Copyright Oggbashan December 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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"Are you sure you can't do it? Know anyone who can? ... No. Thanks, I think."
"Oh shit," I said aloud to myself.
"What's wrong, Derek?" Anne asked.
We were sitting in my office drinking coffee when I had the phone call. Anne works in an office near my base. She or I get coffee from an outlet across the road most mornings. We had been sharing a morning coffee break for years.
"That was the Christmas lights supplier. We had placed an order for some lights to replace those lost in the storm just before Twelfth Night, but they can't source our major sign 'Merry Christmas'. According to them there is no demand and everyone now has Season Greetings to be inclusive."
"What's wrong with that?"
"It isn't the 'season' it is Christmas. We don't need to be inclusive. The mosque and he synagogue are OK with the lights being for Christmas. We have lights for Eid and other religious festivals as well. Christmas can be Christmas, as it has been in our town for nearly 100 years."
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Our Chamber of Commerce has provided Christmas Lights in our High Street for nearly 100 years. Each recent year has become more difficult because of increasing safety regulations and the change in ownership of the shop premises.
The regulations are a nuisance and expensive. Meeting them, and proving that we have, is now more than half the overall cost of installing and removing the lights. In a previous decade the lights would be put up by many Chamber members under the direction of an electrician. Now everyone working on the lights has to be a qualified and certified electrician with public liability insurance. Instead of thirty people it was now four.
But the changes in shop ownership might eventually kill the project entirely. In the 1920s almost all the shops were independents and owned by the shopkeepers. Those that were on leases had local landowners. But now? Many of the shops had been replaced by nationwide outlets or banks. Their property managers would not allow the Chamber to fix lights to their buildings, and if, as was becoming more usual, the freehold was now owned by a City-based property company, they would not even allow our Chamber members on the property.
When the Chamber of Commerce first put up Christmas lights we had fourteen strings of basic coloured bulbs across the street. Now because of the changes in ownership we could only have eight strings with some awkward gaps. The 1920s members had all been church-going Christians, Church of England, Catholic, and other Protestants. They had set up a window dressing competition as well and all displays had to be related to the nativity -- no Santa Claus or horror -- Simpsons related themes.
The only concession to a commercial Christmas had been introduced in the mid-1930s - our 'Merry Christmas' sign that was across a side street. That was the main pedestrian access to the High Street from the town centre car park. It had taken many hours of discussion to concede that. Everything else was a Christian theme with angels and two signs: 'Peace on Earth' and Goodwill to Men'.
The 'Merry Christmas' sign had been replaced in the late 1990s as had most of the lights. But that sign had been wrecked by this year's storm and couldn't be repaired. Now, apparently, no one could supply a replacement.
I swore aloud. I don't normally swear. Anne came round my desk and gave me a hug. That was pleasant but I was still annoyed.
"Is it that bad, Derek?" Anne asked.
"Yes. There is a Chamber meeting on Friday and if I tell them they can't have 'Merry Christmas' they will have a meltdown. Back in the 1990s when we suggested 'Happy' instead of 'Merry' nearly half the members threatened to resign. No Christmas sign at all? I'm in trouble, Anne."
Anne pulled my wheeled chair away from my desk before she sat on my lap and hugged me harder. That was pleasant. Anne has been a friend since we started school together. We had never been more than that. Neither of us had been attractive youngsters, just plain and ordinary, but we had liked each other as fellow nerds. Anne had been a maths nerd. I had been a mechanical nerd, taking machines apart and rebuilding them better.
She had joined the local council in their finance department, getting accounting qualifications which she extended until she decided to set up by herself. She does my business accounts, and those of many other Chamber of Commerce members. I had taken an apprenticeship as an electrician and now employed eighteen fully qualified ones, ten part-qualified ones as electrician's mates, and four apprentices.
"Derek? Have you got a picture of the old sign?"
"Yes. On my computer I have got pictures of last year's switch on..."
I found the folder and the picture of the old 'Merry Christmas' sign. I blew it up so Anne could see it.
"Um," Anne said. "I wonder... Have you any larger pictures?"
"Yes. Somewhere in that filing cabinet I have the specifications and full size drawings."
"Could I borrow them?"
"Of course. Why?"
"I think, but I'm not sure, that I might have a solution for your problem."
"That would be great and even better if you know before Friday's meeting. I don't want to tell the Chamber they can't have 'Merry Christmas'. I'll be the most unpopular member."
"OK, Derek, Dig then out and give me a couple of days, please. I can try. I can't promise but maybe..."
"Maybe would be better than nothing, Anne."
Anne kissed me. I found the original paperwork and gave her the folder.
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Anne came back the next day.
"I've asked my colleagues at the artists' place. They think they could make a sign for you, preferably solar powered, but they need two things."
"Which are?"
"About one hundred pounds for materials..."
"Done."
"And you."
"Me, Anne? What for?"
"They also have a crisis. They run a class for life drawing and their male model has moved away to marry. They want you to replace him for three sessions until the end of the Summer term."
"Me? But I am hardly a suitable model, Anne. I'm middle-aged, battered, with a spreading waist..."
"They know. But the model that left was possibly too perfect. They think you will be a more interesting challenge."
I laughed.
"Challenge? I suppose I would be. I'd have to be naked, I assume?"
"Yes, Derek, for about an hour each time."
"For how many students?"
"There are six of us."
"Us? You're one of the six, Anne?"
"Yes. You know the other five women, Derek, and they know you."
"OK, if I must. I'd be embarrassed but if it helps me with the Chamber? I agree."
"Thank you, Derek. The first session is this evening at half past seven. I'll cook you a meal afterwards. OK?"
"You know I will do almost anything for one of your meals, Anne. You are a great cook."
"But not good enough to stop my ex-husband going off with a younger model, Derek."
"He was a fool who didn't appreciate what he had, Anne. I do, and always have, since we were at school together helping each other with our homework."
"We have been friends almost all our lives, Derek, and tonight? After the meal, I 'd like to try us as lovers as well."
"If that's part of my reward for being a model, I'll be a model whenever you want, Anne."
"OK, Derek. I'll see you about seven twenty-five outside the Arts club. Put an overnight bag in your car."
"An overnight bag?"
"Yes. If I'm going to be looking at a naked you for an hour, I want a whole night in bed with you."
Anne hugged and kissed me and left before I could respond.
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I was nervous when I met Anne. She hugged me before taking me inside to meet the other five members of the nude drawing class. Meeting them made me even more embarrassed. All of them, except Anne, were wives of Chamber Committee members.
A quarter of an hour later I was sitting on a chair, stark naked. Apparently they didn't expect their model to stay absolutely still and he could talk. I had to answer several questions about my scars, particularly the one on my back.
"Ladies, all the scars are from shrapnel in Afghanistan," I said. "The one on my back? That was caused by a piece of shrapnel that went right through my shoulder. I was treated at a field hospital and was back on duty thirty-six hours later. When I returned to the UK I was offered plastic surgery to reduce the appearance of the scars but since they are normally under my clothing I couldn't see the point."
"They make your body more interesting -- from an artistic point of view..." One of the women said.