A TB Christmas Carol
Chapter 2
When Marquess awoke, it was so dark he could barely see to the other side of the bedroom. He felt into the drawer of his bedside cabinet, drew out a small torch and shone it at the clock on the opposite wall which showed twelve o'clock precisely. 'That can't be right', he thought, 'I got to bed at about half past one. Surely I haven't slept through a whole day and into another night?'
He could not make sense of it. He looked out of the window, where the dark, chilly streets looked the same as they did every night. He climbed back into bed, pulling the duvet up high as he realised how cold the room was, in spite of the central heating. He lay back down but could not sleep; all he could think of now that he was awake was the 'ghost' of Handford. Had that been real?
He considered this over and over again, but every time he almost managed to convince himself that it had all been a dream, something else inside him told him that it wasn't, and the whole process would start all over again. Then an idea struck him. 'He said that the ghost would appear at one o'clock,' he told himself. 'So, I'll stay awake 'til then and when nothing happens, I'll know it was just a dream.'
The minutes dragged by much slower than Marquess would have liked, but soon it was twelve thirty, then twelve forty-five, then …
"One o'clock!" Marquess said aloud, triumphantly. "And no ghosts in sight!"
But no sooner had the words escaped his lips than a soft rumbling sound began from somewhere nearby, rather like a low flying aeroplane except it was not coming from above the room. Not below either. So what was it?
The noise grew louder and louder until it was quite deafening, yet still it was unclear where it came from until Marquess noticed that to his horror, a bright lights were shining out of the keyhole of his wardrobe, and now the whole thing was beginning to shake violently from side to side.
Marquess could not help wondering what was to become of his best suit and ties when, without warning, the wardrobe doors flew open, the noise (which was now more like a terrible roar than a rumble) became even louder and a brilliant light filled the room as a motorbike with its headlights on full beam flew through the open doors and landed squarely on the carpet.
Marquess had pulled the duvet up over his face as the room had been illuminated and only now peeked out to see the rider of the colossal, ghostly white motorbike dismount and begin to remove its helmet.
"That's all I need," Marquess whimpered, "a Hell's Angel in my room at one o'clock in the morning! Who are you? What do you …? Oh…"
The rider removed its helmet and shook its long, glossy brown hair free before turning to face him with piercing eyes and a slightly sarcastic smile.
"Juliet!" Marquess gasped. "This can't be – you're dead!"
"Oh, really?" she replied, rolling her eyes. "I hadn't noticed!"
"Are you the, er, ghost that Mr. Handford mentioned might be popping by…?"
"That's right. I am the ghost of The Bill's past."
"Um, I hope you don't mind me asking, but why you? You were never in The Bill over the Christmas period?"
"And why was that?" asked Juliet, coldly, folding her arms. "Someone decided to sack me before that could happen."
"We're digressing," Marquess said quickly. "What brings you here?"
"Your welfare, believe it or not."
"Don't you think that maybe letting me have a good night's sleep ready for the Christmas episode tomorrow might not be more productive?" Marquess suggested, tentatively.
"The welfare of The Bill, then," Juliet shrugged. "Come on." She turned towards the bedroom door and wheeled the motorbike through to the living room.
"Where are we going?" Marquess asked nervously as he got out of bed, pulled on a pair of fluffy slippers and followed.
"Stop asking so many questions," said Juliet impatiently as she fastened her helmet back on and handed Marquess a spare. "Can't be too careful these days," she added, noticing the bemused look on his face. "Climb up and we'll get going."
Marquess had never ridden a real motorbike before, let alone a phantom one, so it was with great apprehension that he mounted the fearsome looking structure, checked the fastening on his helmet and gripped the sides, wondering how many people would believe him if he regaled them with this anecdote tomorrow morning.
"Ready?" Juliet asked, suppressing a slightly evil grin as she glanced behind at Marquess.
"As I'll ever be," Marquess squeaked, two octaves higher than he usually spoke. "This contraption is safe, isn't it?"
"Oh, probably. Only one way to find out!" she replied, pulling down her visor and revving the engine.
Marquess could not help feeling a little concerned about what the state of his carpet might be after having a whacking great motorbike drive over it, but the importance of this was suddenly pushed aside when it dawned on him that the bike was not facing the door, but the fireplace.
"You…you can't be serious!?" he called, over the roar of the engine as his eyes grew wider. "The chimney!?"
