There's None So Blind

This is my first attempt at a competition story and I believe it will most likely be my last. I started this damn thing for last year's holiday competition, but didn't get it finished in time. My pal has insisted that I finish it for this year's competition.

As usual I thank my LadyCibelle and Techsan for their patience, proof reading, editing skills and of course encouragement. As always I have to add that we don't always see eye to eye with each other, I can be one cantankerous old bugger when I want to be and I've been playing around a little with a story since they have read it. Consequently I take full responsibility for the content and any cock-ups in this tale.

*

I was sitting on my usual stool staring down at my half full glass, when the noise reached a new crescendo; yet another group of happy partygoers had obviously entered the bar.

"Shit, I hate this time of year!"

"Sorry, I'm not sure I heard you correctly. Did you say you hated Christmas?" a voice beside me enquired.

Bugger, I must have voiced my thoughts out loud, I hadn't intended to. But it was what I was thinking.

"Yeah. What's everyone got to be so fucking happy about? Disturbing my peace, that's bleeding what!" I replied without looking at whoever had addressed me.

"Now, come on, my friend, that's not quite the attitude you should have. It is Christmas, you know. A time for happiness and good will to all men; they're all just trying to enjoy themselves," the voice from beside me commented.

I turned now, and saw a short but rather rotund old man, complete with white hair and what could easily be taken to be a false beard, sitting on the barstool beside me. To be honest, he looked like one of those shop Santa Claus's, who had stopped for a drink on his way home from work.

'Where the hell did he come from,' I thought to myself. 'I don't remember noticing him arrive. Mind you with the crush there was in the Rose and Crown bar that evening, the bleeding Queen could walk in and no one would be able to see her.'

"Look, my friend, I come into this pub almost every night, for a nice quiet drink and to drown my sorrows. Maybe I will have a little chat with George the barman or a couple of my friends. None of us has anything in particular to be happy about, we all live alone with our own demons and to be honest with you, we prefer to have our bar to ourselves. We don't like it when all these idiots come running round wishing everyone Happy Bloody Christmas." I scowled in the old man's general direction.

"We've all got our problems in life, my friend, but you must try to lighten up some times; this is the time to forget your problems and be happy." The old sod smiled back at me.

Why do people think they can understand your problems without knowing anything about you? I got annoyed with the old boy.

"You just tell me what the fuck have I got to be happy about?" I scowled back at him.

The cheeky old bugger was getting right up my nose, so I decided to give him chapter and bloody verse. After he heard my fucking story, he would see that I'd got nothing to be happy about.

"Look, three bleeding years ago, after years of what I thought was a happy marriage, I came home from work sick one afternoon to find my so called loving wife shagging her boss in my bed. I do my bleeding nut and then the bitch ups and runs off with the arsehole. He had a fuck sight more money than I ever had. So when it came to the bleeding divorce court; they give the bitch custody of not only my three kids, but my bleeding dog as well.

"What did the f-ing bitch do then? I'll tell you. She made it very difficult for me to get access to the children for the next eighteen months. I was in and out of court like a fucking yo-yo trying to pursue the bastards to force her to give me the access to my children that I was supposed to have. The fucking family courts don't give a shit for the fathers.

"Then the f-ing CSA - the Child Support Agency - those fucking bastards came down on me like a ton of bleeding bricks. The bastards took most of my bloody wages in child support for the next f-ing year or so. The f-ing bastards took my wages at source from my bloody employer, before I even saw it. So I couldn't afford to buy the kids much in the way of Christmas presents that year. I wouldn't have minded so much if the cow and her fucking stud needed the bloody money. But the arsehole she's living with owned the company she'd been working for. He makes more money in a fucking week than I make in a year.

"Do you know what the bastards did that Christmas? Well, I'll bloody tell you, they opened my presents to the children before Christmas. Then the buggers went out and brought more expensive versions of what I'd brought for the kids and they gave them to the kids first. Oh, I wasn't allowed anywhere near the children on Christmas day. Next time I saw my kids my gifts had been forgotten, whilst the children were playing with the more expensive toys."

