“Pardon Sir,” she said bobbing a curtsy as she clattered past, head down, her arms laden with goodies.
Thrumps plonked himself down behind his desk, grateful for the never-ending mugs of hot coffee. He mentally thanked the coaster and it flipped on one corner in response. The cat, having evaded being trampled settled on his lap.
“Pickles, I presume,” he said giving it a stroke. The rumbling purr evidenced its approval.
He didn’t have a cat, well he didn’t when he went to bed that is, come to think about it he didn’t have a rather plump housekeeper either, but apparently, he did now.
Idly fingering the bible laying on the blotter he sighed.
“So, what is it tonight?” The question was directed at the Book of Un-Reality and it jumped about fanning pages as if it couldn’t quite find the right one, before thumping itself down, open at an event notice.
Yuletide Celebrations
Christmas Carols followed by a Midnight Mass
24th December – 11.30pm onwards
There was no address but then he knew that those that needed to know, would know.
“Here?” He asked.
The book tutted and slammed itself shut.
With mug in one hand and the bible in the other Thrumps drew the velvet curtain back. He’d not been expecting The Emporium to be a church complete with stained-glass windows, an alter and rows of wooden pews but that’s what it was.
“Ahhh professor,” said a familiar voice. “We were wondering just when you would be joining us.” The vicar was from a long time ago in his past and someone that had been dead longer than Thrumps could remember.
“Reverend …” he paused hoping for some divine intervention, he’d never been any good at names.
“Skills, my boy … Reverend Skills.” He laughed. “Nothings changed then. You were always terrible at remembering everything.” He cuffed Thrumps on the chin playfully. “Must get on,” he said over his shoulder. “Lots to do.”
Thrumps remembered this church. Many a time he had sought refuge behind the last pew, tucked up against the font. Thankfully he couldn’t remember details, his childhood had been a challenge but all that angst was lost when The Emporium became his sanctuary.
The church bells chimed and as the front doors slid themselves open a steady stream of people entered. Thrumps didn’t recognise anyone but they were mostly advanced in years. By 11.30 the place had filled up nicely.
From a door at the back, that wasn’t usually there, the procession began. A warden carrying, a simple cross is followed by the elders of the choir and then the children wearing blue and white robes and arranged in height order. As they take their places the organ sparks up a lively intro to Hark the Herald Angels Sing. All rise and join in with gusto although the musical interpretation of some leaves a lot to be desired.
The reverend addresses them as the last notes fade away.
“The grace of your god be with you. Please be seated.”
Thrumps realises he hadn’t stood and dearly hoped that no one else had noticed.
“Midnight mass is a tradition,” the reverend continued. “A time to gather at Christmas Eve. The purpose of celebrating is said to be a personally important time of forgiving,” he looked around at the upturned faces. “… and remembering.” There was a murmur of agreement.
“Although marked every year this joyous occasion is special.” More murmurs.
“Please remain seated while the girls and boys of the Christmas Mice choir entertain us with a few well-known carols, and of-course feel free to join in, I’m sure you’ll all know the words.” There was a ripple of laughter as the children scrambled to their feet and once dropped song sheet had been retrieved, they began their beautiful renditions, some haunting, some merry and some that had everyone in tears, including Thrumps.
At the stroke of midnight final blessings were bestowed along with mulled wine and mince pies. The older generation sort the new to impart words of wisdom, and for this night alone the congregation the kids of the choir now grown old, met up once again with long lost families.
“A reunion with those now long dead,” the reverend told Thrumps as they watched. “Anyone you’d care to reunite with?”
Thrumps shook his head.
“Not even me?” A quiet voice whispered behind them.
The housekeeper grinned at him.
“Mum!”
She nodded. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this day my little church mouse.”
Thrumps stroked his cat and suddenly it all began to make sense.