1st December 2000
"What's that?" Bren yawned, as Tony read over a letter with an embossed logo on the top.
"Food Hygiene Inspector," Tony replied, handing over the letter. "It's because we're doing food, not just sandwiches and the like."
"I know, yeah," Bren yawned. "Crikey, I didn't expect us to be so busy last night."
"St. Andrew's Day," Tony replied. "Those three old blokes from Milngavie, I thought they'd never go."
"The till's up, though," Bren said, looking at the printouts. "Not like St. George's Day."
"When's that?"
"No idea," Bren yawned. "It's all Morris dancers, tea on the lawn and BNP flags though, isn't it? Only time it's acceptable to wave the English flag is to commiserate our footballers when they go to an international tournament." Bren yawned again, then strode to the hall stairs, to get the phone that was ringing. She returned ten minutes later, thanking Tony with a nod for making a rare brew, then continued to stare at him.
"What?"
"That was the hospital. They called about missed appointments." When Tony said nothing, Bren stepped towards him, furious.
"You've missed appointments, they said."
"Have I?" Tony looked confused.
"Ye, they said, you've missed three, they said.
"Didn't know anything about it, man. Look," he added, trying the conciliatory approach, "I'll phone them, ask if they sent any letters, and - "
"I've asked, they're calling back. Apparently they've sent you three letters, and one to your doctor."
"I haven't got a doctor."
"You have, don't you remember, I signed us both up to Dr. Glass, in Dumfries."
"Dr. Glass? And I missed my hospital appointments?" Tony quipped. "Bet he's shattered."
"So, you do remember, then?"
"Ye, I do," Tony admitted, then glanced past Bren as the phone rang again. She turned and strode towards it.
"I'm askin' when they need to see you," she declared, then added, "okay?" Tony nodded, taking a sip of tea.
"They said, they have had all the letters returned to them," Bren said, a few minutes later. "Not got our address properly, I gave it to them. They said it'll be very soon."
"Oh good, I'll look forward to that," Tony replied, sarcastically, adding a "Morning" to Little Willie, as he came in and began to set up the bar.
It was a busy week - a lot of people were coming in out of the cold for a light bite. Bren looked at the road where the mist between the pub and the Victorian terraced houses had been whitened by frost that was just burning up. It was meant to be freezing in the winter, and she was glad there was an open fire in the pub's lounge, in case the elderly central heating gave up.
"I wish I could paint, or draw, or write," Bren mused, as she cleared up the lunch rush plates and cutlery. "It's days like these that I wish I could capture all the beauty of the scenery around here.
"Can't you paint?" Tony asked, stacking the dishwasher. "I thought you went to art college?"
"I did," Bren admitted. "For a bit, but I dropped out. We were meant to draw a border around the page before we began to draw, and I couldn't even draw a straight line with a ruler. I went next door and did catering instead."
A knock came at the door, and the postman handed Tony some letters and a parcel from the islands.
"Jura whisky," Tony said, taking it from the box. "Colin said the bloke sent it for free, on account."
"Well, we'll sell it; the locals'll soon drain that."
"Big Willie McCorquodale, on his own," Tony added. "I wonder, with what he puts away he can get up at four a.m. for milking, I'll never know."
"But he does. I've seen the lights on when I've got up for the lavatory at night, when you've woken me up with your snoring. Little Willie, too. Don't know how they do it, farmers."
"Do it like everyone else, don't they? Bovine-style?" Bren laughed.
"It's good for yer, isn't it?" Bren asked, "unpasteurised milk."
"Not done Laura the Hippy any harm," Tony conceded. "They go over some times, the hippies, and help the local farmers in exchange for some food and supplies. Her and her brood."
"Don't they go to school?" Bren asked.
"Nah, she teaches them herself. Waiting for the eldest to be old enough to get in the Tesco bins, I suppose. Just lets hope they've thrown away some of those big clothes boxes supermarkets always have, so he can get back out."
Christmas Eve
Birthday - got spomething fpor you, but you're going to have to wait, Colin's bringing it.
Day wore on, and the pub filled with Christmas drinkers, who drank and celebrated louly into Christmas Day. It was only when the last of the locals had begun to weave their way slowly down the lane that Tony frowned.
"Here, Bren," said Tony, frowning at a set of banded letters in her direction. "What do you make of these?"
