Christmas Present
by obohobo
Chapter 1 Suicide attempt
"Christmas doesn't exist this year," Eric told himself for the tenth time that
morning, "It's just another work day for me." Walking to his workshop at the
back of the house and picking up a carving gouge he set to work fashioning the
feathers of a wooden owl.
His heart wasn't in it though. For the first time for many years he was alone at
Christmas. His girlfriend partner of five and a half years left him six months
ago because she thought he had become 'too domineering.' Since then he had got
on well with his life and was able to look after and feed himself more than
adequately but had not met anyone to take her place. He didn't really find being
alone a problem, that is not until today. Three times he switched the wireless
on and each time the tinkling jingles, the carols and the laughter reminded him
he was on his own. Each time angrily he switched it off. There was no one to
share gifts with; no one to share mince pies and a glass of sherry, no one to
cuddle and hug.
The weather didn't help either. It was relatively mild at 10 Celsius but it was
murky, calm and drizzling. Grey weather that matched his sombre mood. Inwardly
he hoped someone would just turn up on his doorstep and spend a few minutes
chatting but he knew this was a forlorn hope. The one friend who might have come
round was staying with his son and granddaughter in London over the holiday
period. His brother and sister now lived in the States and had families there.
They were all the family he had. Today he was alone. Alone and depressed.
Glancing out of the lounge window he saw two women, overcoats on, umbrella's up
walking their dogs. Dog walking didn't stop on Christmas day. Although they only
lived around the corner and always spoke when passing he didn't know their
names. Yet they were friendly enough. He could hear the laughter in their voices
as they walked along the deserted lane. It was a quiet village anyway and
everyone would be indoors on this special day, especially considering the
weather.
Roughton, had about thirty houses mainly along one road with a small, newish
estate to one side. Side by side at one end of the lane stood the Post Office
shop and the pub. Even the pub wouldn't be open for a couple of hours and then
the places for Christmas lunch were fully booked months ago.
"Perhaps I'll put my coat on and walk along the lane. At least I might get to
say a few words to the women on their way back," he said to himself, "Maybe
they'll even invite me in for a drink as they know I am alone." He didn't
believe or expect it but his imagination gave it a chance. Pulling on a dirty
green waterproof coat he went out into the wet morning.
Gently closing the door he turned and was surprised to see an apparently elderly
woman riding a bicycle. Cycling was his only means of getting from the village
to the town shops and he thought he knew all those who also cycled that route,
yet she was a stranger to him. Eric was even more surprised when, instead of
continuing along the lane, she turned down the grassy farm track by the side of
his house. That only led to the river and by a very round about route back to
the lane again half a mile further on. "Was that imagination or did I hear her
weeping?" he thought as she passed by his garage. Intrigued Eric decided to
follow her.
Seemingly unheeding of anything, the woman cycled along the track until she came
to the bund that separated the flood plain from farm land. Eric followed,
discretely keeping into the hedge as much as he could. However, not once did she
turn around and look back. Over the years walkers had made a track over the
steep sides of the bund but with the wet weather of the past weeks and the rain
today, made it very slippery. The woman had to abandon her cycle. It didn't seem
to matter, she tossed it against the bank and climbed a grassy section to one
side of the muddy path.
Soon she disappeared over the other side and Eric hurried to catch up. Peering
over the bund he couldn't see her. "She must have gone through the tunnel where
the river flows under the motorway bridge. I would see her if she went
upstream," the detective streak in him deduced.
Footsteps echoed in the tunnel and again Eric thought he heard her weeping until
once again the echoes ceased and he knew she was on the grass path that followed
the river. With all the rain the water level was high and the river running
hard. "Where is she going?" he wondered, "This path only leads back to the lane
again in about another mile. It just circuits the farmland in the bow of the
river." Stealthily he followed. In places tree cover allowed him to get close
but in the more open areas he held back. Less than a quarter of a mile after
leaving the tunnel the woman stopped. Stopped at the weir. At this point tree
cover was good allowing Eric to see clearly everything she did.
Long ago, to protect the weir, protective spiked railings had been installed.
Almost equally long ago, children or more probably young adults, had bent a
section of the spikes to allow them to climb across the weir and in summer,
children bathing would jump off it into the deep water pool at its foot. In
summer though the water flow was much reduced and only added to the enjoyment of
children frolicking in the stream. Today the river was nearly at the top of the
bank and the water cascaded over the weir with considerable force.
"NO!" Eric yelled as he realised what the woman was about to do. It was too
late, she had already leapt into the waters. Rushing to a little beyond the weir
where he knew water was much shallower and where the body would end up, he
slithered down the bank in time to see the clothed figure being swept round the
bend toward him. With no thought for his own safety be waded into the cold water
over the tops of his wellington boots and was able to grab a coat sleeve.
Quickly dragging her to the bank, he helped her stand. Shakily she stood on her
own two feet. Eric guessed her tightly done up clothing had acted for a short
time as a life jacket by trapping air inside. There were a couple of marks on
her face but otherwise she seemed intact. Now though she was cold and her
clothes sodden. She needed warmth and quickly.
"Move yourself woman!" Eric ordered enforcing his command with a push to her
back. Something unintelligible came from the woman. He pushed again and she
started up the bank. Near the top she stopped, again muttering. Eric gently
kicked her arse. "Move it!" he repeated.
Once on the path he grabbed her hand and pulled her along as fast as he was
able. It was not fast enough. Wet heavy clothes and exhaustion slowed her nearly
to stopping but he knew she had to continue or she would just lay down and die,
which is what she wanted to do in the first place. He wasn't about to let that
happen. By the time they reached the tunnel he was more or less dragging her and
soaked from the waist down himself, the cold was getting to him as well. Half
carrying her over the bund he remembered the bike. With some difficulty she sat
in the saddle and he pushed her back along the path to his home. The lane was
deserted.
Pushing the soaked, shivering and exhausted woman into the kitchen he commanded
"Strip off. Get all those wet clothes off."
