Extract From the Secret Diary of Daniel Macintyre Age19 and a Half.


by Cat. <Tab_itha@hotmail.com>

This is just a short piece written as a follow up to the Post Office Job. I didn't intend to post it here, but I've had quite a few requests(some of which are physically impossible, even for a double jointed chimp, besides Jack and Danny are nice boys, they don't do stuff like that, and certainly not with Lily. You know who you are, and does your psychiatrist know you're using the asylum computer?) So here it is, hope you enjoy it.

Tuesday December 25th. Christmas Day. Full moon.

Christmas Eve might have ended on a high note, but it was all down hill after that. At Jack's insistence we went to Midnight Mass, he ignoring my protests of, "aw come on Jack CHURCH:-at Christmas? Can't we just watch the tv repeat of Harry Secombe on Christmas Songs of Praise come the summer?"

"No," he said with some authority.

"Why not?"

"Because Sir Harry has been deceased for over a year, and Sporty Spice has been given the Songs of Praise slot."

It was news to me! Christmas just wouldn't be the same without Harry. Anyway, we went to church and I tried not to sit too close to Jack, because much as I adore him, he has a singing voice reminiscent of someone under horrific torture. His rendition of Silent Night had all the old dears in the congregation taking out their hearing aids to check for faults. SO embarrassing! Though to be fair, me accidentally setting fire to the Priest during Holy Communion came a close second in the embarrassment stakes. Boy was I red faced. Poor Father John, his face was a picture as several large, teenage Altar boys suddenly began leaping up and down on his cassock. He was very forgiving though, but I noticed he drank rather deeply of the communion wine afterwards.

Well, it wasn't altogether my fault. I didn't realise you were supposed to blow out your Vigil candle before kneeling in front of the altar rails, and they will wear those loose flowing robes. Jack was a bit peeved, he said that as a lapsed Methodist I had no business going up to receive Communion in the first place. To be honest it was the only place I could think to escape to when Jack started singing Away in a Manger, reducing several small children to tears. He put their tears down to tiredness, but I knew the truth. The walk home was nice, it was frosty and all the stars were shining; we held hands.

5am:-Bounded excitedly out of bed to see what Santa had left me.

5.01am:-Jack firmly steered me back to bed with words: "set your tootsies to the floor a second before 7.30 at the earliest, and you'll regret it."

No festive spirit some folk!

8.30am:-Waved to Lily as she glided up and down the street on her new skateboard. Glad to note she was wearing all the right safety gear. Thought the crash hat looked a bit odd, until I realised it was a First World War flying helmet, complete with goggles. Biggles lives on, complete with skateboard instead of a Sopwith Camel.

8.45am: Listened joyfully to screams of pleasure as Tristan found the beautiful arrangement of holly leaves I had thoughtfully scattered about his bedroom floor, where he would find them upon waking.

8.47am: Apologised to Tristan at Jack's insistence. Spent a seasonal twenty minutes in a corner of Jack's study thinking about the significance of the Christmas message- 'Peace on earth and goodwill to all men,' which apparently DID include Pratman and Dobbin.

9.30am: To my surprise Tristan had bought me a gift. I excitedly opened the beautifully wrapped parcel to find, 'my first bumper colouring book,' a box of crayons and a packet of white chocolate buttons. Thanked the smirking bastard through gritted teeth. He presented Jack with a long narrow box, telling him he felt sure the enclosed item would come in handy. Jack raised his eyebrows as he peeped inside it, but refused to divulge the contents of the box to me, saying only that it was on a need to know basis, and if I was lucky, I would never need to know.

11.35am: Sebastian arrives. Inexplicably the huge Christmas tree in the hall crashed down just as he stepped inside, pinning him to the floor. It took Jack and Tristan almost ten minutes to heave it off him. "Funny," said Jack, examining the trunk closely, "the wood looks as if it's..." he glanced suspiciously in my direction. I met his gaze with one of beatific innocence, intermingled with slight hurt, that he should even think such negative thoughts of me.

11.36am: Hastily stuffed hacksaw out of sight in cupboard under the stairs.

1pm: Dennis, Ally and the kids join us for Christmas Lunch. There was an air of strained tension between Al and Den, made worse when I asked her what Den had given her for Christmas and she replied, "bloody ear ache." In an effort to cheer everybody up and lighten the atmosphere, I decided to have a little joke with Sebastian, feeling sure he would value it. He was looking a tad depressed as he had developed what appeared to be rampant acne; an allergic reaction to the resin in the pine needles from the tree. Yes, he could do with a laugh, I thought compassionately.

Unbeknown to everyone I slipped into the kitchen, shortly before lunch was due to be served, heading for the artistically arranged medley of vegetables that Tristan had prepared just for Skel. Baby carrots-brilliant just the right shape.