"Mr. Anthony Furlong," Bren read, feeling herself redden. Then she looked back to Tony, placing a hand on his arm, and back to the letters.
"They've been to the post office at Culzean, and Barbara the Scottish Nationalist must have returned them. Then," she continued, turning the first one over, they've travelled to my bedsit in Manchester, and because of the redirection you set up, ended up back at the post office, then back to the hospital. Then, back to Dr. Glass. He must have done some phoning to find out our proper address."
"Sharp," Tony said, taking the letters and studying the address. "But, Furlong?" Bren exhaled, deeply.
"I gave my name at the doctors, and, I think, well, I wasn't thinking straight, right, and gave your name and date of birth and stuff, but I must have forgotten to tell them your surname were "Martin". I'm really sorry," Bren added, raking her fingers through her hair.
"Wow, a secret identity," Tony quipped, opening up the letters. "I wonder what this bloke would be like, Anthony Furlong? Successful millionaire businessman? Twelve stone of ripped muscle and tan, exquisite fashion sense?"
"Sorry," Bren repeated. Tony reached for her hand.
"It's all right, mate, I've just missed three appointments, that's all, it's a check up, nothing to worry about. And the hospital says I've got one soon?"
"January, up in Glasgow." Bren looked guiltily at the letters in his hand. How could she have been so negligent?"
"It won't matter," Tony said, guessing her thoughts. "We're living the dream here, mate," he added, reassuringly. "Come on, let's get this Jura whisky on the bar. My money's on Saturday that we'll run out."
88888888
Christmas Eve
"So, your boss at Stobarts reprimanded you for rigging up a CD player, in the cab?" Clara's usually blinding smile had been replaced with a frown. She had just driven up from Hull with a truck load of patio furniture, plus paint she had got off a work colleague which, "He was just going to throw all away." It turned out that there was enough to paint the B and B when the plasterboard had gone in, the retreat and likely enough to redo the lounge walls in the pub.
"Yeah," Clara sighed. "Just a verbal warning - never had anything like that before. I mean, who listens to tapes any more? I can't drive all over the country without something to listen to, and, you know, Steps, Backstreet Boys...they just don't issue their albums on cassette."
"That's very harsh," Bren asked, handing Clara a cup of tea. "I mean, you need something if you can't have your Clara curtains, when you sleep out. "You're the only woman in company, they've got to look after you.. The mens' cabs are always in a state when they leave them at the depot, you told me, full of used tissues and the like. They have their hobbies," Bren grinned, "why not your music?"
"I think they didn't like me installing it myself, they said. Could have affected the rest of the electrics, and where would I be if I was caught with my crane half out at Grimsby docks?" Bren suppressed laughter at the miffed young woman's plaintive grumbles. "Nigel, my supervisor, doesn't like me doing things to the cab. I "feng shuied" the cab once, but apparently, the trip log doesn't like being placed next to my Nescafe Mini-Traveller."
"Goes quicker, you mean?" Clara looked blankly at her, then grinned her famous grin as Bren added, "Caffeine."
"Look, can't Colin say something to Nigel?" But, at the mention of her brother's name, Clara looked away.
"Don't say anything, Bren. He still thinks his baby sister checks into a hotel overnight. If I did that, I'd have no money left at all." She swallowed, lowering her voice again. "Since his accident, even after all these years, he hates that he can't look after me. But I've never been a "work in a shop" kind of person - I like trucking, getting around, the laughs with people you know." Clara looked around, furtively. "If he knew the overtime I did, which is a bit dodgy, I have to admit, getting into ports at three a.m., waiting for the merchant ships to get in, with only the cab to wait in, and no facilities. But it pays well, and the men who have a family are reluctant to do it."
"I won't tell Colin," Bren patted her arm. "Promise," she added, as Clara looked earnestly at her. "Now, tell me, you're over to Northern Ireland tonight, and then you'll be dropping the HGV back in at Carlisle in the early hours of Christmas Day?" Clara nodded.
"Then you'll be back here, for ten days off, resting, coming with me for long walks and helping with the dinners?" Clara nodded. "Not being funny, but when you're in, we make more money. I think it's cos you're Scottish. You make the old men feel more comfortable than two middle aged Lancastrians who can't vote for the SNP in Oldham." Bren got to her feet. "I tried a Scottish accent when I first came here, but I soon gave it up, cos I sounded like Jeanette Krankie sober." Clara laughed.