"If it's good enough for Father Christmas it's good enough for us," yelled Juliet triumphantly as she gave the accelerator a hefty kick. They shot forwards so fast that Marquess did not have time to argue. In the few seconds that the solid brick fireplace approached he abandoned all his principals and flung his arms around Juliet's waist, holding on for dear life at the same time wishing that he'd got round to making out his last will and testament.
He waited for the crash, but it didn't come. Instead, the motorbike, with both of its riders intact was suddenly driving directly upwards. Even though it was dark, Marquess knew perfectly well where they were; it was the chimney! He could see the light at the end of it, pointing up into the night sky where the moon was glowing bright, despite the fog.
As they burst out of the chimney top, however, a swirling fog descended that was so thick, Marquess could see no further than a few feet in front of him. He felt the motorbike fall level, which was something of a relief, but as the fog lifted he realised that they were not on solid ground but instead flying through the air over a city he did not recognise straight away.
They flew lower and lower, until they came to a halt outside a large building just off the city centre. Juliet removed her helmet as she jumped down and beckoned Marquess to do the same.
"Do you recognise this place, Paul?"
"Why, yes!" Marquess exclaimed in awe, placing his helmet on his seat as he surveyed the tall structure. "I was trained here when I was a boy!"
"Let's go and see," Juliet smiled. "We'll leave the bike here."
"I wouldn't, actually," Marquess shook his head gravely. "It'll have been wheel clamped by the time we get back; the traffic wardens around here are ruthless…"
Juliet glared at him.
"Sorry," Marquess mumbled, turning pink.
As they entered the building, young men and women were milling around the entrance hall where a huge Christmas tree stood, adorned with flashing lights, glittering baubles and tinsel. Everyone had a kind word for one another as they passed, many with suitcases or carrying beribboned gifts as they departed for the Christmas holidays.
"My friends!" Marquess gasped, smiling for the first time that evening. "I recognise everyone! There's Alan … oh, and Caroline! And Carmen, Rick, Mina … well I'll be damned, there's Mal! He's in charge of Casualty these days, you know. What a wonderful place this was; so full of laughter and happiness…"
"Really?" Juliet looked puzzled. "Strange how you had forgotten that for so many years, isn't it?"
Marquess pretended not to have heard that, and instead walked up to one young man he recognised and greeted him. The boy did not seem to hear him and walked straight past to join his friends. Marquess turned to Juliet.
"They cannot see or hear us," she explained, shaking her head. "These are but shadows of the past; a living memory, if you like. Come, there is someone else you may recognise."
She led him up the great staircase, down a long corridor, then through a door and down a smaller, darker corridor into a room where happiness and laughter were absent. A lone young man sat at a desk writing an essay by the dim light of a table lamp with an expression of great melancholy.
Marquess sat down slowly on a stool beside the whiteboard and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes as he observed his former self so alone and unhappy, doing his best to disguise this as a noseblow.
"You're not fooling anyone, mate," Juliet peered down at him, smiling sympathetically.
"I couldn't go home that Christmas," Marquess said, as matter-of-factly as he could. "Too many essays to finish; too much to get done. It was only for one year," he added, with a cough. "I had some very happy times here. I remember the time a group of us all dressed up as pantomime characters and went carol singing! Oh, that was so much fun! We were all hideously out of tune, of course, but the thought was there. One of my friends went as the Genie from Aladdin," he grinned, "and painted his face blue for the occasion. Only problem was, he used writing ink that wouldn't come off and he had a blue face for the whole Christmas!"
He burst out laughing and for a few moments was unrecognisable as the man he usually was.
"And a few of us couldn't resist singing the more, erm, risque words to the carols," he added, looking all of a sudden like a naughty schoolboy. "But it was always harmless, good clean fun. Though some grumpy so-and-sos took it upon themselves to threaten us with bucketfuls of cold water if we didn't shut up … oh … I wish …"
"Mm?" Juliet looked at him questioningly.
"Oh, nothing," Marquess said hastily. "It's just that there were some carol singers outside the studios yesterday … in retrospect I might have liked to listen."
Juliet smiled thoughtfully. "Let's see another Christmas."
In an instant, the young man at the desk had aged a couple of years and appeared to be much happier as he shook hands with a rather formidable looking gentleman.
"Off to start your apprenticeship, then, Paul?" he nodded slowly. "Just in time for Christmas, too. Well, good luck to you; may you bring much happiness to today's screens!"
"That's more like it," Marquess smiled broadly to see his former self leave the room with a spring in his step. "What a day that was!"
"It got better, too, didn't it?" Juliet reminded him. She turned towards the door and gave a piercing whistle; seconds later the motorbike roared into the room and stopped obediently beside her.
