6. Bill's Christmas Carol

The hot sun blistered down, bleaching all the coloured tinsel decorating the shop windows to a twinkling of migraine silver. Cicadas shrilled a deafing carol. The smell of over cooked ham and sour cream wafted out from Don's delicatessen. Wilting pine trees on the footpath outside the greengrocer's shed their needles like green snow.

'Bugger it,' thought Bill bitterly to himself. 'I hate Christmas.' He stomped angrily through the late afternoon to the police station. He had been doing late shifts this week and now he had drawn the short straw to work Christmas Eve. Harrassed mothers would be battling to finish their shopping during the special 'late night' hours only to find they had lost a screaming child or two in the crowds. No doubt he would also be dealing with more than his fair share of drunks spilling out from year-end celebrations. Christmas Eve was always a busy night, at least until the drunks passed out, the mothers' dropped from pure exhaustion and the children willed themselves to sleep to ensure a visit from the bearded guy who was obviously overdressed for the climate.

Christmas also meant another holiday spent alone. After his Gran had died he did not celebrate it anymore. He had hoped that he and Ann could have had a quiet meal together at the pub, but she had headed down to Melbourne to attend a Christmas function at her gallery. Their parting had been tense and uncomfortable. He strode past the Salvos' singing carols on the corner, ignoring their rattling tins.

'Bugger it,' he swore again as he stepped into peice of chewy one of those screaming kids had spat onto the footpath.

'Happy Christmas Bill,' rang out the jovial greeting. Bill looked up from his task of scrapping gum off his size 10's. Docter Blake stood in front of him, a whisky grin on his face and his arms full of parcels.

'Bah,' grumbled Bill. 'Happy back atcha'.'

'Bill! You are a right proper old Scrooge! Don't forget you promised Jean you would join us for lunch tomorrow!'

'Arrrgh.' Bill growled. How could he get out of that?

Blake looked at Bill with concern and leaned forward saying gently, 'Jean expects you. I expect you. Please come,' Blake looked at him conspiriatorily, 'I won't expect you to smile, but Jean will expect you to eat some of that ham she is cooking! I swear that pig must have been a monster. I need you to help eat it or else I'll be having ham sandwiches until Easter.'

'Right. Ok, I'll be there.' responded Bill with gloom.

'Good oh! I'll expect you around noon or so. And Bill, buck up mate, Christmas only comes once a year!'

'Thank bloody goodness,' was all Bill could respond.

...

The last drunk had been carried home, all lost children found and gathered to their mothers' bosoms. All alone in the Station house Bill settled down for a long night. He could have a kip in the cells later if he got to sleepy, but for now he just leaned back in his chair with his feet on his desk. The air was heavy and still, the old ceiling fan still clicking away doing little to dispel the humid air. Without realising it Bill began to doze off. 'Scrooge. Bah.' he mummbled to himself as he drifed of to another time and place.

Bill heard the sound of his mother's voice singing Christmas carols from the kitchen as she checked the roast lamb in the oven. It smelled divine. His 10 year old mouth was drooling. In his lap was the best present ever, a real Kookaburra cricket bat. He lovingly ran his hands up and down the smoothly oiled willow wood. He smiled over at his Dad who was in his armchair. Sitting on Dad's lap was little Becky, his sister. Dad was holding her very carefully, as though she would break. Becky was still recovering from rheumatic fever and was pale and delicate. They were playing with Becky's new baby doll and Dad was showing her how the little milk bottle worked and how the doll would say 'mamma' when you tilted her over. Later, after lunch, Dad had promised to play a bit of cricket with him in the back yard. It was the best Christmas ever...

Bill twitched and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, almost, but not quite waking up.

...he was 14 and defiant. He stood in the kitchen that Christmas afternoon and looked at his mother. He had just told her he was joining the force as a cadet and would be off to training in January. She was weeping softly, saying, 'Bill, Bill...don't leave...' He clenched his fists. 'What do you want me to do Mum? I can't stay here, if I stay any longer, I'll kill him, I will!' he declared passionately. As he waited for her to reply they both heard the front door open and his father rolled drunkenly in. 'Wassa' happenin'?' he slurred looking from mother to son. 'I'm leaving Dad. I'm leaving to join the force.' His father's face turned from a drunken red to a purple rage, 'Whaaa? You bloody will NOT!' And he swung his fist back to strike Bill. Bill blocked the clumsy blow easily and for the first time in his life he struck his father back, hitting him hard in the stomach. Dad doubled over, retching. Bill turned and kissed his mother quickly with an 'I'm sorry,' and strode out the door. He spend the night weeping at Beckys' grave and begging her forgiveness.

