The
traditional seaside resort of Sharpington-by-Sea with its Victorian Pier,
seafront hotels, crazy golf, The Palladium ballroom, well maintained gardens, promenade,
theatre and illuminations, has all the usual things to have a great time by the
seaside, as well as amusement arcades and of course the Sharpington Fun Park
and 55 year old triplets, Alex, James
and Jenny Wardle live together in the huge house they grew up in, in the grand
neighbourhood of Granite Hill, which in a nod to San Francisco, the locals had
nicknamed Nob Hill.
“So it’s
Christmas time again” Alex said as he looked out the window.
“As if
anyone could fail to notice” James added as he and Jenny joined him at the
drawing room window.
Even
without leaving the house they could see more than half a dozen houses
decorated to the hilt.
Every coloured light imaginable, Santa's on the roof or climbing a ladder,
sleighs, elves, snowmen, bells, stars, baubles and last but by no means least
standing almost four feet high that perennial favourite Winnie the Pooh.
Alex was taken aback, what the hell did Pooh have to do with Christmas? And
later as he and his siblings walked down to the seafront he noticed that every
other house seemed to have one, there was even one on the pier so he guessed
there must be something in it.
He didn't recall mention of him in the bible and in all of the many nativity
plays he had seen over the years Winnie the Pooh was conspicuous by his absence
and although there is a donkey in the story it wasn’t Eeyore.
The stable did not house Piglet and the wise men did not travel from the east
with Tigger bearing gifts of Huney.
Nor in any of the Christmas traditions around the world is there a single
reference to Pooh as one of Santa's helpers, there was Black Peter, and the
Jolly Elf, there was even the devil figure Krampus, but no Pooh, but it
appeared to him, that the people of Sharpington were giving him pride of place
on their lawns that Christmas.
As they
turned left onto the promenade the early winter sun broke through the mackerel
skies exposing patches of the bluest sky and if he had had any remaining doubts
that Christmas was coming to Sharpington they were soon dispelled as the
promenade was decked in its Christmas garb.
Inflatable Santa’s climb the walls of the Fun Park and the pier was draped
in LED icicles.
Then when they passed the Seaview Hotel they saw what looked like a cheery
red-suited burglar hanging from one of the balconies and they all laughed
before they went their separate ways.
Jenny had never married and had spent all her adult life in the halls of
academe at the University of Downshire teaching medieval history, but when she
turned 55 the academic fire went out in her so she retired.
She also decided it was time for her to try different things, things she
had never done before or indeed had never had any regret at not having done it,
so it wasn’t a bucket list.
Nor was it really a list, she didn’t write down what she might try and then
tick it off afterwards, it was more a case of stumbling across something she
had never done before and diving right in.
The new experience that week was ice skating, which she had never done, nor
roller skating for that matter, she had a terrible sense of balance so the
thought never entered her head at any time in her life that she should give it
ago until she moved back to Sharpington.
The new experience that week for Jenny was ice skating, which she had never
done, nor roller skating for that matter, she had a terrible sense of balance
so the thought never entered her head at any time in her life that she should
give it ago until she moved back to Sharpington.
In the 18th and early 19th Century the pond up in
Jubilee Park regularly froze in winter and the well healed of the town would
don their skates and take to the ice, but it rarely froze after that, the hard
winter of 1962 was the last occasion.
During the industrial revolution the enterprising folk of commerce used ice
from the fish processing factory to make an artificial rink and charged people
to skate on it but that ceased when the fish factory closed.
But in the 21st century the technology existed to produce and maintain
an artificial outdoor rink at a relatively low cost, so Sharpington had one on
the promenade by the pier every December and it proved very popular.
And that was where Jenny was headed after she separated from her
brothers.
On that bright sunny morning the flashing skates of hundreds of brightly
clad figures made zigzag patterns on the frozen blueish white surface of the
ice.
She actually felt quite excited as she approached but as she got nearer and
it appeared that all the other skaters on the ice were clearly not novices she
started to have doubts.
But then she caught sight of a tall angular man of similar maturity to
herself who was struggling with grace, style and gravity and she felt heartened
so she went and hired some skates.
