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.