"Ah, I see you have a vindictive ex-wife. But remember my friend, as they get older your children will know that you loved them."

"Now, that's one thing they will never be able to do, mister. Last Christmas the Bitch and that Git took the children away for the holidays. They went skiing over in France. But one night they all went out somewhere and the arsehole got himself a fucking skin full. On the way back to their hotel the bastard put his bleeding Merc into a lake. Oh, he made sure he and the whore got out of the car all right; but my kids were still strapped into their seats when the car was dragged out of that fucking lake the following morning. That bastard killed my kids.

"So now you see why I don't like Christmas. It holds no joy for me, just bad memories!"

"My friend, I'm sorry you have had such an unfortunate couple of years, but you have to try and move on with your life. You really must try to forget and make a new life for yourself. Just try to remember the good times you had with your children."

"Look to be honest there wasn't any good times. Once they had moved in with that arsehole, they got everything they ever wanted. The kids didn't really want to know me anymore. They were spoiled rotten. I only got to see them about once a bloody month; they were just forgetting me."

This old boy was still smiling at me. I've got to say it, I really felt like telling him to fuck off and leave me alone. But there were so many people jammed into that pub I doubt he could have moved away from me if he had wanted to.

"What you tell me is very upsetting to hear!" he went on "But there must have been some good times before your wife left home. And now surely you have to accept that your old life is gone. Perhaps you should try to make a new one for yourself."

The old man and I sat in the bar talking until closing time. Towards the end I had begun to warm to him a little. I think he was truly concerned about me and he was trying to convince me to forget the past and look to the future.

He left the pub just before I did and I watched him make his way somewhat unsteadily out the door. After he had gone, I finished my pint, said "Good night" to George and began making my own way home. I don't know whether it's lucky or unlucky that I didn't have a car that night. Its lucky I couldn't drive home in the inebriated condition I was in because I might knocked someone down and killed them. But it was unlucky because I couldn't drive into a tree and kill myself which was what I really wanted to do.

Once I got outside the pub, I found the old man slumped against the wall. He had undoubtedly consumed much more alcohol than he could handle. 'Damn,' I thought, "I can't leave the old bugger there. If it turns any colder, he could freeze to bleeding death.'

"Come on, Pop, where do you live? I suppose I'm going to have to walk you home."

"That is kind of you, Graham. I am feeling a little unsteady. I should be alright after I've been in the fresh air for a little while."

It didn't strike me at the time. But this old boy knew my name; I never have worked that one out. Perhaps he heard George say it?

We made off in the direction of his home. Much to my relief it wasn't too far out of my way. The old boy was leaning against me and chatting on about life. I must admit, I wasn't really listening so I don't remember a single word of what the old bugger said. I just wanted to get him home, then get back to my own bed.

Suddenly the old guy stood up straight, as if he wasn't drunk anymore. "Fire!" he shouted.

A little confused, I looked in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough through the windows, blackened with smoke, of a nearby house I could just make out a Christmas tree in flames. Then with a god almighty bang the picture window exploded outwards. The next second the whole room was a roaring inferno and flames were licking up the front of the building.

"There's a woman and three children in that house," the old man said.

Suddenly I was as sober as a Judge! I pulled my mobile phone from my pocket and unlocking the keypad, passed it to the old man. "Call the fire brigade!" I instructed him as I began running towards the house.

They say that people do brave things because they don't think of the consequences of their actions. Well, I must tell you that, as I threw myself at that front door, I knew that there was a bleeding good chance that I wasn't going to be seeing the morning, and in my heart I don't believe I really cared.

I could feel the heat of the flames roaring out of the nearby window as I approached the door, which much to my surprise gave way at my first charge. Clouds of black smoke enveloped me as I staggered inside, only just retaining my balance. At this time of night, I figured that anyone inside the house, who was still going to be alive, would most likely be upstairs in the bedrooms. Most of these semi-detached houses are of a similar layout and I found the staircase easily. Taking the stairs two at a time I rushed up them, trying to shout fire at the same time, but the smoke choked me and I couldn't speak.

