A Very Foggy Christmas
Jo Edwards
A VERY FOGGY CHRISTMAS
JO EDWARDS
Published by Weasel Green Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
A VERY FOGGY CHRISTMAS
Copyright © Jo Edwards 2013
Cover Art by Carey Abbott
Edited by Mike Rose-Steel
Interior Text Design by Richard Edwards
ISBN: 978-1-908212-22-1
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Requests for permission should be addressed to [email protected]
First Edition:
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Seaweed
Table of Contents
Simply Wizard
Café Culture
No Complaints
Go Nuts
Christmas Shopping
Baby Talk
Whistle Blowing
Dress Rehearsal
Boxing Night
Also by Jo Edwards
About the Author
Profile: Morten Astley Fogarty
Born: 22.11.1988
Works: (updated!) Customer Concerns Advisor at Perypils Insurance & Front of House/Barista at Smokey Joe’s Bistro
Lives: Shodsworth, Gloucester
In a relationship with: Myra
Likes: Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Shodsworth Amateur Dramatic Society and Victoria Pendleton’s hybrid Halford’s range
Simply Wizard
The nights were drawing in and I nearly rode straight into Mr Riddler as he hurried out of the park gates. Wrapped up in his long black raincoat, he was almost invisible against the dark sky, although I did think the evening a little too mild to warrant such a thick balaclava. Luckily, I spotted the whites of his eyes at the very last moment and managed to swerve round him. I’d taken care to wear my reflective, hi-viz cycling clips over my grey unisex waterproof-coated trousers - proof that you can dress sensibly and still look stylish.
Now it was dark, I had to take extra care arriving home as it was becoming increasingly difficult to spot the debris thrown onto our drive by mad Mrs Ryder who lived next door. Every time she saw Mum leaving the house, she’d fling open her kitchen window and pelt Mum with the contents of her waste bin. She’d scream with laughter while doing it: “HAW! HAW! HAW!” It was most distressing and I felt so sorry for the kindly Mr Ryder, who always used to be slipping in and out of ours, tool in hand, ready to tinker with something for Mum. Now, we didn’t see him at all; I assumed he had to spend all his time caring for his poor wife. I didn’t mind the tea bags and potato peelings so much, but the vodka bottles shocked me - she really should be recycling those.
Mum was washing her hands following another of her cake-making lessons. I was so proud of her for going self-employed and striking out on her own; she’d set up her business ‘Over The Kitchen Table’ when her Job Seekers had finally run out. It was early days, so money was still incredibly tight but who’d have thought - both my parents were now entrepreneurs! According to Auntie Trisha, Dad was a merchant banker, however he seemed to be involved in the car industry too; I’d received a letter from him stamped “HMP Ford”. He really could turn his hand to anything and he must be doing incredibly well if he was in a High Management Position already.
“Who came today?” I asked Mum, picking a piece of squashed tomato off the sole of my trainer.
“Mr Grub. Very messy he was, too.”
“What did you make?”
“Er, mince pies, but they won’t be any good, his hands are far too cold for decent pastry.”
“Were there any left over?” I asked hopefully, looking round.
“No, sorry son, and I haven’t had time to go shopping so there’s nothing for tea. Perhaps you could get some chips or something.”
“That’s ok, I’ve got a SADS meeting tonight - they’re going to be announcing the lead roles for the Christmas production, I’m ever so excited!”
“I thought Myra said the auditions hadn’t gone very well?”
“Oh, she only knocked me over a couple of times. The Follow the Yellow Brick Road dance was really difficult; we had to link arms and criss-cross our legs over each other’s, which was a bit tricky because Myra had her spiked Doc Martens on. But all was good when my nose finally stopped bleeding, in fact, everyone said our vocals were unbelievable.” I couldn’t wait to get to the Jubilee Hall tonight to find out who had been awarded the lead parts - I had such a positive vibe about this one, everything felt right and my sciatica was so much better now, I could almost stand up straight. I’d only narrowly missed out on the role of Danny Zuko in Grease and although Frankie Trevino had been really good, he is a little too theatrical for The Wizard of Oz, which requires subtlety and panache. I badly want to play one of the main characters, and as everyone keeps telling me I have the perfect qualities to be the Scarecrow, my hopes are sky high.