"And, how're you getting here? Do you want me to send Tony?"
"Colin's getting me," Clara clarified. "He's over up at Kilmarnock pricing up a bulk buy of nearly new bedroom furniture for the B and B and the retreat," Clara explained, "Then he's going down to Penrith for flooring."
"Oh, yea, yea, of course," Bren replied, putting her hands to her forehead. "My geography's not that, what's it...what's the word, elastic...no," she looked at the door, where Geraldine was busy rehanging the baubles on the Christmas tree, and then out of the window. "Sounds like a vicar..."
"Bishop?" asked Clara.
"Accurate. I used to get taken out of school by the social worker. I'm superb at the road names within a mile radius of Medlock Valley Comp. Here," Bren got up and went over to the bar. "What are you having?"
"No, it's alright," Clara said.
"Oh go on, you can have a little one; we've got low alcohol cider, if that's what you're worried about? Drink for my birthday?"
"You're birthday's today?" Clara asked, eyes sparkling. "Christmas Eve?"
"I don't do birthdays, usually," Bren said, "but, my work colleagues, well, Tony really, found out, and they got us plane tickets up here, and a brass band."
"A whole brass band? How did he fit thirty musicians in yer bran tub"
"Yeah, he organised them to come and play, "Happy Birthday" to me at the factory," Bren related warmly, as she remembered. "Oh, and an "Etch-a-Sketch," she added. "As well as that watch, I've done a drawing for Tony on it. Want to see?"
"Yeah," Clara said, hovering expectantly by the bar. Next to the low alcohol cider Bren placed an intricate picture she had done of the Dram Shop, and the landscape.
"Woah, that's brilliant!" Clara exclaimed. "You're a great artist, Bren."
"I messed up by the barn and got the trees a bit wobby, so I adapted it into a six foot trellis. I'm gonna wrapped it up for him as a joke surprise for Christmas."
"Well, let's hope Tony isn't a present-shaker," Clara smiled, before sipping her drink again, "or all your hard work will have gone to waste. So, what did he get you for your birthday, then?"
"I told you, the brass band, the tickets for Scotland..."
"No, this year...today..." Bren sighed.
"Nothing, yet."
"What?!"
"It doesn't matter." Bren folded her arms and glanced down. "I'm used to it. I could never keep anything even if I had something in the children's home, the other kids would have just stolen it. I had a plastic bangle once, that Janet, one of my social workers, gave to me one birthday. Purple and green, it were, but a big boy thieved it and frisbee'd it into the Manchester Ship Canal."
"Oh, there's still time," Clara said, brightly. "It's only half past one, and he's out at the wholesalers, isn't he?" Bren nodded. She knew what she wanted, most in the whole world, and it wasn't an object, or a thing from the shops. And if not, living with Tony, here, in Fosseleraut for the rest of their lives, working for themselves was just as good. She didn't know about Anthony Furlong, but Bren Martin had a nice ring to it. Then she grinned as Clara placed a CD into her hands.
"Cliff Richard's Greatest Hits?" Clara leaned forward, and confided, "Millennium Prayer's on it, as well as Mistletoe and Wine?"
"Really?" asked Bren, weakly.
"Yeah, course!" Clara replied, with a tone of voice that implied she was giving Bren a big treat. "Well, I can't play it in the cab now, can I?"
88888888
"I thought he'd be here by now, Colin," Tony said that night, as the McAlpine twins, in their eighties, both taking up seats by the window and slowly spending their pensions on the pub's whisky, finally left. He followed Bren into the kitchen. "Sorry, mate. I bet he's got held up on the motorway."
"That's OK, I don't need anything." Unless you can fit my brass band into an A3 jiffy bag." She held up the padded envelope which had come that morning containing the health and safety signs needed for the B and B and the retreat.
"Don't need anything? You brought all your worldly possessions with you and they fit in a small box under the bed and eight coathangers. Buddhists own more than you."
"I have that coat you bought me last year," Bren replied. "I don't need a lot. I have my tape."
"Oh yea, almost forgot." From one of the kitchen drawers Tony pulled out a CD. "Yer brass band," Tony explained, watching Bren's face. "
"It's brilliant, thanks!" Bren stepped towards Tony and hugged him. But Tony frowned, distracted.