At the top of the stairs I found the door to the room directly over where the seat of the fire was, so I tried that one first. Inside the room I felt around, it was surprising how much smoke there was in there, until I discovered the inert forms of two small children lying in their beds. I swept them both into my arms and the next thing I remember I was coming out of the smoke at the front door. Some young guy was standing there and I literally threw the two young girls at him.

Having taken a few deep breaths of clean air to recover, I turned and went back into the smoke. Buy this time I could see that the flames were beginning to come through the door of the room where fire was. As I got to the top of the stairs there was whooshing noise as the flames enveloped the door and the fire flashed over into the hall. Through the smoke, I looked back down the stairs; my mind told me that I wouldn't be going back out the way I came in.

I went for the back bedroom this time. Inside I found a woman who had apparently been over come by the smoke as well. I'm not a big guy and I can't tell you how I managed to pick her up. One look out of the back window told me I wasn't going out that way. Flames were licking up from the window below. It must have been a through lounge downstairs; strange how these thoughts come into your mind.

Back out on the landing I made for the other front bedroom; kicking the door open I was relieved to see flashing blue lights outside through the window. Dropping the woman onto the bed, incidentally on top of her son who was sleeping there, I grabbed a TV set from a bracket on the wall and threw it through the window, hoping that there was no one standing below, then I kicked the rest of the glass out, as best I could.

I grabbed the boy first and leaning out of the broken window dropped him into the arms of a fireman who was now waiting below. The woman soon followed in the same manner; she was in no condition to object.

Looking around I saw that the flames were by then in the room with me; so I threw myself after her headfirst. Luckily the fire crew were expecting me. I had to wonder if they are trained to have people suddenly drop in on them, they made a damn good job of catching all of us.

The firemen put one of they're breathing sets on me, to help me clear my lungs of the smoke. I sat on the pavement and slowly recovered whilst the firemen tackled the fire. I watched the ambulance crew working on the mother and boy. I didn't see the two girls but there were several ambulances present by then, so they were probably in one further away.

My head was throbbing, I suppose because of the smoke, as well as all the booze I'd consumed that evening. People kept coming up and congratulating me, telling me I was a hero. Damn, I didn't want or need that. Shortly after the police came over and started moving everyone further back, away from the fire. I took this as my chance and standing up quietly disappeared into the crowd that had gathered. I mingled for a little while and then made a hasty retreat.

When I got home, I had a long shower to get rid of the smell of the smoke. I thought that I would have to get my clothes cleaned because they stank of smoke, but then I found some scorch marks on them and binned the lot. It was gone two by the time I finally crawled into bed.

+++++++++++++

The following morning, Christmas Eve, I crawled out of bed around ten, with the biggest hangover I've ever had in my life. I figure it was half the beer and half that bleeding smoke. I was in the kitchen popping coffee and aspirin when I heard my mobile phone ringing. I found the thing on my dining room table and answered it.

"Hello, is that Graham Stark?" A female voice that I didn't recognise asked.

"Yes! What's your problem?" I was back into miserable old bugger mode. I'll admit that that was how I used to speak to people then. It kind of kept them away from me and that was how I had grown to prefer things.

"Oh, Mr Stark I just wanted to thank you for saving my children and me last night."

"Who is this?"

"I'm Sheila Monroe. It was my children and me that you pulled from the fire last night. I just wanted to thank you. We would have died if you hadn't saved us."

"I'm afraid I haven't got the faintest idea what you're talking about, lady." Denial, I thought, was the best way to stay out of the limelight.

"He said you'd say that! But I know that it was you who saved our lives by getting us out of the fire last night. So don't try and deny it or I'll tell the newspapers who you are and I believe from what your friend has told me, you wouldn't want that. The press are going crazy trying to find you, you know.

"Okay, it was me, but there's no need for any thanks. I didn't think about it, I just did it. You really don't need to thank me," I told her and then I began to wonder. "By the way, how did you know where to find me?"