"Come on, we haven't got all night," she said, climbing on and starting up the engine. On you get - there we go – ready?"
"Almo…" Marquess clung on tight once more as the bike spun around, shot back through the door, down the corridors, down the stairs and straight though the main doors without so much as disturbing a bauble on the tree. Then they climbed into the sky again and soared through the clouds and fog briefly before dipping downwards back into the city and finally coming to rest outside the ITV studios.
"I had a suspicion this might be our next stop," commented Marquess as they disembarked. "And how wonderful to see this place again! I was an apprentice here for several happy years!"
They entered into the building, tiptoeing past a large and rather scary looking security guard just to be on the safe side. And then into a studio where it seemed that a programme's filming had just ended and the staff were packing up. Two young men were rather anxiously trying to fill in some forms in the corner, but their faces lit up when an older, authoritative looking man stepped over to them and playfully plucked the forms out of their hands.
"No more work tonight, lads," he grinned. "Save that for the new year. Time to enjoy ourselves and watch some of our handiwork over a glass or two of bubbly!"
"Well, I'll be damned," Marquess exclaimed. Geoff McQueen! The Bill's creator! How good he was to us! So patient and constructive … how I wish …"
"Yes?" said Juliet, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, nothing. Just Reg … I wish I could say a few words to him now."
Juliet and Marquess watched his former self along with all of his colleague and bosses file into a larger room with plenty of sofas and comfortable chairs where a large TV screen had been erected. Everyone was offered a glass of champagne for all their hard work and sat around laughing and joking over the festive programmes they had created.
"Look, everyone!" McQueen cried suddenly. "It's Twanky!"
And so it was. The Christmas episode of The Bill from 1997 appeared and the whole room roared with laughter at the three Twankies, Deakin's leap into the orchestra pit, Rod Skase in drag and the awful Superintendent jokes. And when that was over, they all drank a toast to Christmas television and celebrated long into the evening.
"Those were the days, eh?" Juliet sighed, noticing Marquess's face fall. "But come, my time grows short, there is something more."
Back onto the bike they went and once more they soared through the sky, this time stopping at a place Marquess knew only too well; The Bill studios. As they stepped through the wall into his office, there was Marquess almost exactly the same as he was now, speaking with another man.
"Carson Black!" Marquess uttered in shock.
The two men were both standing facing each other, though neither dared to look the other in the eye and the atmosphere was clearly tense.
"You do not need me any more," said Black, after a long silence. "I came here to bring a little realism back to The Bill, turn it back towards crime. But you don't care about that; all you care about is ratings achieved by controversy."
Marquess's former self sat and folded his arms, looking stoically at the floor.
"You are not the person I thought I was coming here to work with," Black continued. "We were to be partners, working together towards a good, solid programme that everyone knows and loves. I thought we walked the same path but that is so clearly not the case."
He took his coat from the back of the door and put it on without a backward glance at Marquess.
"Farewell, Paul. May you be happy with the fate you have chosen."
"It could have worked well," Juliet observed. "It really could."
"Show me no more," pleaded Marquess, who sat perched on the edge of the motorbike with a hand over his eyes. "Please, no more, I have seen enough."
"One more," said Juliet, yanking him back onto the motorbike before he could protest. "Last one, now."
Within seconds they were standing outside an unfamiliar TV studio, looking in through a window. It was unclear what the programme was about just by looking, but it was clearly full of festive cheer and none other than Carson Black was leading the proceedings, surrounded by co-workers praising his ideas. Marquess and Juliet stepped through the wall just in time to hear the conversation between Black and a man he had not seen before.
"I saw that geezer you used to work with t'other day," the man said, nudging black and giving a sly grin. "In his car, filling out another sacking form, I think. Honestly, that bloke's the limit! No wonder he's so unpopular!"
"Nothing do with me any more, Black shrugged with a careless smile. What he gets up to now is his own funeral."
"That's enough!" Marquess demanded, falling to his knees beside the motorbike. "I can't take any more!"
"These are shadows of the past, they are times that are dead," said Juliet, "You cannot blame me for any of it, it is merely what has already happened."
"I can't bear it!" cried Marquess in despair. "Please, take me away from here!"
He clung to the side of the bike, adamant that he would be shown no more shadows of the past. After a moment he became conscious of the fact that he was no longer kneeling on gravel but on a carpet, and on raising his head, to his astonishment he found himself back in his bedroom, holding tightly to his exercise bike beside the wardrobe.
His relief at being home was so great that he barely had time to think of the evening's events before he collapsed into his bed and fell into a heavy sleep.
oOo