Vaultless Ambition
Chris Johnson stood in the dark and biting cold, really wishing he was at home with his wife. He could hear the sounds of people shouting and cheering, but could not hear them.
He breathed, mist coming out of his mouth.
He looked down at his fatigues.
”Do we have to do this?” Chris asked his comrade, William Darcy.
”Yes. We do this every year. We have rehearsed this for weeks. You can’t just back out now,” William said.
”But it’s embarrassing,” Chris said. “Gord doesn’t even know the meaning of the song.”
”Never mind that. It’s a Christmas tradition. Do it for Stratford-Upon-Avon, if not for Gordon,” William said.
Chris sighed sadly. “Ok,” he said.
William observed his own costume. “It’s great that the RSC has enough WWI army uniforms for all of us, isn’t it?”
”Yeah,” Chris said. “I guess so.”
Just then, the crowds cheered once more, and some jaunty trumpet music played.
”Right, here we go. It’s time.” William said.
William marched up the stairs ahead of him.
Chris sighed once more, then marched onto No-man’s-land.
All of Chris’ colleagues marched onto the stage, forming a line.
Now Chris could see the crowd, a lot of them friends of his.
In front of the crowd, a young woman with ginger hair was smiling at him, a woman he’d recognise anywhere; his own wife, Sophie.
”Go Chris!” She shouted.
Chris sheepishly smiled and waved at his wife.
Just then, Chief Administrator Gordon Ainsworth and Avonvale MP Joseph Benson marched onto the stage, wearing their own uniform from their days in active military service.
The two men marched into the centre of the stage, and Gordon started singing Stop the Cavalry, or, as he thought it was, Send In the Cavalry.
The first part of the song was bearable. All Chris had to do was march in the spot in time to the music, whilst Gordon did the singing to the best of his ability (which wasn’t great.)
But then, the bit that Chris dreads every year was upon him, when everyone on stage had to sing the “dub a dub a dumb dumb” part of the song, bobbing up and down as if they were Santa’s Elves.
Eventually, the song ended, and the crowd applauded.
Chris sighed with relief and gladly left the stage to join the crowds at the front.
”You were so wonderfully adorable, Chris!” Sophie said to him as he walked up to her.
”Glad you thought so,” Chris said, allowing his wife to squeeze him.
After a while, the evening’s hosts, local business tycoon Rebecca Marshal and ex-Hollywood-action-star-cum-movie-reviewer-on-local-TV Bob Hunt, walked onto the stage.
”Wasn’t that wonderful?” Rebecca Marshal said to Bob.
”Yeah. It was truly great. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for our MP and Administrators, who make this town what it is,” Bob said.
”Shakespeare had a small involvement,” Chris said under his breath.
“We‘ve had a lot of fun tonight, haven’t we, guys?” Bob Hunt said to the crowd.
The crowd cheered, but not as enthusiastically as Bob would have liked.
”I said, we’ve had a lot of fun tonight, haven’t we guys?” Bob said.
The crowd cheered more rapturously.
”But of course, we’re here for one special reason.” Rebecca said.
”The birth of a boy, born in Bethlehem over two thousand years ago,” The Reverend Elias Blackwood heckled from the crowds.
”No, the switching on of the lights,” Rebecca said.
The crowds cheered, bar the Reverend, who seethed with rage. The Youth Pastor, who was more amenable to the secular festivities, consoled him.
“Who wants to switch on the lights?!” Bob said to the crowds.
The crowds cheered.
”You guys want to switch on the lights, right?” Bob said.
The crowds cheered.
”Alrighty, let’s do it. But we can’t do it alone. Can you guys help us bring on a special guest?” Bob said.
The crowds cheered once more.
“Please don’t be Mary and Joseph, please don’t be Mary and Joseph,” Elias said under his breath, really not sure he could bear the sacrilegious sight of a random couple walking onto the stage dressed as the Biblical couple, complete with their newborn baby, to turn on the lights.
”Ok. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, SANTA CLUAS!” Bob said.
Elias sighed with relief. But then an awkward silence.
No one walked onto the stage.
”Santa Claus!” Bob said again, but Santa was nowhere to be seen.
Chris looked around the crowds.
“Where’s dad?” Chris said.
”I don’t know,” Sophie said.
”I’ll call him,” Chris said, picking up his phone.
After a brief while, Chris’ dad Geoffrey answered the call.
”Alright, son?” Geoffrey said on the other end of the line.
”Dad, where are you?” Chris said.
”I’m just having a pint of Proper Job down the pub,” Geoffrey said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Chris sighed angrily. “You’re supposed to be turning on the lights.”
”Oh, right, yeah. I was wondering why everybody was looking at me, and why I’m dressed as Santa Claus,” Geoffrey said.
”Just come down here as soon as you can,” Chris said, ending the call.
He walked over to the stage and whispered something to Bob.
”Sorry, everyone,” Rebecca Marshall said, “Father Christmas is running a bit late, but he’ll be here in due course.”
”I guess we’ll figure out what to do in the meantime,” Bob said.
”I’ll take care of that, thank you,” Elias said, walking up onto the stage.
”Very well. Here is the Reverend Elias Blackwood,” Rebecca said.
She stepped aside and Elias stood in the centre of the stage, clutching his trusty King James Bible.
“It’s time for an antidote to this utmost crassity,” Elias said, “a reading from the Gospel of Matthew.”
The crowd groaned as Elias started reading the Christmas story.
The Wise Men were just about to reach the baby Jesus in the stable when the man himself, Father Christmas, bounced onto the stage.
”Alright, my lovers?” Geoffrey said to the crowd, forgetting that Santa is not known to hail from Somerset.
The crowd cheered, and Elias slowly walked off the stage, grumbling as he did so.
“Ho, ho, ho, and all that.” Geoffrey said. “Are you enjoying yourselves, boys and girls?”
The crowd cheered once more.
”Unfortunately, Mrs Claus couldn’t be here tonight, because she’s dead,” Geoffrey said, “murdered, about sixteen years ago. I still remember the stab wounds on her torso.”
The crowd was stunned into silence.
Chris face palmed himself; Geoffrey never failed to bring up his wife’s murder in any conversation.
”But it’s alright, I get by on me lonesome, single-handedly raising an autistic child,” Geoffrey continued.
Chris looked away, not wanting to watch his dad embarrass himself in front of the whole town.
”I think it’s time to turn on the lights, Santa.” Bob said.
”Oh, right, of course,” Geoffrey said, walking over to the lever.
”Alrighty, let’s count down, guys,” Bob said.
”Five, four, three, two, one,” the crowds shouted.
Geoffrey pulled the lever… and nothing happened.
The crowds looked around, confused.
”We appear to be having a power cut,” Rebecca said. “But never fear. They should be up in due course.”
After a short while, the skies of Stratford-Upon-Avon were lit with colour.
The crowd cheered once more, Elias grumbled.
With all the fun and games over, the crowds dissipated.
”You didn’t have to bring up mum, dad,” Chris said to Geoffrey.
”Well, you know, I thought it would be good to add a bit of backstory to Santa,” Geoffrey said.
“It didn’t need to be tragic, dad, or graphic,” Chris said.
“Oh, well, what’s done is done,” Geoffrey said, “now then, let’s have a nice warm meal down the pub and then we can pay a visit to Mrs Claus outside the church in the morning.”
With that, Chris, Sophie, and Geoffrey went into the Old Thatched Tavern for dinner before returning to the warmth of their homes and to bed.
The Robinsonverse 