability to gain trust easily due to his direct and honest demeanour, traits that had helped him to become a very

successful businessman. But that was then.

Ted managed to return a smile to Josh, who looked like a happy child. The boy held out his hand as if trying to show Ted his new balloon, just as a sudden gust of wind propelled it forward. A continuous blur formed in Ted’s line of sight as the spherical object passed by, the string pulling through Josh’s soft hands like a knife cutting through butter. Ted watched as the horrified youngster turned in panic, as if life itself was slipping away, his mother still in deep conversation with the devil himself.

Young Josh chased the balloon, frantically trying to catch the string as it passed by Johnny Devlin’s pick-up truck. Ted surely had a vision of sorts, a premonition of what was about to unfold, frame by frame. The yellow minibus hurtled down the road as Josh’s naive mind led him to the roadside, his dark jacket a beacon for disaster.

With all his might, Ted somehow scrambled to his unsteady feet. His weakened voice unable to alert the gossiping duo as they discussed festive plans, he knew that time was of the essence. The circling wind delayed the balloons progress momentarily, suspended on the breeze at the back of the pick-up truck, allowing Ted to scramble nearer. His worn shoes slipping on the ice, his arm outstretched, he watched as the balloon again moved on, away from the boy, into the direct path of the minibus. Lunging forward, he somehow laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder, attempting to pull Josh back towards the kerb, while Ted’s own body’s momentum carried him headfirst into the street.

A screech of brakes caused many heads to turn. They could only watch as the sliding vehicle provided new sound effects in the form of a sickening thud. Merry jingles were drowned out by the screams of Josh’s mother, assuming the worst for her only child, her line of sight blocked by the dead pine trees that lay before her on the path.

THE BEEPING SOUND was incessant, the darkness even darker than before, the pain more absent than expected.

‘Hello, can you hear me? Squeeze my finger if you can hear me. That’s it, that’s good,’ said the voice of judgment. Ted squeezed with all his power. He would not go down without a fight.

‘Excellent, you’re back with us. You’ve been in an accident. What is your name?’

This wasn’t sounding good, thought Ted, as surely whatever God existed above would not have to ask his name. But what had he to lose?

‘ Ted Clarke,’ he said with all his might, his voice a little stronger than he had remembered.

‘Excellent, I am Dr Merriman. You’ve had a lucky escape but it looks to me that you are recovering well.’

‘Where am I?’

‘ You’re in safe hands, at the finest hospital in the county. Now you’ll need to rest for a while as you’ve had a little operation to relieve some pressure on your skull, but it has healed well and you’re doing fine. You will be spending a bit of time with us here. Nurse, would you mind removing the head bandages please?’ continued the sympathetic voice. It was a tone that Ted had longed to hear for some time.

‘Now you’ll have to take it easy. You’ve been gradually brought back over the last 24 hours or so,’ continued Dr Merriman.

‘Back?’ said Ted. ‘Back from where?’

‘ To hell and back I’d say, by the looks of it,’ said a female nurse rather jovially. We’ve had you under heavy sedation for two weeks now.’

‘So Christmas, is it over then?’ asked Ted.

‘ Yep, until next year anyway,’ the nurse replied.

He felt a great sense of relief that Christmas had passed by, for he had dreaded being alone over the festive period more than he had feared death itself. Slowly the room started to become brighter as the bandages unrolled from around his face and eyes.

‘Now, Ted, you have some visitors here to see you, they’ve been waiting here for some time, but we’ll have to keep it short, OK? Now open your eyes slowly please.’

A tear rolled down his face as he viewed the warm hospital room, filled with balloons, cards and getwell wishes. The town had come together on hearing the story, on recognising true heroism. He glanced back at the lady standing nearby. She was unusual in that she wasn’t wearing a nurse’s or a doctor’s uniform. Dressed casually in baggy jumper and jeans, he was sure he recognised her high cheekbones as she focused on him intently.

‘Do you know the real Santa? Are you really his helper?’ said a soft voice, though Ted could see that the lady’s lips certainly hadn’t moved.

He looked down to the side of his bed. The smile on Josh’s face was the most beautiful sight that Ted had seen for some time, knowing he was safe and well, knowing he had saved this precious little life. Josh squeezed Ted’s hand tightly when prompted by his mother to do so.

‘Mummy told me you are Santa’s helper and I have to say thank you,’ said the little boy. ‘We got you a place to live. The town did,’ he continued. ‘Mummy said we can come and visit you.’

Ted looked towards the boy’s mother who nodded and smiled warmly. He could instantly feel the connection again. Her eyes welled up as she mimed the words ‘ thank you’, unable to speak for herself, overcome with emotion.

Ted took a deep breath, almost choking on his own tears. His wish had been granted. What a welcome back into the world, he thought.

He focused on Josh’s smiling face once more and squeezed his hand tightly. He could tell from the glint in Josh’s eyes that many good things were yet to come from the young boy, his whole life still ahead of him thanks to Ted’s actions.

The true feeling of appreciation he felt from Josh, his mother and those around him was worth waiting for and was surely the greatest gift that he had ever received.