"But Colin should be here by now, with your box," he fussed.
"My what?"
"Nothing," Tony said.
"Anyway, isn't he collecting Clara from Carlisle tonight, when she finishes?" Tony seemed to relax a little, glancing again at the kitchen door.
"Ye. Anyway," he turned to Bren, "I heard you telling Jean you'd like to visit in January, when we're doing the B and B." He turned to her, taking the CD out of one of them and took something out of his pocket, pressing it into Bren's hands."
"I'm staying here to help Colin with the building work." Bren looked at the train ticket and then back at Tony.
"You want to get rid of me?" she asked.
"No! Don't be daft, I know you're missing your friend and you're dying to get up to speed with the wedding arrangements. Then the B and B retreat will be a up and ready, and we can get organised for people into the retreat, and go together to the wedding."
"This is my birthday present?" Bren asked, feeling a little overwhelmed. "It's brilliant, Tony, really brilliant."
"No, it's just something for you." He walked over to the back door, stared at it for a moment, then turned back to her. "Have to have your present when Colin gets here, mate, I'm sorry."
"It's all right," said Bren, looking round at the washing up still needing to be done, and the vegetables for the next day's dinner. What does Bren Furlong and the Dalai Lama have in common? She asked to herself. We both peel our sprouts the night before. She glanced up at Tony, who was already heading towards the door to the bar. It was so kind of him and she thought, planning her the order of her veg prep, two Christmases now at this pub in Scotland, this year, it was actually two-thirds theirs. Would she ever have believed that they'd be running it, doing food? Even if it was tripe and liver and rice pudding?
Bren had moved aside the pile of plates on the draining board, run the water and added the Fairy liquid before Tony switched the bar light on behind her.
"Leave it, Bren," he said, as he opened one of the drawers, taking something out of it. "We can do it in the morning."
"It's OK, I like washing up," Bren called back. "It's soothing."
"Pity it never soothed Twinkle," he replied, kissing her on the forehead. "Happy Birthday, mate," he added. He watched her turn back to the sink, and Bren did not see Tony stop and turn, and watch her, and watch her start as a scrabbling came at the back door.
"Tony?" Bren called, not taking her eyes off the back door. Tony called back, pretending he was already halfway across the bar.
"Yeah?"
"Can you come here for a moment?" Tony knocked the door off the kitchen cabinet.
"Yeah?"
"Listen, there's a noise," she said, suds dripping off her rubber gloves and back into the sink.
"Oh, it's nothing, Bren, just Father Christmas," he teased, taking hold of the back door key which he had just taken out of his pocket. "You want me to check?"
"Yes," Bren replied, still staring at the door, and watched Tony as he unlocked the door. When he hadn't come back after about five minutes, Bren made her way across the kitchen tiles.
"Tony?"
"Bren," Tony called back, his voice echoing a little down the icy entry-way. "I was right, it is Father Christmas!"
"Give over!" Bren called back.
"It's a box." A box. Bren knew he had said something about a box earlier.
"It's not a baby. is it?" Bren called, waiting for him to come back in.
"No, don't be daft," Tony called back, and strode back through the back door with it. Bren felt her heart sink: the box Tony was holding was not a small jewellery box that might have contained a ring Even a plain ring, or a knock off one from Ratner's.
"Sit down, then," Tony instructed, then placed the large, cardboard box on her lap. "Happy Birthday, Bren, and Happy Christmas." A black and white head nudged its way from out of the cardboard flaps.
"He needed a home, and I thought, I know who has a space in her heart for a puppy that hasn't found a home yet.".All thoughts of a ring flew from Bren's mind as the young puppy jumped up her jumper and licked her face. Then, he turned his head away and yawned widely.
"Oh, Tony!" she exclaimed, "he's brilliant!"
"And he likes you, Bren," Tony replied. And she watched as Tony fried the last of the liver and tripe in a saucepan, which became the puppy's first dinner on Bren's birthday, before falling asleep in his cardboard box. Tony carried him upstairs in it, before setting him by the radiator.
"Happy Birthday, Bren," he repeated, kissing her deeply.
"That was yesterday, Tony," Bren replied, kissing him again.. "Merry Christmas."