Inheritance

Chapter Twenty Four. Another Christmas Present.

Chapter Twenty-four 

Another Christmas Present 

John, home for the Christmas holidays, immediately noticed the changes. His father continued to work the night shift, but many evenings left far earlier than usual, and often didn't return until almost noon the following day. Not only was there a change in his routine, he was also taking more care with his appearance. The blue overalls remained the same, but the dousing of cologne that followed his nightly shave now masked the awful stench, that permeated their fabric. His normally unruly hair, what little remained, was groomed neatly just prior to his departure, and to cap it all, he now even carried a small grooming kit. John couldn't resist a dig.  

"Dad, why do you have to be so well groomed to watch mould grow in the fermenters?" 

The only response was a shy grin. His Dad remained coy. 

It had been six years. Who could she be? 

*****

Once again, despite some misgivings, John took a job delivering the Christmas mail. He would no longer have to deal with Rachel, as the Atkinson's had moved into their new mansion, but he dreaded the thought of running into Sheila. She still aroused sickening feelings of loss and anger in him, and he just didn't want to know about darling Heinrich. 

The first few days passed without incident, but he noticed that the volume of mail destined for the Edgars was increasing with each delivery. He was convinced the majority of envelopes didn't contain the customary cards; they were identical, all addressed in the same neat hand. They must be RSVPs, possibly to a party at the Edgars. John was tempted. Ignoring warnings about maintaining the confidentiality of the mail, he slid an envelope into his inner coat pocket. He would bring it back tomorrow. It would do no harm.  

Later that morning, as he approached Newland village, he detected the familiar smell of bacon and black puddings. Good old Mrs. Case, a pinnied, rotund figure, was waiting as usual to greet him on her front step. 

"Good morning, John. Any post for me today?" 

"Just a couple of cards, Mrs. C.," said John. 

"Will you have time for a bit of breakfast then? You must be famished after riding over all those hills." 

"I always have time for your breakfasts, Mrs.C. You know that." 

"Good! Then come on in. There's someone I want you to meet." 

John, carefully wiped his feet on the coconut matting, placed his bundle of mail on a shelf inside the porch, and followed her into the warmth of the kitchen. Seated at the head of the table, obviously perturbed, but feigning great interest in the sausage in front of him, was his father.  

"I think you two know each other,'" said Mrs. Case, a wide grin on her face. 

"I'd say so," responded John. "What the heck are you doing here, Dad?" 

"What does it look like you blithering idiot? I'm enjoying a damned good breakfast. Now sit yourself down and enjoy one yourself." 

"But, but..." spluttered John." I didn't know you two knew each other." 

"We didn't until about three months ago. Beryl started work in the Glaxo canteen on the evening shift. I used to go in for a snack before starting work, and we got to talking. We discovered that we have a lot in common. Both of us have lost spouses, have sons who are rarely home, and spend most of our time alone." 

John knew where this was heading. "And so?"  

"So! Beryl and I were wondering if you would object to us getting together." 

"You mean living in sin, Dad?" 

"Nothing like that you cheeky imp. Would you mind if we well mmm... got married?"  

"I don't know, Dad. It's all a bit sudden." John purposely paused. "I really will have to take some time to think it over." His father's countenance darkened. John, realizing that this was no time for teasing, approached him, and threw his arms around the stooped shoulders. "Dad, I would be delighted. I really would." 

"I'm so glad son," he said tapping John on the arm. His gaze then turned to his future bride. "It's going to be alright Beryl."  

John turned. She was standing watching them, wringing her hands in her apron, copious tears streaming over her rosy cheeks. John, stirred by her obvious emotion, went to her side. "Here, Mrs.C, let me give you a big hug." 

"No Mrs. C. anymore," she chuckled. "Call me Mum, that's what Jimmy does." 

What a thought! That lecher was going to be his step brother. At least he was away at sea most of the time.  

"How about joining us here after you finish work today, for a little celebration, sort of an engagement party. " 

"That would be great Mrs.C, I mean Mum. Can I bring anything?" 

"No, I think we can manage. You could bring your girlfriend if you like." 

"Bit of a problem there I'm afraid. I'm not too popular with the local girls at the moment." 

"Daft girls. They don't know what they're missing," said Mrs.C, giving him a wink. 

Boy, Mrs.C really knew how to cheer a bloke up. No wonder his Dad had taken such a fancy to her. 

"Anyway, son, finish up your breakfast before it goes stone cold, and get yourself back to work. We'll talk some more tonight."  

Around midnight, fortified by excessive amounts of Mr. Chadwick's homemade wine, John staggered home. His Dad seemed to be so comfortable with Mrs. Case - so comfortable in fact that he was staying the night. "Too much drink," he had claimed, but the twinkle in his eye gave the definite impression that he and Mrs.C. were more than friends already. Shades of Gillian.  

The long walk home in the bracing chill partially sobered John, but he still took an inordinate amount of time to unlock the front door, and stagger to the kitchen. He flung his jacket on to the table. The envelope fell out. In the excitement of the day, he had forgotten all about it. Now, his curiosity rekindled, he put on the kettle, steamed open the cream laid envelope and pulled out a card. The edges were embossed with an intricate floral design. In the centre was a brief message. 

Dear Susan and Heinrich, 

We will be delighted to attend your engagement party on the 20th of December. 

Love 

James and Mary Davidson 

Susan? Not Sheila! John let out an involuntary groan, sank to his knees and tore the card to shreds.