BANG! Bill woke with a shock. 'OYE! Are you all dead or what!' called a loud voice from the front office. Banging his feet to the floor Bill got up and walked blearily to the desk. Standing there was his mate Jim Baker from the Crown Hotel with a gift wrapped bottle in his arms. He gave Bill a big grin and sang out 'Merry Christmas, old mate!' and the presented him with the gift.

'Uh, thanks,' said a befuddled Bill. 'But I can't...'

'Take it! Take it please,' insisted Jim.

'We're not meant to accept gifts from the public,' said Bill grumpily.

'Public? Hah! I suppose you could say it was from the public - my Public!' chortled the publican. 'Never mind, I'll just leave it here on the counter. You can claim it as lost and found maybe!' With a wave and grin Jim left the office.

Bill shook his head and hide the bottle in the cupboard under the desk. He risked a peek under the wrapping to see it was top shelf stuff. The last thing he needed was to be up on a charge of bribery! He strode to the front door and drew the dead lock. Time to discourage any other late night visitors. They could ring the night bell if it was urgent. He walked back to his desk, still befuddled by the odd dreams he had had. He shook himself to chase away the shivers, then pulled out some reports and started to review.

The night wore on and Bill's eyes grew heavier and heavier. Without even realising it the pen dropped from his hand and his head was resting on the desk. He was sound asleep again.

The front veranda was bedecked with Christmas bows and garlands. Inside the Blake's house laughter and piano music sounded. Blake got up from the piano and joined Jean to look happily around at the gathering of their friends and loved ones. Matthew and Alice were quietly chatting each other up while Rose and Charlie were making eyes at one another covertly. Jean turned to Blake and said somewhat sadly, 'Bill couldn't come?' Blake looked at Jean and shook his head in remorse, 'I asked, he said he would try to make it, but I guess in the end he couldn't let himself.' Matthew, overhearing their conversation put in, 'Bill doesn't make friends easily, but I had hoped he had finally realised that we are all here for him.' 'Well,' Blake responded, 'we can only keep trying, maybe next year, eh?' Blake raised his glass to all there and toasted 'to absent freinds!'

The lights and tinsel on the Blake's tree twinkled and sparkled then blurred and refocused into the candleabra lighting of the grand reception room of the the Windsor Hotel. Glamerous and stylish guests mingled and chatted while drinking champagne and nibbling exotic things on toast. Surrounded by an admiring crowd, a slender and elegantly dressed Ann was holding court. Her exhibition opening had been a grand success and she was trying to convince herself she was enjoying herself and not grieving for Bill. He had made it clear to her that she could never compete with his first and only love, the police. She looked across the room and spotted a tall, attractive man in a tuxedo watching her. Ann smiled at him wistfully and he crossed the room to join her. Greeting her by putting his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek he congratulated her on her success. She paused, then smiling said, 'Greg! How nice to see you again. I'm so glad you came!' With that, she resolved to put all thoughts of Bill behind her.

RRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

The jangling night bell brought Bill awake with a start. Staggering upright he rushed to the front door and unlocked the deadlock. He swung open the door but no one was there. He stepped outside and peered left and right into the night but could not see anyone. In the distance he heard the sound of a boy's laughter and muttered to himself 'Kids.'

Bill stretched and took in a large breath of the night. He could feel a cool change in the air and knew the heat would break at last by morning. He looked up into the sky at the summer moon sitting heavily in the night. The stars were like cut crystal in a dark glass. He sighed and shook his head.

Returning inside he locked the front door again. He was discomforted by the strange dreams he had been having. Maybe falling asleep at his desk wasn't such a good idea. So he took himself down to the dark, empty cells. He lay down on one of the cots and closed his eyes, promising himself he would only rest a moment.

