CHRISTMAS INDEPENDENCE

Icrouched beside the car trying not to make a sound. I could see long strands of torch light streaking from room to room. The heavier one knocked over the Christmas tree that my granddaughter had pleaded with me just three days ago to put up despite my protestations that I was now too old to be bothered with such fripperies.

"Please, please Gran, I always love your tree, I remember when I was seven, you allowed me play with the gorgeous ballerina with the pink tutu and the tiny chocolate cup and saucer that you brought from New York." That trip was just before her Grandfather keeled over from a heart attack not heeding the doctor's warning to cut out the wine, women and song, or in his case the whiskey.

"Oh, I just loved the china angel with the long pointy wings and you said nothing when I left her fall, knocking her head off and you just smiled and said: Angels are falling every day and knocking their little blocks off, sure a bit of glue will solve that. Wouldn’t it be great if it was as easy with people?"

They are back, I thought as I shifted my weight to my left ankle and tried to ease the discomfort in my bad knee at the same time trying to watch them without my glasses, which became a cropper as I stumbled to the ground.

I had only come outside the find the cat, who sometimes leads me a merry dance particularly if the night is fine and no amount of cajoling and threats will get her to come inside. She just sits there like a statue on the stone garden seat her eyes fixed on a tiny crack in the rockery wall, willing a little field mouse to come outside to meet his doom. I wondered now what that creature felt like as he cowered inside. Was his little heart beating like club on a big drum, were his lungs filled to bursting point? Did he clinch his small claws until the nails bit into his flesh? Why did I come out at all, I whispered to myself, but then, I thought I would only be a few seconds? My family will read the riot act to me again when they hear about this I thought. I imagined my daughter's shrill voice sounding like mine was when she was young:

"Mom, I can't believe that you went out in the dark at 11 30 at night after all you have been through. Is there any use in talking to you and pleading with you to be cautious."?

My son would just sigh and say with a resigned voice, "You obviously don't care about your own safety but would you try, just for once to think of us and how we worry about you." My warning and worrying about him often fell on deaf ears and now that he is away saving souls in Africa, I can only follow what's happening to him from his sparse emails.

When two strangers came a month ago and offered to replace the guttering under the roof for a bargain price, no amount of protests on my part could stop them.

"That oul guttering is perished Missus and the soffit is only like tissue paper. If you don’t get that done now you could have water running down the walls in no time… and if we get a winter like the last one, God alone knows what could happen." His companion shook his head slowly and stroked his black beard, a silver chain peeping out from his thick wrist as he said: "And the snow Missus: if we get bad snow the old shoots could buckle and could sweep half the roof with it."

No amount of telling them that I did not have the money to pay for it was heeded. I handed over what I thought was a fair price and they persuaded me to give them the Waterford Crystal chandelier as well. I pleaded with them not to take it as it had been there since my mother's time and at night by the flickering fire-light it danced and shimmered reminding me of those many happy Christmas parties in times past. Despite my protests the took it, wrapping it in the cat's blanket and as they left the tall one said:

"I'd mind that cat Missis, if I were you."

I know I should have told the Guards but what if they found out: what then would they do to Mittens? and I can't tell the Postman either.

They have changed him. Now, this new one leaves his shiny van at the end of the road and he does not have time to come in for a cup of tea because he is on a very tight schedule, having been timed by a very smart young man with a stopwatch. The other one liked Mittens and she liked him too, turning over on her back and letting him stroke her white belly. He was wonderful too at opening the odd tin of beans for me as I found the new-fangled tin opener impossible to use since my daughter threw the old one out on one of her cleaning out the clutter missions. I always kept the new jar of marmalade aside for him to open, I must do without it now or wait until my granddaughter calls on her monthly visit on her way home from College. But we must move on, as we are constantly being reminded from all quarters.

A few weeks after the chandelier incident I discovered that my diamond engagement ring and wedding ring had disappeared from the jug beside the sink where I think I had last left them. They had become quite tight as my fingers had swollen due to my forgetting to take my arthritis tablets: Sure, I can't be expected to think of everything.

Later again, I could not find my gold charm bracelet and chains, I know I should have passed them on to my granddaughters but those two would not dream of wearing old fashioned gold jewellery, bits of stainless steel and coloured stones are more to their taste. The eldest one treated herself to a belly button ring for her birthday, and I must admit that it does look stunning on her perfectly flat tanned tummy. I doubt if the belly button ring is gold though, but then the tan is fake as well. I suppose the girls could have sold the jewellery and used the money for something worth-while, but then belly button rings, tattoos, false nails and eyelashes are considered worthwhile, almost essential even, in today's world.

I stretched full length on the pebbled driveway and prayed that it would not rain. It was mild for December but I was still cold despite wearing my mother's fur coat and hat. Long ago I had given up on minding it to pass on to my daughter as she is a friend of the earth and a member of the anti -fur brigade and many other causes like saving old apple seeds and eating no meat or fish. I think all this carry on is giving her wrinkles and a haggard look and I have often told her:

"Our ancestors only ever ate berries and dandelions and look where that got them, sure they were all dead by the time they reached thirty. You need to eat a bit of meat to put flesh on those bare bones of yours."

But does she listen? Not at all.

No wonder her husband left her for a farmer's wife who was not afraid to throw a leg of lamb in the oven on a Sunday.

Then the cat came running towards me and arched her back and pit patted around me purring and rubbing her chubby cheeks against my face and fur hat. Please God don't let her get too playful and pull the hat from my head like she does sometimes and lie on her back and kick it like it was a baby rabbit. I resisted the urge to sneeze and then I heard the front door open and a voice said:

"I could have sworn this was the house, there's damm all here, only the smell of cat's food, I'm sure I saw the rings in a jug by the sink. Or did you pocket them and bring me out here again on a wild goose chase? Blast you, if I thought you cheated me like that, only it's late, I'd beat the tar out of you. Come on, we've more places to do tonight, don't start that engine or turn the lights on until we are at the bottom of the drive."

I eased myself away from car and threw a pebble in the hedge to distract the cat. I saw the tyres flatten as the two of them sat in… no shortage of calories there I thought. The driver kept one foot outside as he paddled the car down the drive.

After giving them suitable time to get away I dragged myself along until I reached the door and was met by the cat crying impatiently to be left in. Getting up was a bit of a problem but my years helping my mother were not wasted as I rolled myself over onto my knees and with the help of the grab handle at the back door I was back inside. I put the kettle on the Aga and made myself a hot whiskey and opened the oven door to heat my frozen feet while Mittens curled herself up like a snail beside them.

"Thank God Mittens" I said. "There are no cameras. I certainly won't be putting any turkey into this oven this Christmas but it would be a shame to waste the heat." I raised my glass and said to her "Here we are Mittens, against all the odds, another Christmas together, just the two of us but this adventure must be our little secret."