Christmas with Joyce

The living room of an elderly man. Tidy but showing signs of wear. Walking around is an elderly man, trim and presentable, his posture slightly stooped. He is shuffling, humming a Christmas tune. Snow is falling, the light muted by the weather outside. He is alone.

Arthur: Well, Joyce, it looks like we're going to have a white Christmas. No more dreaming like Bing for us! Can you believe it? It's been years, hasn't it, since we've seen snow at Christmas. Can you remember when?

He leaves a pause as if waiting for an answer.

I thought it was 1990, something like that but I bet you're right. 1989. I remember it being bitter, don't you? I think we had to have the fire lit all the time! The coalman was busy anyway! I don't think I'd ever heard the lorry so much that winter, revving to get through the snow and leaving his engine idling to make sure he could get home. I remember you having to wear your coat indoors, do you?

He pauses again.

That's right! (laughs) The hot water bottle had split. Lucky you never used it that day! That would have been terrible. Imagine if you'd scalded yourself! We did a lot of cuddling that December, didn't we, love? I know, I know. I'm a soppy old sod.

He pauses again but this time is lost in thought and not waiting for an answer. It's as if he's become caught somewhere else. His face reflects the happy sadness that accompanies remembering someone no longer there. Eventually, he breathes deeply as if a spell has been broken and a tear slowly rolls down his cheek.

Good times, those were. Long gone now. You'd have loved to have seen this snow. You'd have been excited, like a girl, watching as it tumbled down, marvelling at its magic. And I would have watched you, my love and marvelled at you.

He sighs.

And now it's just me here to enjoy it. (pause) I don't know what I'm going to do for Christmas this year. I'll make myself a bit of dinner, I expect and watch the King's Speech. Probably fall asleep with the fire on. I suppose it will depend what's on the telly. I might watch the dancing. That always cheers me up. Do you remember how we went to those ballroom dancing classes, Joyce? We were terrible, both of us! How we laughed. We just couldn't get it right.

He stops.

That wasn't the only thing we couldn't get right, was it, love? Children. You would have loved children but it just never happened, did it, love? Not sure why. Doctors said there was nothing wrong but...well, we had plenty of practice but... You said it was okay but I know it mattered. It was the one thing I couldn't give you.

He sits in the chair. He stares at the bars on his now electric fire, the reflection of the orange showing in the moisture of his eyes.

I'd catch you sometimes on days like today, looking out at snowball fights and toddlers being pulled on sledges, wrapped up like little parcels themselves. You said that it was okay but it wasn't. But we muddled along alright, didn't we? We loved each other and having Reg helped, didn't it? You doted on that dog. Me too. Not the same, like, but the best substitute. But he's gone too now. (pause) And now there's just me.

I wouldn't be on my own if we'd had kids. I'd be invited somewhere probably, to one of their houses and we'd play games and pull crackers. (pause) If you were here, we'd have a cracker. We probably wouldn't wear the hats but we'd pull a cracker.

He sighs again and sits very still. Soon, he is asleep. Outside the snow is falling, building on the sill, making the window look like a scene on a Christmas card. He doesn't hear the footsteps of someone leaving something on the doorstep. The person knocks but Arthur remains asleep. The person decides to call back later with a shovel to clear Arthur's path. The person peers through the window and can see by the deep rising and falling of his chest that he is asleep.

Some time later...

Arthur: Oh, I must have nodded off. (He stretches) Dreaming of you again, Joyce. You always were the woman of my dreams. Dancing. We were dancing again and laughing. I'm holding you, we're holding each other. Eye to eye, cheek to cheek. And then you spin away and leave me. (pause) I wish you'd take me with you.

A strange scraping sound is coming from outside.

What's that, Joyce?

Arthur gets up out of his chair and goes to the window. Outside, he can see a figure shovelling snow. They are bundled up so he doesn't know who they are.

Hey, Joyce, someone's clearing our path. Isn't that nice? I'm going to go and say hello and thank them.

He puts on his coat before opening the door. A card is on the mat. He picks it up. It's addressed to him but it has a quickly scribbled note on the envelope. It says: Brought you some mince pies. Hope you like them! He doesn't recognise the writing.

Mince pies! I love mince pies! I haven't had one for years. Well, shop bought ones I have, but they're not the same. But I wonder who's brought them?

He opens the door and stoops to pick up a tin that's been left there. The person clearing his path turns when they hear the door open and stops.

Person: Hello, Arthur! How are you?

Arthur doesn't know who it is but is polite.

Arthur: I'm well, thank you. How are you?

Person: I'm good, thanks. I thought I'd clear your path. I came around earlier with some mince pies but you were asleep and I didn't like to disturb you.

Arthur feels embarrassed about being observed sleeping in the middle of the day but covers it well.

Arthur: I'm sorry. Did you knock? I never heard it.

He won't tell them that he was absorbed in dreaming about dancing with his dead wife and that he didn't want to leave there, even if he'd heard a knock.

Person: That's okay, Arthur. I put the mince pies in a tin and it's cold enough to keep them fresh!

Arthur is trying to place the person talking to him. He knows the voice but is struggling to remember how he knows them. It's a woman.

Arthur: Well, thank you for thinking of me and clearing my path.

Person: No problem. And I was wondering, well, what you're doing Christmas Day?

Arthur is taken aback. He was going to do what he's always done - spend Christmas with Joyce but he knows he can't say this out loud because she's dead and strangers would think it weird. He knows she's no longer here but she's all he has, even now and visiting her in his head and having imagined conversations with her is the only pleasure he has, bittersweet though it is.

Arthur: Well, I'll make myself a bit of dinner, I expect and watch the King's Speech. Probably fall asleep with the fire on. I suppose it will depend what's on the telly. I might watch the dancing.

Person: Do you have any family at all?

Arthur: (gulping) No, not since...my wife...

Person: (feeling awkward and sympathetic) Oh, I'm sorry, Arthur. I thought you might have...kids maybe...

Arthur: (feeling the sting of the words) No, we were never that lucky.

Person: (awkwardly) Well, I was going to ask you...I mean, if you want...and don't feel you have to... but if you wanted, you could come and have your dinner with us on Christmas Day...if you liked...

Arthur: (taken aback) Oh, well, I don't know...

His meaning is two-fold: he doesn't know if he should as he's never spent a Christmas without Joyce and because he doesn't know who this person is.

Person: It's just...I don't think anyone should be on their own at Christmas and I know you only see me when I drop your monthly magazine and we have a bit of a chat but you're welcome to come to ours if you like.

Arthur realises the person is Zoe, the nice woman who delivers the monthly local magazine with the sudoku he can never do.

Arthur doesn't know what to do. Can he spend a Christmas without Joyce? And then his cheek is brushed with the lightness of a warm touch, like a lover's finger caressing it and he thinks he feels a hand at the base of his neck and does he imagine it or is that hot breath that he feels in his ear and the word "Go"?

And he realises he won't be spending a Christmas without Joyce but will be bringing her with him.

Arthur: Yes, thank you. I would love to.