Christmas Present. by Angharad Copyright© 2015 Angharad

Christmas Present.
by
Angharad.

Tim went to see his grandmother every Sunday afternoon. He would cook their lunch and clear up afterwards. While he was there he’d ask if there was anything else he could do for her and she often found him things from sewing on a button to finding something she’d lost or misplaced. She’d been very poorly sighted for a very long time, in fact all his life and now she was pretty well blind, just about able to distinguish between day and night but nothing much else.

He lived round the corner, purely by chance a place to buy had arisen and Gran had helped with the deposit—“You might as well have it while I’m here to see you enjoy it,” she said. Then she’d had just enough sight for him to show her round. It needed lots of work with modernising and decor but if it hadn’t it would have been out of his range even with Gran’s help. However, he’d scrimped and saved and it was now almost as he wanted it, doing much of the work himself—it was quite a change from his job as a librarian at the nearby university, a job he loved, he really enjoyed helping people.

His grandmother was very independent and the rest of his family seemed unable to accept this, wanting her to go into a residential home and sell her bungalow to fund it. Tim had defended her right to live in her own place and get carers in, in fact he’d worked with the occupational therapist who specialised in helping visually handicapped people and between them they’d put together a care package that had a team of carers calling in two or three times a day to help her cope with living independently.

Gran had outlived many of her friends or they were too infirm to visit her, but she survived with her radio and talking books and a newsletter sent by the various blind charities. She had various gadgets from talking watches and clocks to a thing which told her when she’d filled her cup. She said she couldn’t live without her radio and her tea and Tim believed her.

Librarians are not well paid but Tim got round this by not running a car. He’d learned to drive as an eighteenth birthday present from his parents, but apart from occasionally borrowing his mother’s car, he hadn’t bothered. His ancient Dawe’s Galaxy, acquired second hand while he was at university, with its rear rack and panniers did for most things or occasionally he had a trailer he could attach but it tended to get heavy rather quickly. He’d run errands for his gran but she also got help from her carers with that.

Tim’s parents had had him quite late in life, his mother was forty when he was born and then when his dad got the promotion he’d dreamed of they moved away from his hometown. He’d always kept in touch with Gran, writing her long letters as soon as he could form the alphabet with a pen or pencil and in those days she could still just about see to reply. He loved getting letters from her and she from him.

He’d returned to his hometown to go to university and had actually stayed with his gran as a student but as soon as he got a job he said he wanted to get his own place. She made him save and then rewarded him with finding half the deposit from her savings. Tim’s mum was livid feeling she should have had any money that was going but as Gran had said at the time, she hardly needed any money as Tim’s dad had a good job and so had she.

Christmas was fast approaching and Tim told his Gran he’d like to have her visit him for Christmas dinner appreciating that she wouldn’t want to stay overnight as she knew her way around in her own house. To his delight she agreed one of her carers offering to collect and take her in the car and Tim knew a taxi who’d collect her when she was ready to go home.

The week before Christmas and Tim came as usual to make the lunch and as usual, gave his Gran a hug on arrival and she seemed to pull him closer to herself than normal. She let him go and he went off to start the food appearing half an hour later with cups of coffee. “I’m thinking of getting some new curtains, will you help me?”

“Of course I will, you mean to put them up?”

“No to choose them to match the carpet and furniture.”

“Wouldn’t Shona be better to ask?” he replied meaning her main carer and the one who was going to bring her on Christmas day.

“No, I want you to do it.”

“I don’t know if I have enough practice, Gran.”

“You did your own house.”

“Yeah, but that means I’m the only one who has to cope with the consequences, if I got it wrong here, I’d hate to think you didn’t like it.”

“I won’t be able to see it, will I?”

“I s’pose not, but I think Shona would be able to offer a woman’s help.”

“Couldn’t you offer the same?”

“What?” he gasped grateful that he’d drunk all his coffee.

“When I come to Christmas dinner I want to meet my granddaughter.”

“But you haven’t...” he felt his throat tighten, how could she know.

“Tim, I’m not sure what you call yourself when you’re at home, I’m blind not stupid.”

“I’d better see to the dinner,” he said rushing out to the kitchen though his appetite had vanished. How had she guessed, he tried to disguise it from her. His emotions in turmoil he felt like he wanted to run away but then the dinner would spoil. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to howl. Not since his mother had caught him wearing a dress he’d bought in a charity shop when he was thirteen, had anyone said anything about his feminine self. His mother had made an appointment to see their GP but he was ignorant and pompous and a good friend of Tim’s dad and told them it was just a phase he’d grow out of it after asking if Tim was gay. He didn’t know because to be gay means fancying your own sex and Tim wasn’t sure which that was.

He checked the chicken and basted it. It was half cooked. He couldn’t go back into her lounge, not yet, he needed to collect his thoughts. How did she know? His mother must have told her probably when she found out that Gran had helped with his deposit. She was cross about that but she hadn’t offered to help, preferring to spend her money on three or four foreign holidays a year. His dad was so much under her thumb that he just did as she told him, it was easier than thinking for himself and less stressful. That was why Tim had gone to stay with his Gran, he was his own woman—um—man—no, he was right the first time. It was just a bit of a shock that Gran knew about it. He’d known he’d have to tell her one day, the hormones were starting to have some effects, it was just that she’d taken the initiative away from him—but she’d said she wanted to meet her granddaughter, as he was the only grandchild, she wanted to meet him in his alter ego—oh shit—could he cope with this?

He busied himself with making a pudding, an egg custard flan, it was her favourite and he quite liked it too except he was trying to lose some weight, he’d seen this gorgeous dress in Oxfam and the woman had agreed to keep it for him until the end of the week—pay day—early because of Christmas and if he bought it, he’d have to be slim enough to wear it, a size smaller than his usual one. Dammit, he’d get it and wear it for Christmas. Yeah, let his gran meet him nicely dressed in his new to him—correction, new to her, dress—except she wouldn’t be able to see it, would she?

He dished up the dinner, “I’ve done egg custard for sweet.”

“Thank you, darling,” she said. “Look I’m sorry about what I said I just wanted you to know I love you and I know about your hobby, have done for years; except it’s more than a hobby now, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Tears were streaming down Tim’s face but he had to talk to her, at least she was being positive.

“You’re on hormones aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said very quietly.

“I could feel your breasts as we hugged. I could also feel your bra, but then you often wear one when you come here, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said dabbing his eyes with his napkin.

“Look, I’ve known about your liking for girl things since you were a little bo—girl. If you remember I got you the tea set you wanted for your fifth birthday and I know you enjoyed playing with my old dolls when you came to stay with me, why d’you think I left them out for you? I know as well you tried on my clothes—my sight wasn’t good then but I know when someone has been in my wardrobe. I didn’t want to encourage you but if it was something you had to work through, you needed the space to do so.

“When you came to stay with me while you were a student, if you remember I’d leave you locked in your room studying—I knew why you didn’t want to be disturbed, you’d got a couple of bits of clothing, hadn’t you. I even asked you to do the washing so you could launder them without me knowing.

“What do you call your other self—the real you?”

His eyes were still streaming but now it was with joyfulness. One of the most important people in his life was saying she didn’t mind him being weird, she still loved him. “Uh—Judi,” he said with difficulty, this was something really big, once he’d said it she’d know and things would never be the same again.

“That’s a nice name for a nice young woman.”

“Thanks, Gran—I love you.”

“That’s nice to know, I love you too, Judi, and will I get to meet you properly on Christmas Day?”

“Yes, Gran, you’ll get to meet me properly then.”

“I’m so glad, let’s have a glass of that prosecco to celebrate.”

(picture courtesy of Google Images)