Stuart's Christmas Story

Stuart hadn’t spoken to many people at work, and having started a week before the Christmas party (in the middle of November), wasn’t invited.  Those who thought to comment on it noted only that he didn’t seem to mind at all.

He quickly developed a reputation as a loner, keeping to himself at lunchbreaks and mentioning little about his life outside work.  One gregarious colleague, Mick, didn’t like anyone to feel left out, and struck up a conversation with Stuart about a book he was reading.

“What you got there, mate?”

 Stuart showed him the front cover, which Mick turned his head sideways to read:

“’Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?’  Hmm, sounds interesting.”

 After hovering awkwardly for a moment, Mick realised there was no conversation to be had and went about his day.  Others took longer, but all took the hint.  This feller was not one for the talking.  Shame, really, Mick liked a bit of banter in work.  Made the day go faster, oiled the wheels a bit.

Returning to work after the Christmas shutdown, people trudged through the doors with tight smiles and familiar grumbles, discussing the weather and exchanging platitudes about the holiday, the family, the overeating, the drinking, the nights out.

Stuart, as usual, arrived at exactly 8.59 and headed straight for his desk without acknowledging the tersely polite smiles of the few who noticed his arrival or the casual disapproval of the many who didn’t.

Mick, however, happened to catch his eye, as he passed the small office he shared with three others (Barbara, Hope and Ryan, the temp – who, despite starting at the same time as Stuart already had several friends in the office and never went to the toilet without a friendly chin jut or casual nod for everyone he saw on the way.  Everyone liked Ryan.)

Mick was the only one in the office, the others all having an extra day off.  He had missed the usual catch-ups with his closest colleagues, comparing notes on their drinking sessions and the kids’ presents and the family’s antics.

Mick couldn’t help himself, it was a mere reflex of politeness after the eyes met:

“Mornin, Stuart – Good Christmas?”

Expecting a minimal reply, Mick was amazed to hear Stuart begin in a conspiratorial tone, looking furtively around the large outer room, before striding quickly into Mick’s office.

“Christmas?  Eh?  Good? Was it good?  I’ll fuckin tell ye, Mickyboy.”  Stuart hissed, never letting go of Mick’s eyes with his own, striding into the small office and leaving the door wide open behind him.

Stuart suddenly dragged a vacant wheeled chair and sat next to Mick, startling him. 

“It was a fuckin belter, mate.  First off, went down The Battle Droid for the Gates Of Hull gig.  Was amazing.  SO loud.  Really battered the eardrums, y’know?  The night after, I went to a school reunion drinks thing…”

 “Oh right, that sounds nice…” Mick said absent-mindedly, in a vain attempt to keep a veneer of normality on the increasingly unsettling conversation.

“Nice?  Nice?!  It was fucking horrific, mate – I didn’t like most of them arseholes when I was forced to mix with them!  I’m sat there making small talk with people I hated when I was a teenager so I just left.  Mind you, I did feel a surge of euphoria on the way home when I realised that I was right about everything as a teenager, which was a pretty uplifting thought – and I understood that life is much better now than it was then, which I never expected.

 “Riiiiight, nice” Mick interjected, wondering where all this chat was coming from.  It was more than he’d heard Stuart say in the previous six weeks – and he was showing more animation than expected of anyone, let alone the quietest bloke there.  More importantly to Mick’s mind, it violated the unspoken trust among colleagues.  Work conversations were work conversations and they were not supposed to be like disarmingly personal drunken diatribes delivered by a close personal friend after a long session on the piss.  They were definitely not about personal epiphanies (except about them new smoothie makers, all the girls in the office loved them).  They were mostly about weather or sport.

“Then on Christmas Eve, got right on it with the lads downtown, ended up chattin absolute codshit to some geezer from Iceland in O’Shaunessy’s til we got kicked out.  He was pretty mental.  Slept through most of Christmas Day, but that’s never the highlight anyway, is it?  Everyone thinks it will be but it never is.  It’s for kids innit.  Most of mine was spent on an epic comedown, man, you know, the kind that makes you question everything you’re doing, like really question it – never a good idea anyway, especially not in that sort of state, cos you’ll only ever decide that everything you’re doing is shite and a waste of time.

“Anyway, went for a few beers with the old man in the evenin, told him a few home truths.  He didn’t like it too much, but what you gonna do?  It was the fuckin truth, if he can’t handle it….”

“Stuart, um, are you OK?”

 “OK?  I’m buzzin, mate, had an amazin time – then, on Boxing Day, it was right back on it, went to the game, of course – bit of aggro with the away fans, but it’s all part and parcel, you know what I mean, too much money in the game, bringing in families and all that, loads of games on the telly and rozzers everywhere at the ground – spoils the fun.”

 “Well, sounds good Stuart, but I should probably….”

 Stuart ignored Mick’s increasingly desperate attempts to get him to leave.

 “So then I had a couple of days in the house on me todd and I was hittin the ching pretty hard, got a bit paranoid about the neighbours.  They were rowing, as per bloody usual, so I’m banging on the wall, telling them to shut up.  Ended up taking a shit on their lawn, that’ll show them I thought – they only called the bloody pigs, didn’t they?  Couldn’t believe it – load of fuss about nothing.”

“Stuart, you’re starting to worry me.  Are you on drugs?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!  Mick!  You’re not listening!”

Mick was becoming worried.  Only the two of them were here, he thought.  And no one would believe him if he told them about Stuart’s monologue.

“It’s just that…well, you seem a bit…um…” 

“Yeah, yeah.  So then everyone’s gearing up for New Year’s right, and I’m out for a pint with a couple of the lads on the 30^th, they’re on about takin it easy, goin home early and all that shite, save themselves for tomorrow, and I’m like “fuck all that noise!”  So we’re down the massage club at 4 and it’s all getting a bit heavy and the boss in there is not happy, and he’s on abuot calling the pigs – I blacked out, couldn’t remember what happened at all, then all of a sudden, there’s screamin in the room next door and my mate Steve pops his head round the door and says: “We gotta go Stu – like, right fuckin now, yeah?”  And I’m sayin “Nah, mate, gimme a minute” and he’s goin “NO. RIGHT NOW.”  So I run out after him and we’re on the strip in our boxers and what can we do but laugh?  Christmas innit.”

 “So, day after that, I’m at home recovering and I’m feelin pretty rough and thinkin about everything again and everyone here and all that, you know, how I never talk to anyone and stuff…and I think: “Why don’t I just talk to Mick, or anyone…?”  And, y’know, it’s not that I don’t want to, sometimes, it’s just, like, people wouldn’t really get it, y’know.”

 Mick began to recover his composure, suddenly seeing Stuart in a new light, as a vulnerable and damaged individual in need of help.  He really wasn’t one for getting in to this kind of thing, and wondered how to start.

 “Wow, it sounds….um….do you really think that about us, did you really do all that stuff?!”

 “Nah, not really mate, I’m pulling your leg!  I had Christmas with the family, it was nice.  Anyway, how was yours?”

“Uh, it was good, thanks.”

Stuart walked off happily, into the large open-plan office.  Someone said a chirpy “Good Morning” to him. 

He didn’t respond.