2.05pm: Lunch is served. I waited eagerly, watching for the moment when Sebastian would bite into the baby carrot I had nobbled. At last he paused in his incessant braying and transferred aforementioned carrot to mouth. As he bit down, I pressed the button on the personal safety alarm I had borrowed from Ally. A high pitched screech ricochet around the room, startling everyone, not least of all Sebastian, who rocketed to his feet as what appeared to be blood began spurting from a screaming carrot. Those fake blood capsules from the joke shop worked a treat.

Unfortunately it worked too well. I had no idea that Sebastian's upper front teeth were false. He was so shocked by the bleeding vegetable that he drew his breath in sharply, dislodging the teeth and sucking them back into his throat. Eyes bulging, he turned a delicate shade of blue and began to clutch wildly at his neck. Dennis leapt into action at once, deftly performing the Heimlich manoeuvre on him. The dentures shot out of Sebastian's mouth like a bullet, embedding themselves in the turkey's leg. The children burst into spontaneous applause. "Spotty man funny," little Jenny pointed at Sebastian delightedly. He had a fan for life.

Jack caught my eye, which was strange because I hadn't even thrown it. The look he gave me turned my innards to ice water. I immediately abandoned all dignity and burst into heart rending sobs, apologising profusely for my tasteless joke. It took the wind out of Jack's sails and he let me off with a stiff lecture about the dangers of juvenile pranks. I was despatched to clean the teeth before returning them to their rightful owner. I had to resort to bleach to get the red stains off. I used Tris's toothbrush to apply it and then rinsed them thoroughly in the toilet bowl. They were as good as new.

After a couple of sedatives, Sebastian relaxed and the meal continued, though I noticed that he left his carrots and nobody opted for a turkey leg. Tristan had developed a nervous tick in his right cheek, but apart from that, appeared untouched by his veggie boyfriend's near death experience.

Apart from the kids, Ally was the only one who seemed to appreciate my joke. She could barely contain her mirth and had to resort to dropping various items of cutlery in order to crawl under the table to retrieve them. Pressing her face against my leg she tried desperately to muffle her explosive giggles. Dennis, like Queen Victoria, was not amused and glared at Alison crossly, reminding her that she was an adult, and should be setting a good example to the children. She told him to give his haemorrhoids a treat and relax for once in his uptight life. He half rose to his feet, but she grabbed a handful of her hair, and holding the carving knife against it, yelled, "not a step closer or the hair gets it!" Dennis made no secret of the fact that he loved her long red hair; he hesitated, but sat back down. I was impressed, and seriously considered growing my own hair long to use as a bargaining tool with Jack.

3.30pm: The Christmas pudding went down well. Let me rephrase that: the Christmas pudding went up well. Still, on the bright side, it only took the fire brigade twenty minutes to bring the blaze under control. "Never, never use pure turpentine to ignite a festive dish," said the leading hand, a nice bloke by the name of Jerry, who invited me to the fire stations staff party, Thursday week, on account of me being a regular customer so to speak.

I just couldn't get the brandy to light, I said in my own defence, and I didn't want to let the kids down as I'd promised them a traditional flaming pudding. I have to say, they were dead impressed. "Again, again uncle Danny," they clapped enthusiastically, "make fire ball hit ceiling again." It's best if you warm the brandy first, said Jerry helpfully, rolling up his hose. I stored this culinary tip away for future reference, though if the look on Jack's face was anything to go by, I didn't have much of a future to look forward to.

6pm: Alison, Dennis and kids depart for home. I try to depart with them, but Dennis says it would be unfair of me to deprive Jack of my company on Christmas night, and he feels sure Jack has plans for the rest of the evening. Tristan, his twitch more pronounced than ever, decides to go back to Sebastian's place. He had little choice really as the emaciated one was clinging to him like a limpet to a rock, mumbling something about 'keep that hound of hell away from me.' Had he encountered that Great Dane I wondered and almost sympathised.

6.15pm: Alone together at last. Jack, his face ruggedly handsome, despite the singed eyebrows and streaks of soot from pudding incident, turns to me and says in a surprisingly calm voice, "I believe that you and I have certain issues to discuss young man."

Ignoring my reminder that his favourite film, The Great Escape, is due to start on BBC2 at any moment, he takes a firm hold of my hand and leads me towards the stairs, pausing only to pick up the mysterious gift that Tristan had given him. I sensed that the gift would not be to my personal tastes, particularly when he chillingly said, "I didn't think for a moment I'd have to resort to using this; certainly not so soon."

Clinging to straws, I repeated the Peace on earth and goodwill adage to him, but he said that as long as I was around, the chance of peace anywhere was about as likely as the Second Coming.

6.45pm: My bottom is in deep trauma and has disowned me, sending a letter of resignation to my brain and requesting that it be transferred to some other person's body as it can't take any more. Compared to the devastating bite of the cane the hairbrush seems ridiculously friendly. My dislike of Tristan has faded and been replaced with abiding hatred and fanatical loathing. Roll on New Year, I should be able to sit again by then.


More stories by Cat.