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Terry had reached Carlisle. Time to find a motel and put his feet up!
Venturing out he found himself at a bar. The Outrageous Cabaret bar Carlisle? Twenty minutes later, sat with a drink in his hands as he noted the time. Late, but was it the cabaret entertainment that he was waiting for? A Kylie Tribute showcase.
Kylie was, he had to admit; one of his favorite artistes.
True he was not a total fan of anything imitating the real thing but, in fairness to this female, she not only closely resembled the real deal in height but also with her long flowing blonde locks, her costume? Very acceptable tribute.
Singing her way over to where he was sat, she propped herself against the bar as she smiled at him, the music dying back, the song finishing. Stepping towards him, to the amusement of some of them there, she leans in with the mic in her hand.
"So stranger, not seen you here before. What's your favorite Kylie song?" Terry almost spilt his drink, a peel of laughter from those around him. She had moved the mic towards him.
"Uhh, well I guess its 'On a night like this.' "
She smiles, leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek, steps back looks at those in the bar.
"He can come again! Happens to be one of my favorite songs!" The music starts up and the sound of her vocals rang out.
If, he had thought that was it, he was in for another shock! She had returned to stand opposite him. "I think as it's Christmas and the time I had planned to sing a festive song that YOU should choose it. What's your favorite Crimbo tune?"
Minutes later the music and the song as others joined in, she made sure, he sang one or two of the words into the mic! 'He's making a list, checking it twice." She leans in pouts as she sings into the mic. "To see who's been naughty or nice."
She stops singing, as she hands a girl stood near to her, the mic, grabs some mistletoe to lean over him and plant one smacker of a kiss on his lips, steps back to grin, handing the girl the mistletoe, she takes hold of the mic.
"I don't know about naughty, but that sure was nice." More laughter. Back into the song before she is now over the other side of the bar. Minutes later finishes her act and is gone.
"Bloody hell girl, first time in a long time I've seen you do that with a guy. She leans in to plant a kiss, not that I'm jealous!"
"He was cute, kind of lonely I think. Thought I would give him something to think about over Christmas. That 'be careful what you wish for' moment, know what I mean?"
Why had she reminded him so much of HER? Nina's mother. Bubbly, alive, in your face and .. how he missed that. "I wish.."
He finished his drink and headed back to the motel.
The flurry of snowflakes an the greetings from those passing by. ah yes; revelers. That tingle you get of holidays is a coming.
Festive and warm despite the temperature being about minus 2 degrees!
9am the next morning, after he had spent time deicing the car and cursing, he was back on the road. The weather was changing, a time to appreciate having a heater in the car; the temperature outside was rapidly dropping.
Early morning fog that had thinned slightly but still a problem with random thicker patches where visibility dropped to almost nothing.
Rain. A trickle at first followed by heavier more persistent rain.
At least that meant the roads in such a slurry, were unlikely to be impassable with layered snow.
Several hours later. Turning off, the main A road, he taken a B road, a decent road but traffic in both directions; to a road that led off to the house. Narrower, requiring care. Low lying hedgerows that were now beginning to vanish beneath? Snow!
The earlier snowfall had left its mark, a thin layer of white sheen the odd flakes picked up amidst the flurry, replaced by thinner flakes. not substantial enough, to be of any real concern. The time it took, for him to reach the open gates leading to the driveway soon passed.
Parked in front of the house he removed his luggage and made his way over to the main door. Solid oak with brass furnishings. Lifting the plant pot to find the key. Yes, he had his own set but this was easier and also, he was not, unlike his father; keen on leaving a key that could be found so easily by potential burglars.
The door creaked open as he stepped inside. A tear or two? Memories you never forget, good, bad or indifferent and in truth some that were were bitter sweet came flooding back.
The door closed behind him, the luggage placed down in the hallway. Warmth! Albeit low heat. A local friend of the family had taken the time to visit the place and had checked to ensure the heating was on.
Double glazing for the windows and adequate ventilation meant the place was warm and cosy. Time to check the refrigerator was working and to place the food items including milk into it; sorted.
Checking the freezer he noted the usual variety of foodstuffs that his parents indulged in re ready meals in particular! On reflection re his dietary needs and one could say, desires; a trip into the local town at some point, to source some extra treats and favorite food items of his choosing including, ah yes; fresh vegetables.
