Christmas with the Provident - a short story written by Berni Albrighton

 

Christmas with the Provident.

I have been working this round for over 15 years. 

In many of the houses that I visit I am considered one of the family. 

I don't have to knock on those doors. 

I give a tap and shout “It’s only Pearl”

I am always ready,  wondering what hat I need to put on.

The friend. 

That means a long chat, a couple of cigs and a cuppa.

The Counsellor.

Tissues at the ready, this could be long and emotional.

The Peacekeeper.

I’ve helped calm down a few difficult situations.

The steady voice calling 999 when things are getting scary.

The Nanny.

Quietly and quickly moving children to a safer room.

My customers are mainly council house tenants.

Saying that, I also have a few ‘posh’ clients.

Things are never as they seem on the outside.

Christmas is  big for us at the Provident.

Weekly payments start in January.

A new payment card begins.

Date. Amount paid. Signed: Customer. Signed: Provident Rep.

Sky high interest rates.

I have to forget that part. 

You see, for some families, without the likes of Provident there wouldn't be a Christmas.

Spreading the cost is the only way.

I deliver the shiny new brochures

The promise of a proper Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.

For the children, the beginning of wishing and hoping.

It's the woman of the house who I normally meet.

They’re the ones who pay me.

Listening to their stories, seeing the evidence of the latest violent outburst, it's tough.

Even the posh ones have their stories to tell.

That kind of thing has no class distinction.

The week leading up to Christmas is hard going on the waistline.

With offers of mince pies and sherry at most houses.

Houses that have been transformed into Santa's grotto.

Last year's tinsel sellotaped to the ceiling.

Christmas trees collapsing under the weight of  decorations.

The smoke stained fairy sitting lopsided on the top.

Piles of presents spread under the tree and around the tv.

Balloons hang, secured with drawing pins. 

Some already popped, the heat of the fireplace proving too much. 

Whispers and excited chatter from children as to what Santa will bring.

Exhausted Mothers, trying their best to create magic in the house.

In the background, menfolk, focused on what time the local pub stays open. 

By the time I next see my customers, Christmas Day is gone in a haze.

The children are immersed in their presents, or not.

Some toys got broken and didn't make it to Boxing Day.

Some of the women, the wives, the Mothers, only just made it to see a new year in.

Through their laughter and tears and solid resignation I listen as they tell me how it all went and I marvel at the human spirit.

The saving grace that Christmas dinner was even better than last year helped to justify the effort.

And so begins another payment card.