This is my quick-fire response to another short story challenge. It’s a randomly-generated title, and I got ‘Bleeding Elf’. Enjoy!
Bleeding Elf
“It’s me bleedin’ ‘ealth!” Granddad’s response to everything, his bleeding health. Can we go to the park, Granddad? No, me elf’s playing up. Can we go down the zoo, Granddad? No, me elf’s not right. Can we come round, Granddad? Naw, sonny, me bleedin’ elf, you see, that’s what done it.
He’d let us down too many times this year. Family gathering at Uncle Alf’s, you know the uncle who keeps a jar of arsenic next to the biscuits, for his old-time camera he says, but you’ve got to be careful when he passes round the Jammie Dodgers. Granddad didn’t make it, bleedin’ elf playing up again, couldn’t get over to Uncle Alf’s for a good game of charades. Me old Dad offered a lift, but he says no, its his elf. Couldn’t give that man a prize if he won a raffle on a desert island, me Dad likes to say.
Even worse, later in the year. School play, and I’ve got a speaking part. Not much – all I’ve got to say is “Take it easy, have a nice bath,” before the donkeys come on, but it’s me first line. Last year I was the kid banging the coconuts together. There’s me parents, fourth row back, sisters, brother, there for the sweets Mam’s paying them to stick around – I don’t miss much, me – but no Granddad. Bleedin’ elf. Bleedin’, bleedin’ elf.
But this is the real deal, the big one. Christmas morning. I wake up ten minutes before my clock, me – I hate the ding-a-ling so much I have to turn it off before it goes. Mam hates me being up, she likes her lie-in, but I’m there to jog her out of Bedfordshire right before the day knows where it’s from. Anyway, Christmas morning, down the stairs, straight to the tree, I’ve got everyone’s things lined up, all nice and neat, Dad’s things over there, me brother’s here, me sisters’ gifts over there – then I see, there’s nothing from Granddad. He’s gone and bleedin’ forgot! Granddad forgot Christmas!
So me Dad gets him on the phone, like, and he talks in that voice he uses to talk to the referee when he’s at the footy. Then he slams the phone down – bleedin’ elf, I reckon – and he tells me to go wait in the car, because he’s got to ring the elf people, and then we’ve got to go and see Granddad, because Granddad’s forgotten Christmas, and we’ve got to take Christmas to him. That’s what decent folk do, take Christmas to those who haven’t got it with them.
So me and Mam sit in the car, and then Dad comes out – Uncle Alf-s popped round to look after the others, and he’s brought round his Jammie Dodgers too – and we go over to Granddad’s. We ring the bell, and there he is, opening the door, fit as a new signing in the transfer window. His ‘ealth’s fine, nothing wrong with him. He even does a little jig in the hall when he sees us, just like the old days.
“Let’s get a look at that elf, then,” Dad says, grim as a grouse.
Granddad leads us up the stairs. There’s a stair-lift fitted – Granddad says he needs it for his elf – but he don’t use it, not even a little bit. We get all the way up – I’d be a dead good mountain-climber me – and walk into the spare room.
And there it is, Granddad’s elf. Lying on his spare bed. Feet up, watching a black-and-white film, a great big pudding of a thing. It’s got a little green cap on the bedside table, and the bobble’s hanging down, like it just don’t feel right today.
Mam takes over. “The elf nurse will be here in a minute. Just sit tight. A nice Christmas meal at the elf home, and you’ll be right as a royal tomorrow.”
Granddad says sorry. “I’m sorry I forgot Christmas, sonny. It’s me elf. Me bleedin’ elf. He wasn’t well enough to wrap the presents and send them over. Let’s go down stairs, and you can get them from under the tree.” He smiles, all kind and wrinkled and well.
Me Dad turns to Granddad. “Granddad, come over to ours for the day. There’ll be presents and games. Uncle Alf’s brought his biscuits. And sonny here’s put everything just right for the rest of us. And Granddad agrees, we hop in the car, me with me present – a great big fire engine, if you’re wondering – and my parents smiling like the stars in the sky.
All right, then. But I’ve got a thought. Car on the way home, I’m in the back seat, like, and I ask them a question.
“Mam, Dad, does everyone have elves? Santa, the Prime Minister, that man on the telly who tells people off?”
“Yeah, son, we’ve all got one. Grown-ups don’t really know how to do anything. Without the elves nothing happens. Trains wouldn’t run on time, food wouldn’t get prepared, everything would just shut down.”
“Mam, have you got an elf, then?”
“Yeah, sonny.”
“I’ve never seen none! Where do you keep it?”
Me Mam smiles.
Then it hits me. I’m me Mam’s bleedin’ elf.
Jezknee 