My friends at work, Perypils Insurance, are extremely supportive of my singing and dancing, encouraging me to perform ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead’ when our Team Manager, Joy, goes to a meeting. They put their customers on mute and some of them even record me on their phones so they can promote me through Twitter and Facebook! I’m so lucky to have such wonderful colleagues and my new team is just as nice as my old one - when someone had to move departments to join Customer Complaints, my old team all voted for me! I was chuffed to bits at being chosen. Admittedly, it’s not the easiest job, as customers often call up in a distressed state, but I’ve only received three death threats so far, so I’m obviously doing something right.
I cycled to Myra’s so I could give her a crossbar to the Jubilee Hall. Her mother opened the front door wearing a long blue dressing gown. “She’s gone on ahead.”
Aha; so Myra must be really excited too - she couldn’t wait to get there! “No probs,” I said. “I’ll soon catch her up.”
Her mother looked at me. “She’s late, Foggy.”
“Oh no, there’s plenty of time. The meeting doesn’t start until seven thirty.”
“No - I mean she’s late, late.”
“Right, well, I’d better hurry hurry then!” I laughed, but Myra’s mother didn’t seem in the mood for joviality, as she shook her head and closed the door without saying goodbye. Never mind, at least she seemed a bit better than she had done at the weekend, when she’d simply sat in the corner of the lounge with a shawl over her head. Myra and I were trying to watch the Emmerdale omnibus, but it was difficult to hear what was going on over the chanting.
There was a real buzz of excitement at the Jubilee Hall. The SADS stood around in tight little groups, some examining their phones, others shifting from foot to foot, eagerly anticipating the announcement of the roles. My stomach was beginning to churn and I felt somewhat light-headed. Better calm down! Lead actors had to keep a lid on their nerves; I bet the wonderful Leonardo DiCaprio didn’t get all bilious and queasy, not even before his sex scene with Tilda Swinton. I looked around the hall but couldn’t see Myra. I nodded to Frankie Trevino who snapped, “Fuck off, bender!” Such an artistic temperament - he does make me laugh!
“Do you know where Myra is?” I asked Thin Lizzie, who was standing at the edge of the group twisting a hanky around and around into knots.
“I can guess,” she mumbled and dabbed at her watery eyes. Poor Lizzie, she was undoubtedly feeling the pressure, hav
ing been chosen to play Sandy in Grease, our previous production. I’d have a chat with her later about resilience; after all, I never let each disappointment get me down, not even after twelve years. Playing a lamp post in ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ was just as important as the Gene Kelly role, that’s what Tom the director told me. He said there would always be someone in the audience watching you, even if you’re mostly obscured by a speaker.
Tom suddenly burst out of the props cupboard and, with a very flushed face, strode across the hall towards us. This was it! We were about to find out! Where on earth was Myra? She was going to miss Tom’s big announcement. I rammed my hands into the pockets of my Millets fleece and crossed my fingers, feeling my heart beginning to race. Please, please, please - this time, let it be me, please let it be me. Tom went over to the notice board and thrust a drawing pin into a sheet of paper. “Meeting’s cancelled,” he growled. “Here’s the roles and if you’ve got any complaints, tell them to someone who gives a shit. Rehearsals start next Tuesday, so if you can’t make it, don’t bother coming back again.”
As the door swung shut behind Tom, I rushed to the notice board, eager to beat the stampede. Oh my God - Myra was to play Dorothy! She’d done it, she’d got a lead part! I was so proud of her; those extra acting lessons Tom had been giving her must have really paid off - what a shame she wasn’t here to share
