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Chapter 1: Gift wrapped
Ken
I knew the office busybodies had caught up with me when I opened my workshop and saw the pink square envelope bordered with miniature Santas someone had poked under the door. "Sod it! I suppose I will have to look for a present for some kid I don't even know, while those tarts in the office get all the credit. Typical women! They might like shopping but I certainly don't!" Tossing the envelope on the bench, I pushed the trolley with my toolbox into the corner, filled the kettle and switched it on, and then sat down and looked at the job sheet to decide which was the next priority.
The long established firm of Criterion Printers Ltd., employed me, Ken Blake, as an odd-job man or 'maintenance man' as they liked to term my function. I put up shelves, repair tables, install computer benches, repair locks and any of a thousand-and-one other jobs that help to keep the works running smoothly. Normally, but not on that day, I work the usual 8 a.m.
5 p.m. hours but if my hammering and sawing would disturb others, I work evenings or nights and take days off instead. Originally there had been three odd-job men but with changes in working practices and the installation of a few multipurpose woodworking machines in the basement workshop, I now work as the sole maintenance man, calling on anyone who was available when more than one pair of hands are needed to do the job.
In fact, I prefer being a one-man-band especially after the debacle with the woman I thought I would marry. The bitch led me along with promises she never kept while having other lovers on the side. "She just used me as a meal ticket and when she found a better one, I was kicked out and left to find a place of my own with few finances," I confided to my sister. Marion, my ex, found the house and paid the deposit but for two years, I'd paid the mortgage. As it was in her name, I was thrown on the streets. Actually I was lucky in finding a cheap one-room bedsit and soon after, obtained the better paid job with Criterion. Without the expense of keeping her, I was able to sort out my finances and I'm now reasonably well off. I don't go out much and don't bother with fancy clothes so I don't have a lot of expenditure. Being jilted in such an offhand way, has left me with a deep mistrust for women, and women in the 20
35 age group in particular but I try to overcome my resentment as women comprise about 80% of the ninety or so employees at the firm.
It's not that I'm unattractive, or at least I don't think I am, and at twenty-seven years old, some women might see me as an attractive catch but, as they say, once caught, twice shy, I avoid any unnecessary contact with them. I'm not tall, only 5' 4'', but I'm stocky, have crew-cut hair and solid muscle, that, I've heard a number of women say, gives me a rugged appearance. I've resolutely ignored the overtures of all the single women, whatever their age. Many now regard my manner as rather morose and introverted but I have an excellent reputation for craftsmanship and for ingenuity in doing this work.
Finishing my tea, I loaded the steel tool trolley with the materials for the next job, a new door on a storeroom that couldn't be left open all night, and headed for the lift. The job took until 9:30 that evening and, as usual in the circumstances, I sent an email to my boss informing him that I'd worked late and wouldn't be in until after lunch the following day. Thus it wasn't until I prepared to leave at the end of the day that I spotted the envelope on the bench and stuffed it in my jacket pocket.
It was almost bedtime before I remembered to open it. Momentarily I was a little puzzled that it had been sealed with Selotape and my name was on the envelope. Others, I knew, had been asked to choose a blank envelope but being tired, I wasn't overly concerned with the anomaly and pulled out the sheet with a Post-it note on top.
The Post-it note gave the instructions, 'Once you have the package complete bring it to reception with the child's name and reference number on it and Shirley will pass it through the system. It you put a tag on it, sign it with just your first name to keep your anonymity.'
"I suppose it won't cost me too much to buy a few toys and I've no other children to buy for so maybe I'll make the effort this year, at least that might get the office bitches off my back." On a work level, I got on okay with most of the women in the firm, but the office staff always appeared snooty and to look down with some contempt on a mere odd-job man, unless they wanted a job done in a hurry.
Inside the printed/photocopied sheet read:
Make a Child's Christmas Wish Come True
'Thank you for accepting this very important task. Fulfilling this will fulfill one Child's Christmas Dream and you will have the joy of knowing you are part of that dream.' There was lot of other promotional guff and bullshit, which I glanced through, but the description of the child and what she wanted surprised and puzzled me and I wondered how I would ever be able to get the items suggested.
Under the opening paragraph a printed list gave the child's information and alongside each entry the detail was handwritten in ballpoint pen.