"Oh, your friend, the nice old gentleman came in a little while ago. He said he was a friend of yours. He told me who you were and gave me your number. Would you like to talk to him?"

"Yes, I would. I've got a lot to talk to him about. He went off with my mobile phone last...."

I stopped speaking. What the hell was I talking about? I was talking to Sheila Monroe on my bloody mobile phone. But last night I gave it to the old bugger to call the fire brigade with and after I came out of that burning house, I never saw the old guy again. How the hell did I get my phone back? How the hell did he know my name?

"Oh, he seems to have gone. I can't see him around anywhere."

"I shouldn't let it worry you. I think he has a habit of disappearing," I found myself saying.

"Mr Stark, I know this is a bit of an imposition on Christmas Eve, but is there any chance you could call by the hospital today. I really would like the opportunity for my children and myself to meet and thank you in person. We will not tell anyone who you are if that's what you wish."

Damn and blast, she was asking so nicely how the hell could I refuse. "If you insist. But really just knowing you're all safe and well is enough thanks for me."

What a bloody hypocrite I was! I didn't really care a damn about her or her kids. And I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I had run into that burning house last night, unless it was in an unconscious effort to kill myself. But I agreed to go and see her a little later.

It was probably about one-thirty when I found her at the hospital. Sheila Monroe was dressed in the strangest collection of clothes I'd ever seen. Well, I hadn't given them time to dress the night before, had I? Sheila knew who I was the moment I walked into the room.

"Oh, Graham, how nice of you to come," she said throwing her arms around my neck and then she began talking to me as if I was an old family friend.

There were two other people in the room and they asked if I was her husband.

She told them, "No, Graham is just a special friend."

The couple left us alone and then Sheila apologised for her behaviour, saying the other people were reporters and she thought they might wonder who I was.

I thanked her and then she took me in to meet her children. I was amazed that they all appeared to recognise me. The meeting, whilst friendly and a little overwhelming for me, was a little strained.

Let's face it, I didn't know this family and I found their gratitude to me very embarrassing. I was uncomfortable as well because they reminded me of what I had lost. The children were about the same age as mine had been. Well, maybe a little younger. I really wanted to excuse myself and leave; I really shouldn't have gone there.

The older of the two girls was Miranda - I would put her at about eight years old - had latched onto my left arm and was hanging on for grim death. Then the boy Jacob - I'd say a year or so younger - came over and took hold of my right hand and just never let go. The little one, Yvette must have felt left out but she solved that problem by climbing on my lap and locking her arms around my neck.

I really didn't know what to say to them. I could see a big bruise on Miranda's face and remembered the impact it had with my shoulder as I picked her up the night before. But she never mentioned it.

I hadn't been with them very long when a lady from social services arrived. She asked Sheila if she had any relatives or friends that they could stay with, but she didn't. The woman then told Sheila that she would book her and the children into a local bed and breakfast accommodation. I knew the dump she told them they would be staying in and immediately felt sorry for them.

Look, I knew the place; it's a right bloody hellhole, full of asylum seekers and illegal's awaiting deportation. I don't know why I said it, but I suddenly heard myself telling Sheila that she and her children could come and stay at my place for a while. I had the room I know, but why I invited them to stay I just don't know. Then I was really surprised to hear Sheila accepting my offer.

This was all very weird when you come to think about it. You might have gathered that it was completely out of character for me to have even offered. Looking back now, it was pretty weird for Sheila to accept the offer of accommodation from someone who was really a complete stranger to her.

The day got even weirder as all four of us piled into my car and I started to drive home. I suddenly realised I had nothing for them to eat in the house, so we stopped off at a supermarket and between us did some shopping. Four trolley loads we finished up with; well, we were buying Christmas for five.

As we stood waiting at the checkout, I looked over my guests and realised that they had little in the way of clothes to wear either. So from the supermarket we made our way to the clothing outlet next door, where we made an even bigger impression on my credit card, although Sheila assured me I would be reimbursed, which eventually I was.