Seconded
"'Morning Phil"
"Brr", I replied, climbing into the company minibus and closing the door with a screech that filled the bus with oohs! and ow-ow-ows!
The bus moved off. I rubbed the heel of my hand across the condensation and gained a blurry image of the outside.
"What you doing for Christmas ?" A voice from the far corner.
John was my shift partner.
"Not a lot"
The minibus stopped.
"He's not there again." I said
"Isn't he ?"
"No"
Bert was the next stop on the round - corner of Cedar Lane. He always looked as if he was going on a fishing trip. Peaked cap, green jacket waxed with age, canvas bag across his shoulders. An incongruous cheroot between his lips. The only thing missing was a rod.
I shivered. Something cold had crept into the pit of my stomach. I said nothing. There had been a police car waiting in Cedar Lane.
Someone cleared their throat. It was Jamie, an up and coming office type with an insubstantial moustache and lingering acne.
"He's been seconded"
"What ?" John and I blurted in unison.
"He was retirement age" said John.
"Past retirement age," I said. "What section ?"
"Don't know."
The bus fell silent.
Seconded ? It didn't make sense. Bert was little more than a sweeper-upper.
My scalp prickled. Seconded. The word brought back memories of an eight year old boy in grey uniform with a tartan dickey-bow - dressed for a funeral.
Grandpa Richards had been seconded. Happy Sunday afternoons - at the allotment, soldiers on the dining table, strolls in the park. All stopped in early December. It was New Year before I was told he was dead. And yet ... He was there that Christmas. I heard him in that twilight time when adrenaline wasn't enough to keep my eyes open. He whispered in my ear, "Happy Christmas, Philip".
And then in the morning, among my presents, there was a box of soldiers I recognised at once. I looked at my mother.
"From Grandpa", she said, turning away. But Grandpa wasn't there when we sat down to Christmas dinner.
_
Christmas Eve. Dick and Sally were finally in bed. My wife was wrapping the last of the presents.
"Give them another half hour before you go up" she said.
I read another chapter then looked at the clock. Midnight. I yawned.
She placed a pile on my lap.
"These are Sally's and those are Dick's."
It was on the second trip, with Dick's parcels that I became aware I was not the only one sneaking around the bedroom. There was the sound of laboured breathing and a rustle by the bed. In the light of the street lamp I saw a squat bundle; it stood up with a grunt. I stared. He stared, then picking up a lumpy sack he melted into the shadows.
I didn't panic. I knew who it was, for in the dark I'd seen the glow from his cheroot.