Child's name: Anne / female. 203
Age: 14 (I double checked). It appeared that 24 had been inserted and the 2 changed to 1 but the result could have easily have been either. "It says a child so it must be 14," I reasoned.
Child's Measurements: This information is to assist in any clothing purchases that we strongly recommend be part of your gift.
Height: 4' 11"
Weight: 7 stones.
Bust: 32A
Waist: 26"
Hips: 32"
Dress size: 10
Shoe size: 3
Body Shape: slim
Favourite colours: light blue, or deep green.
No mother or father.
Notes: Has been invited to a party but cannot go as she has nothing suitable to wear.
She is a very deserving child and anything you can do to make her Christmas memorable would be the answer to her prayer. Please try and make it "A Christmas Wish Fulfilled".
I tried to picture the child, young girl or whatever, but without hair and eye colour and other details I could only see a featureless girl approaching puberty, probably a late developer because these days, so many fourteen year olds had well developed tits. I read and re-read the information. "There's something odd about this," I thought tiredly, but couldn't really define what it was. "A girl of fourteen wanting a party dress and doesn't have a mother or father? Is she living on her own? No, more likely in care. Where on earth do I get a dress for a young girl? GAP? NEXT? Primark? Better go into town in the morning."
With Christmas only three weeks away, the town was fairly well packed even though I went in early and it was a weekday. I spent a frustrating hour or more, looking through the racks at several of the smaller clothing shops without having a clue as to what I wanted but eventually I ended up annoyed and fed-up in a large department store. "Can I help you Sir?" a bored assistant asked, still looking across at the other side of the room and not at me.
"Yes, if you are actually working today," I snapped rather louder than I intended. I'd already had enough of shopping to last me a whole year and it was for something I didn't want even if I knew what it was that I wanted.
"Is there a problem Sir?" An elderly woman appeared. I explained the situation. "Rebecca, help this gentlemen get what he needs. The girl is not much younger than you so you should have a better idea of what she would like than I will. She'll probably need shoes, socks and a handbag to match."
"Yes Mrs. Reeves."
Once motivated the girl did indeed get her arse into gear and found a rather low cut, bottle-green dress, shoes and socks to match and a lighter green imitation leather handbag. The total came to £96.45, far more than I intended to pay but the girl gift-wrapped it for me at no extra charge and I was glad to get the hell out of there.
On the tag card the store provided, I wrote:
To
Anne 203
I hope this is suitable.
Have an enjoyable time at the party
With my best wishes
Ken
XXXXX
Chapter 2: Gift rejectedSally Anne
I'm Sally Anne Hughes, the archivist at the printers and my job is to catalogue all the images and text used on the various print jobs and create an index on the server so they can easily be found again if a further print run is required. I really enjoy the work especially as I largely work on my own in a little office that is part of a large storeroom where all the discs and archived material are stored. Each item is numbered to indicate its position in the store, a system that I instigated several years ago. My main problem with the work, is getting to the upper shelves, but they bought me a pair of steps and I'm agile enough to clamber up and down them without a problem. They make up for my lack of height.
Some of the others, particularly the lads on the print shop floor, call me 'Shrimp' but they say it without rancour so I accept it, and provided they don't try and chat me up or invite me out, we get on well enough. I accept the term less willingly when the snooty hens in the office use it because they make it sound derisory and to emphasise their superiority. I can't help being small. Both my parents were small but they'd died young of an infection they'd caught on a tour in Egypt. Worse, as far as I am concerned, is when on the few times I've been in a pub, they want identification and even question if my driving license is genuine, before serving me alcohol. Even in the supermarket, any new girl on the check-out questions my age if I buy alcohol, not that I do that very often. "I'm a woman in a teenage body; no height, no body and no tits," I remarked to a friendly, overweight cashier.
With still three weeks to go before Christmas, I was mystified to find the package outside the door of my office when I returned from lunch. I read the card and burst out, "How dare he! That cocky, jumped up so-called handyman, how dare he send me a gift like this? Surely he doesn't expect me to go to the party with him? He should know I don't have anything to do with boys or men these days, not after what happened. Does he expect to give me all those kisses?" A couple of other women stared at me so I took the parcel inside and read the tag card again.