Even with the central heating there was no substitute for the coal / log burning; fireplace. He grinned glancing at the two china white and silver cats on the mantlepiece, one at each end! Acquired at an auction by him and if he had thought of keeping them for his fireplace? A visit by his parents had seen them surreptitiouly abducted, to the point all that was missing was the ransom note!
Coal in a brass bucket with a small pile of logs by the side of it. Thanks to a very attentive neighbor! The fire place itself had newspaper and kindling, everything in place for lighting?
He looked for some matches.
Dad always kept some of the long taper matches, in a small drawer nearby. Not there! To his relief found some minutes later, on the table next to his fathers chair. Along with a half empty, box of cigars.
Gathering together the bits he needed to get the fire alight it would not be long before the fire was now alight. The flash of flame from the kindling as he added sticks of wood and topped them off with several small pieces of coal.
Ten minutes later the hiss and crackle of the fire left him feeling rather pleased with himself, even if it had taken three attempts, something he was rather glad that his daughter was not here to see!
The guard in front of the fire to stop any stray sparks or the timber should it fall from the fire, going anywhere.
A walk around the house, he was now stood in the bedroom, regarded as his room; sparsely furnished but as he had insisted; it was more than adequate for his ocassional visits.
Removing the bedding from the closet, he laid it out, left it to air for an hour or so before making up the bed. Looking in on his parents room, he paused.
So much to sort out. In a corner a box of papers, of jewelry that had been locked away, of all the things that his parents had collected over the years together. ‘Miscellaneour artefacts, his mother’s collection of ceramic dolls and not forgetting, in a unit with several slide out drawers; his father’s collection of butterflies.
Drawer after drawer, frame after frame of some of the most beautiful ones he had ever seen. Since a child, when he had taken a butterfly net, to help him in his quest to enhance his collection.
Thoughts on bygone days, when he had catalogued the collection for his father. Put it on the computer, taken pictures so that others could admire, comment on, his father’s collection. Many of the drawings had been painstakingly done by his mother.
A truly gifted artiste. Around the place her pictures hanging on the walls. The picture of Nina aged nine. Now hanging in the bedroom that was Nina’s. All her things, the things she treasured that her grandparents had given her. So many many memories.
His eyes welled up with tears.
Ten minutes later, he had added some more logs to the fire, sat in his fathers chair, as he consoled himself sipping at some brandy. Sat back, putting his feet up, onto the foot rest, he realized how comfortable the chair was.
It would not be long, before he fell asleep. Some time later, the chiming of the Victorian grand father clock, woke him to stir.
rubbing his eyes he glanced towards the fuzzy outline of the window before turning to look at the alarm clock, one of those old fashioned, wind up, bells on top type.
The tick, tick, tick of the mechanism, dammed if he didn’t think it sounded irritatingly loud! A walk to the restroom, usual ablutions completed, to finish with having a shave. Refreshed. Sprite. Ah now would be about right for a certain amount of enlightenment? Something did not add up!
Ah that was it, too much brandy, well brandy full stop. A long time since he had partaken of that amount of alcohol. In the kitchen he unloaded the boxes of food to find the cereal.
Though he had brought some items of the canned variety with him, tinned food was not a problem, there was row after row of tins from soups to rice pudding in the cupboards, an echo of the past when food shortages from after the war had had mother hoarding cans.
Ah yes, milk and a bowl of his favorite cereal. Sat on a chair munching away, pausing only to sip at his tea. Glancing into the main room, the smoldering remains of last nights fire, the thin wisp of smoke rising from the mound of grey ash, a thin glow of red below.
Finishing his breakfast and the bowl now deposited in the sink, he moved to take some kindling and laying it on top of the smouldering ash, waited for it to catch alight. a few small slightly thicker pieces of wood and coal laid on top of it slowly brought the flames to flicker and the coal to burn.
Once it was alight he could clear the ash from the pan below and lightly rake the upper layer to deposit more ash with ink spots of red as the fire now took hold for him to put some logs on it; job done, fire sorted.
A freshly brewed mug of tea and minutes later sat in the chair, next to the fire sipping on the tea, watching the flames dance across the logs and the hiss, the soft yet distinct sound of cracking timber? It was then, that something hitherto to the back of his mind, now became apparent; a realisation of sorts.
If he could not remember climbing the stairs to bed, how the heck had he? Well he had awoken on the bed, fully clothed? Brandy, yes must have been the brandy. Picking up the bottle, he stared at the label. The proof reading?
Not that much and yet? He had been tired, emotively challenged.
Quite easy under those circumstances to have become confused, to have wandered up to the room, collapsed on the bed?
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