By Big M

Dr James woke early, and panicked, because he couldn’t move his left arm. Had he had a stroke? Some peripheral nerve palsy? He forced his eyes open, and made himself look at the spectacle of his paralysed arm. He wasn’t paralysed at all, just pins and needles from the weight of Acacia’s head, using his bicep as a pillow. His heart skipped a beat, then a smile spread across his face. That’s right. He’d taken her out for a meal, including a couple of bottles of Barossa Pearl, and they’d found their way back to his place. His gloating was disturbed by the sound of the neighbour’s wiper snipper howling like a hive of angry bees. Every bloody Saturday! Anyway, what to do about breakfast?

Tess had been driving for just over an hour. She had coffee in the thermos, thickly sliced pork and mustard sandwiches on the passenger seat, and Michael Buble in the CD player. She was heading north to visit a timber mill, in order to check out some tallow-wood flooring for her dining room. Tess had inherited her dad’s penchant for wood-working, plus his house, and all of his tools, which remained as clean, sharp and well organised as when he’d left them. This hadn’t surprised anyone, as she’d been raised by her father, a builder by trade, who’d taught her everything he knew about timber. The only reason she hadn’t followed in his footsteps was that, in those days, girls either became teachers or nurses.

Tess still missed her father, but felt close to him when shaping, sanding, nailing, or just being near wood. She’d managed to maintain the old house, even replacing a couple of bearers, and construct a deck, with no assistance. This week, the god of timber-willing, she’d learn the secret of secret nailing!

Uva had been up and about since five, smoking and drinking acrid coffee. She was usually up early, woken by an insistent cough, which seemed to settle with five or six ciggies. She was at in front of her computer typing furiously, as a bought of inspiration had led to another seven pages of her current novel. She had discovered a talent for writing romance a couple of years back, so continued to supplement her income by publishing a couple of novels a year. It was good for her mind and forced her to continue to read widely, as well as observe those around her. It also forced her to forget the stresses of work.

Geoffrey had been up early. Not because he wanted to. No, Mum had woken him early to get on with the lawn mowing, edges, sweeping and pruning. He was stood in the driveway, broom in hand, staring at the peeling barge-boards, wondering who was going to paint them, when Morticia arrived. She was ebullient, waving a letter in her hand. Geoffrey smiled. “Good news, my love.”

Morticia hated being called ‘my love’, as they hadn’t even consummated their relationship, but, today nothing could upset her. “Yes, good news, I’ve been accepted as an Undertaker’s Apprentice in Melbourne. They want me to start in two weeks.

Geoffrey could feel his heart as it bottomed out, somewhere between his prostate and his back passage. “But, two weeks, what about us?” A small tear welled up in his left eye.

Morticia had been so excited about her ‘foot in the door’ in the world of undertaking, that she’d plain forgot about ‘us’. In fact, ‘us’ had never really been that important to her. She quickly thought on her feet. “Geoffrey, love, you know that Undertaking is my life’s ambition. If you reeeaaally love me, you’d be happy to let me go!”

It was Christmas Eve. Geoffrey was feeling low. Morticia had already left for Melbourne, and had broken up with him just the evening before setting off in her blue Barina, stacked with clothes and textbooks on undertaking He was doubly depressed because he had been allocated to work a rotating roster in the Emergency Department, as the clinics were closed for December. He’d drawn the short straw, night shift, and, because of his lack of experience, was looking after the ‘walking wounded’, mainly belligerent drunks, out the back.

It was past 02:00 hours. Geoffrey had cleaned the beer and pizza smelling vomit from his shirt, and narrowly dodged a punch in the head from one of his clients, when he heard a voice, way off in the distance. “Ho, Ho, Ho.”

“What.” He called out. “Who’s there?”

“Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas!”

Geoffrey blinked, then looked around to see if his patients could see what he was seeing. “Is that really you, Santa?”

“Yes, it is my is, my lad, Merry Christmas!” Santa reached out and shook Geoffrey’s hand, then patted him on the shoulder. “ Merry Christmas, there must be some good little children, here in Emergency who want to see Santa?” One of the paediatric nurses rushed in, taking the merry old gent by the hand, and pointing him in the direction of Paediatric Emergency. Geoffrey stood stock still. He still couldn’t believe his senses. He’d seen Santa, the real Santa!

He was jolted out of his reverie by an elf. Not an ordinary elf, a female elf. A very attractive female elf. One with all of the curves, in just the right places. A very attractive curvaceous female elf, who worked in the paediatric ward. Not only that, but the attractive, curvaceous, female, paediatric nurse-elf, gave him a long kiss on the lips, and a bag of lollies, before rushing away to help Santa on his mission.

Geoffrey had a sudden thought. I’ll apply for a job in Paediatrics!

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF THE PIGLETS!