"Damn! Damn and blast!"
Anthony Strallan swore as the empty Champagne bottle slowed then stopped, the neck pointing at him. Again.
"Truth or dare" chanted his staff, full of festive spirit and good cheer, though some of them now inebriated beyond good manners.
…
How did I get myself into this he thought. A week ago it had sounded like such a nice idea. He was the Chairman of a small local hospice, and when he was told that, because they had been so busy, the staff and volunteers had not organised a Christmas party until it was too late to get a booking anywhere, he had invited them without hesitation to his large, family home on the edge of the village. A family home without a family he thought bitterly. It would be good to have some company if only for one night.
He hadn't realised just how much alcohol off-duty health professionals drank. Nor how ribald their sense of humour became once they were tipsy; it was very funny...unless you were the target.
After an excellent buffet and free bar, a group of the attendees were having a wonderful time at their Chairman's expense, playing Spin the Bottle. Only one of the volunteers had tried to calm everyone down in order to rescue him and, although grateful, Anthony was embarrassed about that most of all. Because Edith Crawley was the last person from whom he wanted pity.
…
"Truth" he answered to the group's demand. It was the lesser of two evils. The last time he'd said 'Dare' they'd made him drink a half-pint of Champagne. He hadn't felt quite himself ever since.
"How rich are you, actually?" asked Nurse Thomas Barrow, his expression quite plainly showing that he was weighing up whether it would be worth seducing the Chairman, whom he didn't fancy, just for the money.
"A sight less rich than I was before this party." That got a roar of laughter and Anthony hoped he'd got away with it. But he hadn't. Daisy, one of the hospice cooks, piped up, She was not the most sensitive person even when she was sober.
"That weren't a real answer, so it doesn't count. I've got a proper question. Are you in love with anyone?"
Anthony looked at her blankly because it was better than staring at Edith and giving himself away. He felt himself blushing hot as a furnace. Surely he could just lie. This was just a game. Then he did brave a glance at Edith and he knew he had to tell the truth. He couldn't let her think he didn't care, even if he was too cowardly to tell her that he did.
"Yes" he declared loudly, certainly.
"Ooo! Who is it?" cried Daisy.
"You've had your go. You can't ask another question until next time."
Edith's voice was quivering underneath her deliberately jokey tone, and she avoided Anthony's eyes for the next three goes.
…
When Edith Crawley had first volunteered, Anthony was merely a committee member on the Board of the hospice. She was particularly good with the patients who didn't want fuss, just practical help, and a listening ear. Other volunteers were the touchy-feely sort and that was needed, but Edith was held in very high esteem by patients, relatives, and staff.
Anthony spent five minutes watching her, entranced by her calm and her ability to make people who were dying feel that, actually, all was well, that they were safe and well-cared for, and he fell in love for the first and last time in his life. From then on, he tried to make sure that his visits coincided with her shifts. Sister Hughes, the most observant woman he'd ever met, would always find a way to let him know when Edith was next due in, smiling knowingly as she did so.
But he'd never had the courage to ask Edith out. Why would she look twice at a stuffy, old codger like him?
…
The bottle was pointing accusingly, she thought, at her.
"Truth or dare" came the demand.
"Truth" she said, her head held high, and in contrast to the jelly-like wreck that she felt underneath.
"Who was the last person you slept with?" The question came from Richard Carlisle, one of the consultants. He had a reputation for being far too direct, just to get a reaction from people, and yet he was a marvellous doctor, much better with his patients than with his staff.
There was an audible intake of air from some of the audience.
"Richard, I think that's a bit much, even for you" said Anthony, his low voice radiating diplomacy.
"It's no fun if it ain't embarrassing" commented Daisy.
"It's all right. The last person I slept with…" Edith paused dramatically "...is called Patrick."
"Is he your boyfriend?" Daisy was amazed that they'd got something as juicy as this.
"No, he's not my boyfriend. He's my teddy bear."
Guffaws.
"That doesn't count!"
"It does if Edith wants it to" Anthony tried to steer the game away from Edith's blushes, but she decided to brazen it out.
"But otherwise, I have never slept with anyone."