A hot northerly wind blew gustily through Melbourne, tossing paper and leaves about. In a seaside suburb home, Ann sat with her family around her. Her son and daughter were there and her two grandsons were happily playing with their new Gameboys under the Christmas tree. Ann looked over to Greg contentedly. He was getting a bit of a pauch she thought, but still, we're not doing too bad for an old married couple! Greg felt her eyes upon him and he glanced over and smiled at her. 'Ann, I ran into one of your old flames in Ballarat last week!' Greg was currently overseeing the installation of a retrospective of her work at the Ballarat art gallery. 'Let me guess, Bill Hobart?' 'Yes,' chuckled Greg 'he's retired now,not too flash but the same grim old dog.' 'Poor lonely old Bill,' murmmered Ann sadly, then one of the grandsons called out to her and she put Bill out of her mind forever.

The wind sighed through Ballarat and rattled the decorations hanging from the veranda railing. Inside laughter and piano music could be heard as once again family and friends gathered at the Blake house. Christmas with Jean and Lucien had become a tradition. Alice and Matthew were there, happily married and still surprising each other. This year, newly divorced Christopher had brought Amellia with him and they were both laughing and teasing a young asian lad, Blakes youngest grandson who was over on a university study tour. Rose was there as well, with her latest beau from Melbourne. Both Charlie and Danny and their wives were taking bets on how long this one was going to last. No one commented on Bill's absence anymore, they no longer expected him.

The wind picked up speed and tossed the dust in the streets into willy-willies. It sighed up the hill and puffed under the door's of the policeman's retirement home. Bill lay in bed in the single room he now called his home. He was old and sick, his hands were crippled by arthritis and his heart was failing. Always a strong man he resented his infirmary and made the nursing staff's lives a misery. When he said he hated Christmas they quite happily left him alone in his room and forgot all about him while they celebrated with the other residents. Bill shivered under his blankets as the hot wind shook the window panes. Alone, sick and forgotten. He took one shuddering breath and then... just...stopped.

The sun shone through the cell window and hit his face like a slap. Bill woke in surprise and blinked. He was sweating and his heart was pounding. He lifted his hands and looked at them. They were the same hands, not old and crippled. He put them to his face and felt the stubble on his chin. Alive, he thought. I'm alive!

Shaking he swung his feet out of bed and slowly walked to front office. He looked at the clock. 5am. The morning shift would be here soon. A grin stole over Bill's face and he did a quiet little jig. Alive! The dreams he had experienced upset him greatly, but he was still alive!

Once his relief came he would go home, shower and have a decent sleep. No. He thought. No, he would go home, call Ann and tell her he missed her, shower, change, then go to the Blakes for Christmas lunch. Yes! Reaching down behind the counter he grabbed the wrapped whiskey bottle.

Later that morning, freshly showered, shaved and dressed in a suit with a green tie, Bill strolled happily to the Blake's home. Ann had been delighted and surprised to hear from him and said she was going to cut her trip short and return tomorrow for Boxing Day! Under his arm he carried the wrapped bottle as a gift for Blake. As he walked he looked at the world with fresh eyes, enjoying the bright summer day. He admired all the Christmase decorations and shop window displays with joy. Breathing deeply he could smell the fragrant aromas of pne trees and Christmas lunches wafting through the air. He laughed as he dodged the children riding their new bikes or trying out their new skates. The Salvos were out again singing carols of joy on the street corner and he put a pound note in their collection tin. And when the pretty young Salvation Army girl wished him a 'Merry Christmas' he responded with 'and a very happy one to you too!'

Bill paused a bit as he reached the veranda of the Blakes' home. He noticed the bows and smiled to himself. Listening he heard Doctor Blake playing the piano and happy laughing voices. With some trepidation Bill rang the doorbell. The piano stopped playing and he heard the Doctor coming up the hallway. Jean's voice was there too and both Jean and Blake opened the door to greet him.

'Merry Christmas Jean, Doctor,' he said with a grin and presnted Blake with the bottle.

Blake smiled a welcome at Bill and said 'Bravo Bill! Bravo.'

Jean reached out, took his arm and brought him in to their hearth, home and hearts.

...

Note: I am a big fan of Dickens. 'A Christmas Carol' is my go-to read every Christmas. Writing Bill as Scrouge was fun. Joy of the Season to you all.