To Sally
Anne 203
I hope this is suitable.
Have an enjoyable time at the party
Ken Blake
XXXXX
I swore at the audacity of the man I hardly knew and continued to rant as I ripped open the wrapping paper. Inside were a nice green dress, shoes and something else that was wrapped. The fact that a man had given these expensive presents to me indicated in my mind, that he wanted a lot more in return. And why would he give it to me so long before Christmas? I sat in my chair and cried a little, remembering back to that morning six years ago ... I'd better fill you in on the details.
In courts he said it was my 'little-girl-look' that led to the attempted rape attack when I was barely eighteen. I didn't even see him lurking behind a tree as I walked through the park enjoying the early Sunday morning sunshine and, before I knew anything was amiss, the beast cornered me, grabbed me from behind, tore my shirt and dragged me to a secluded area concealed by some shrubs. I remember hitting the ground hard and felt him start to rip my clothing, managing to free my tiny breasts and tear my shorts before I recovered sufficiently to fight back. He certainly didn't expect the fury with which I retaliated. Yelling and screaming at the top of my voice in the hope of attracting attention, I fought with more skill than he expected and made my punches land in the places I knew caused men the most pain. With a certain smugness, I remembered the training I'd been through at the keep fit and self defence classes for several years and tried to remain calm, although that was easier in the gym lessons than when faced with a real life situation. He was more concerned with subduing me and keeping me quiet but I didn't get away unscathed, largely because he was so much bigger and heavier than me. Eventually I got two killer kicks to his balls and by then, the fight had gone out of him and the park warden and several dog walkers had arrived. Eventually, after all the embarrassment of making statements and the court appearances, the man was sent to prison for three years.
Unfortunately the mental trauma didn't end there and although I've been to counselling sessions, I'm never able to get close to any boy or man without re-living the horror of that day. Nowadays, I shun all boyfriends.
More recently I've seen a hypnotherapist and that is having more effect and I've started to see men in a slightly different light but haven't found a man I'm comfortable with. Several men in the works have asked me out but I politely told them to get stuffed and when that wasn't sufficient a deterrent for one and he put his arms around me and tried to feel if I really did have any tits, my bony elbow in his stomach stopped any further advances and left him gasping for breath on the floor. Word got around that I was not to be trifled with and I haven't been accosted for some time.
Finding the dress and the accessories and checking the labels only to find they were the right size and looking again at the name on the tag, my mind started to piece things together. "To get a dress and shoes the right size, he must have been stalking me and checking in my clothes locker. Perhaps he has a key to it? Probably he's been watching me at home, checking the clothes drying on the line. Spying on me, wanting to entice me into a lonely spot or his bedroom..." My imagination ran wild and was soon filled with many unrealistic scenarios. My fury increased. "I'll teach that bastard!" Grabbing the parcel I stormed down to the basement.
"What the hell!" Ken shouted as I flung the workshop door and it hit the stop with a loud bang. "What's up Sally?"
"You know what's up you pervert! Trying to get into my knickers by the back door. By enticement and entrapment. I'll have you for sexual harassment!" I hurled the parcel on the bench spilling its contents. "That's what's the matter. Now tell me you didn't buy that!"
Confused, Ken answered, "I bought it for the Christmas Child Gift thing. How did you get it?"
"You addressed it to me. Look, Sally Anne 203, my room number."
"But... ?"
"Keep your rotten dress, you'll never see me in it!" Tears flowing from my eyes, I headed for the door.
"Wait ... please."
"Get ready to find another job you low-down, conniving scumbag. I'm reporting you to the boss!" I left quickly, trying to wipe my tears away and get back to my office where I could hide away.
I heard my computer chime that it had mail but I was too upset to open it. The phone rang and I took it off its cradle; I was too angry to answer it.
Ken
The sudden onslaught threw me for a loop and it took me a few minutes to put two and two together. To my mind it added up to a practical joke and one that backfired. After examining the tag card and then the original invitation that, luckily, was still in my jacket pocket from the shopping trip, I quickly realised what had happened. "Probably it's those bitches in the office trying to do some matchmaking. Interfering busybodies, they have no idea what a hornets nest they've stirred up." I looked up Sally's works email address and sent:
Grace
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