There was a stunned silence, broken by Thomas's gasped "You're a virgin?"
"Yes. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm saving myself for the right man."
"Bravo Edith!" cheered Richard.
...
The bottle spun. Thomas was asked to stand on one leg and sing 'God Save The Queen'. Elsie was asked which celebrity she'd go to bed with.
"George Clooney, no question."
Joe Molesley was asked to dance a Scottish Reel. Then, quickly, he was asked to stop.
Then the Moving Finger pointed at Anthony again, and Daisy saw her chance.
"What's the name of the person you're in love with?"
In the hushed silence that followed, Anthony weighed his options: lie, tell the truth, chicken out entirely.
He got to his feet.
"This is my house. You are all very welcome here. Do carry on playing, but I'm going to do my duty as your Chairman and host and make sure everyone else is enjoying themselves too."
"Coward!" muttered Thomas.
Anthony turned back to them.
"No, not a coward; a gentleman."
"Why...what?" Daisy spluttered.
"He's not telling us so as not to embarrass the lady. Really, Daisy, do you have fluff for brains?"
Richard's acidity drew attention from Anthony's departure. After another couple of rounds the game fizzled out anyway and the players drifted away.
…
Anthony visited the other little gatherings to play host. Then he wandered out to the main hall to catch his breath. The portrait of his kindly father stared down at him.
"Sorry, Pa. I didn't mean to turn your house into a den of iniquity."
"It's not quite that bad, is it?" Anthony spun round to see Edith standing quietly beside him. "I mean, there hasn't been any sex, drugs, or rock'n'roll yet that I've seen."
"Only a matter of time" Anthony muttered, obviously quite low and lost.
"Don't worry about Daisy and everyone. They like ribbing each other. It's their version of witty banter. It doesn't mean anything."
"I'm not used to it. It's probably a generational thing. I'm just too old to understand."
"There's a bit of the thoughtless youth thing, yes, but I think it's more the medical thing. Working with, and around, death every day means they develop a dark sense of humour. And I don't think you're old."
Anthony smiled at her self consciously. "Thank you. You're very kind."
"So, this is your father? You have the same incredible eyes."
Dumbstruck, he just stared at her.
"And you got your good looks from him too."
Could it really be that Edith Crawley was trying to flirt with him? She must have drunk more than he thought.
"I...I'm not as young as I was."
"None of us are."
"You are very young. Far too young to want to spend her free time with the dying." He saw her hurt expression and hastened to explain.
"It's not that we don't want you at the hospice. Quite the contrary. You are so marvellous and I'm sure the patients appreciate being visited by such a lovely young woman. But surely you must have your own friends too?"
Edith looked at her hands. "Not really. I've never really got on with people my own age. I'm just not in step with them. I volunteered for the hospice because I was lonely. And because I knew what being lonely was I thought I might have something to offer."
"Well, you certainly do that. And the young men of your generation are all fools...in my humble opinion. If I were twenty years younger, I would throw myself at your feet and beg to be allowed to worship you."
Had he gone too far? All that Champagne was blurring his judgment, and bolstering his courage.
But Edith, beautiful Edith, looked up at him like she was star struck. He could feel himself falling into her lovely eyes, moving toward her very slowly so as to give her every opportunity to stop him if she wanted to.
But she didn't want to. She moved towards him! Her hands were timidly coming to rest on his chest, and suddenly he couldn't bear that she might think he didn't want her. He bent down and, clumsily, pressed his lips to hers. It was quick, and chaste, and inexpertly done, but as far as they were concerned it was the best kiss ever.
…
The staff and volunteers eventually left, some much the worse for wear than others. Anthony locked up and checked the house. Then he made two cups of steaming hot chocolate and, grinning like a fool, he took them upstairs to bed where his bride-to-be was waiting.
…
MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!
There has been a veritable avalanche of Andith Christmas stories. I have been busy writing this, trying to wrap up Sir Paddington, as well as dealing with Christmas RL. I will get around to reading them all and reviewing, perhaps while everyone else is sleeping off Christmas lunch tomorrow!
You are all such wonderful people, and I feel so very blessed to be a part of the Andith fandom. Thank you.
LONG LIVE ANDITH!