Once she had donned her skates she made her first tentative steps on the
ice and her courage began to desert her again so she stuck close to the rail
and inched her way forward.
Before she got going she looked across the ice and admired the skill and
confidence of the other skaters but when she joined them she had to focus all
her attention on what she was doing, which was why she didn’t see the tall
angular man until he bowled noisily past her and ended up in a crumpled heap on
the ice in front of her.
“My goodness, you’re worse than me” she said laughingly “and I’m rubbish”
“Then you are a good judge” he said and laughed
“Let me help you up” she suggested after getting a firm grip of the rail,
and after few comic near misses, that almost had them both on the ice, they managed
to get him upright again where he too grasped the comforting rail.
“Thank you” he said “I’m Paul”
“Jenny” she
responded
“Is this
your first time?”
“The first
time for many years” he replied “What about you?”
“No this is
my first time ever” she retorted and laughed
“Then
you’re doing extremely well” he said and then he nearly fell again.
“How about we do it together” she suggested and offered her arm and
they moved off rather ungracefully together.
As they
circumnavigated the rink they chatted almost oblivious to their surroundings
and they found they had a shared love of history.
Paul
Morfett was not a native of the town but had lived in Sharpington for ten years
since the death of his wife, they had lived in Abbottsford all their lives up
until her passing, and after it everything in the place was a hurtful memory of
her so he moved somewhere neither of them had been and so held no such memories.
As he was a writer by
profession his location did not hamper his career and it had actually aided it,
and he had written an additional four novels in his “Cross of Kings” series
while he was there.
His historic books used material from a number of text books which
gave his stories an authentic feel and he considered the academic authors as
allies and although he didn’t know it at the moment she helped him to his feet
she had been an ally in his writing because he had referenced the books of
Professor J W Wardle on many occasions but by the time they stepped off the ice
he hadn’t made the connection that his Professor and his companion were one and
the same person.
They curtailed their ice skating duet about half an hour after the
clouds began to gather and when they finally relented it was only because the
expected rain arrived.
But by the time they had reclaimed their footwear the rain had turned
to snow and the snow fell thick and fast as smoke from the red-hot coals of the barbeque filled
the air with mouthwatering smells as fat dripped onto the charcoal.
“That smells good” she said
“Are you hungry?” he asked
“Starving” Jenny replied
“Well allow me to treat you to lunch” he offered “do you like Italian? I
know a great restaurant called the L'uccello canto?”
“That’s my favourite” she said “So yes I’d love to”
As they walked briskly to the restaurant through the snow they passed
Doily’s bookshop when Jenny stopped in her tracks.
Because in the shop window was a pile of books in front of a cardboard
cutout of her lunch date.
“You’re Paul Morfett” she
said “I know you told me you were a writer but you didn’t tell me you were a
good one”
“Well I do ok” he said “have you read me?”
“Occasionally, I like that you do your research” she replied
“I like to get it right” he said
“Come on” she said and pushed open the door “I want to show you something”
They went to the back of the shop to the reference section and after
perusing the history shelf she withdrew a tome and handed it to him, with the back
cover on display.
“Do you recognize anyone?” she asked referring to the author’s photo
“I can’t believe that I’ve actually spent the afternoon with my favourite
history academic and it turns out she’s not a crusty old professor” he said
with the candle light dancing in his dark gipsy eyes as they peered at her from
behind the flame.
“Well I’m releived to know that you don’t think I’m crusty” she said
They spent all afternoon in the restaurant as the snow continued falling
outside and along with their favourite Italian food, a liberal amount of wine
and a number of liqueurs were consumed and when they left they were merrier
than the season.
They stepped outside and their shoes crunched on the snow covered pathways
and they braced themselves against the cold and tried to draw themselves deeper
into their coats as a promenade tram went by with its windows steamed up.
“Where to now?” she asked when they reached the corner
“I think I should get you home” he said
“But I don’t want to go home” Jenny retorted
“Well my apartment is just along the promenade” he suggested
“Will there be wine?” she asked
“There can be” he replied
“What about kissing? Will there be any kissing at your apartment?” she
asked brazenly
“There could be kissing now” he pointed out
“Yes there could” she agreed and they passionately kissed as the snowflakes
fell around them.
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