George's Slippers

My finger joints burned as I folded the corners of the wrapping paper slowly, ensuring that none of the trees are only half showing.  People now don't take the time to wrap a present properly, they just pop it in one of those shiny box shaped bags stuck down with a bit of Sellotape and a sticky bow.  George's new slippers deserved more than a sticky bow.

On the phone Helen's voice had been higher pitched than normal as she fought with the frantic whispering in the background. Something told me that my grandsons were fighting not to have to talk to Granny first.  A few stunted words later and my daughter was back.

“What about you, mum,  Are you ok?”  Helen asked in that tone of voice.  You know the one, the one that sounds like concern, but with just a hint of inconvenience.

“Yes, dear,” I replied.  “I've just finished wrapping George's new slippers. I bought them months ago, you know.  Bit of a bargain in the July sales.”  I glanced over to the old pair of slippers  in the corner of the lounge.  The toes were turned up and the sole was just beginning to separate.  A pair of George's socks were stuffed one in each slipper, I could just see where his toe had poked through one of them.  I should have got him some socks.

Helen hadn't replied.  When finally she did, she spoke in hushed tones.
“Mum, I'm really worried about you.  We've talked about this haven't we?  God, I knew we should have flown back for Christmas.”
“But it costs too mu...”
“Sod the cost, mum.  I know you won't fly over here, but you need your family now.”
“Don't swear dear.” I patronised, rather glad of the chance to divert the conversation.
“Sorry mum.”  Helen paused,          “Mum, it's been four months.  The last thing I want to do is upset you but you're talking about giving him slippers for Christmas.  Dad is dead mum, we went to the funeral, don't you remember?”

The receiver clicked as I replaced it.  I took a couple of steps away then turned back to remove the receiver again.  This time I just left it dangling until it almost touched the floor.  It tapped lightly on the wall as the cable bounced to it's resolution.  Yes, I remember George's funeral.  I remember people looking into my eyes as I arrived at the crematorium, and I remember the ones who couldn't.  I remember that I'd held my breath for most of the service, especially when they played 'Abide With Me'.  I remember hearing people talking in the bar afterwards, when they thought I couldn't hear,  about what a good innings George had had.  I remember going home afterwards, nearly tripping on George's slippers as usual.

I remember, I just don't want to.  So I'm going to bed now, and in the morning I'll unwrap all the presents and replace George's old slippers with the new ones.