A Christmas Carol for Modern Times
Clare Tanner
Published by Clare Tanner at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Clare Tanner
Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes
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A Christmas Carol for Modern Times
Evergreedy Squeeze eased his Lamborghini into the reserved space in the underground car park of his lavishly appointed apartment in Docklands. He didn't normally take it to work, but it was important to keep up appearances at this time of year. He didn't want people to think he wasn't making money any more. It hadn't been the best of years at the famous Platinum Bags investment bank, and they had all received the lecture about not flaunting their wealth in these present, difficult, times. Evergreedy snorted with disdain. What was the point of money if you couldn't flaunt it? How would people know you had it? He wiped the drip from his nose, and made a mental note to reduce his cocaine use, but perhaps not yet. It was Christmas, after all.
As he rode the lift to his penthouse apartment, Evergreedy agonized over the thin layer of London dirt that had settled on his beautiful car during the day. He had expected to catch the valeting service to return his gorgeous beast to her usual perfection in time for Christmas. But they weren't there. Selfish! They must know how important it was to have everything right for Christmas, and they had gone home early. He must be paying them too much.
Feeling disgruntled, and not very Christmassy, he opened the door to his apartment and threw his keys down on the small table beside the front door. Hoping that the breathtaking view of the river from the glass wall of the apartment would elevate his mood, he shuffled, in his exclusively shod feet, over to the window. A million lights shone in the darkness, telling silent stories of happy families, laughing groups and excited children. Evergreedy caught sight of his reflection in the window and frowned. Instead of the extremely cool and immaculately dressed young man about town that he expected, he saw a drawn and unhappy face, with a hint of bags under the eyes, above a suit that bore the creases from a long day sitting in front of a screen. He turned away from the window in disgust and headed, for consolation, to the large wine fridge in his cavernous open plan kitchen. The resounding pop from the bottle of Cristal champagne failed to produce the usual mood enhancement, but drinking the whole bottle by himself, without food, did result in a comforting fuzziness that led him to lie down on the sofa and flick through the movie channels on Sky. Deciding that "Wall Street" wasn't quite what he felt like watching at this particular moment, he threw the remote onto the floor, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. Oblivion swiftly followed.
He woke later, feeling cold and stiff. He rolled his shoulders and rotated his neck, to ease the crick that lying on the sofa had produced. A slight noise to his left caused him move his head too fast and pain shot up his spine. He rubbed his eyes to clear them of the apparition in front of him, a dead ringer for Captain Mainwaring from Dad's Army.
"Who are you?" Evergreedy demanded, a slight tremor in his voice, as he searched his memory to check whether or not he had consumed anything that could account for this strange appearance. "Are you real?"
"Which question would you like me to answer first?" Captain Mainwaring asked, his bowler hat almost falling off as he tilted his head to one side with a quizzical look.
Evergreedy sat up, not wanting to be at a disadvantage. "Are you real?"
"Sort of," the man replied, twiddling his moustache. "It depends what you mean by real, doesn't it? I'm here, and you can see me, so, I think that makes me real, don't you?"
"Not necessarily." Evergreedy ran his fingers, trembling slightly, through his hair. "Are you Captain Mainwaring?"
"Of course I'm not Captain Mainwaring, you silly boy," he said, standing to attention in his pinstripe trousers and black jacket, his bowler hat now sitting at a rakish angle. Evergreedy was convinced that Sergeant Wilson would appear at any moment.
"Who are you, then?"
The comical creature sighed. He muttered, as if speaking to himself, "It ought to be obvious, surely, especially at this time of year."
"You're not Santa Claus, are you?"
"Oh, for goodness sake. I thought you people were supposed to be sharp. I can see I am going to have to spell it out." He cleared his throat ostentatiously, and drew his short, rotund frame as straight as possible. "I," he said, pausing for effect, "am the ghost of Bankers Past."
A smile crept across Evergreedy's face. "Now I know I'm dreaming. You don't look like a banker."
"On the contrary. I look as bankers used to look, when they were part of their community. Don't forget, your Captain Mainwaring was a bank manager."
"Yeah, but...."
"No, buts, young man. I am going to show you something now, which I hope you will think of over the days to come."
"Show
me? How?"
"Cast your eye over to that very large
window. We are going to watch a, what do you call it, movie."
Reluctantly, Evergreedy turned his head to face the window, and before his eyes, it transformed into a cinema screen. A creature, a cross between this Captain Mainwaring and Laurel or Hardy, he could never remember which was which, was emerging from a rather modest, semi-detached house.
"What's he doing?"
"He lives there."
"Why?"
"Because, young man, it is a very nice house and it is commensurate with his income."
Evergreedy sneered, even more so when he saw the man opening the door of a car that looked suspiciously like an old Ford. He opened his mouth, only to see the ghost put a finger to his lips. "Don't say a word, just watch. You might learn something to your advantage."
Raising an eyebrow, but remaining quiet, the younger man dutifully watched as the old-fashioned banker drove a short distance, emerged from his car outside a high street building and walked into a slightly shabby but spacious office. The movie now progressed at a furious pace, showing the banker having, during the course of his day, numerous meetings with, astonishing to behold, members of the public. At the end of the day he still looked quite jolly, and this cheerful appearance became more marked after a couple of hours at an after work party where he imbibed several drinks, chatted with numerous people who did not appear to be fellow bankers, and then drove home without any interference from traffic police or breathalysers. When he returned to his house, it was still light, an occurrence that was extremely rare for Evergreedy.
The cinema screen disappeared and the ghost examined his audience closely. "What do you think?"
"Bloody boring life," remarked the younger man.
"I'm surprised you think so," replied the ghost. "This past banker met many people during his day, people outside his own experience."
"But he didn't have much, did he? Crappy house, crappy car, crappy life."
"But he had a life." The Captain Mainwaring lookalike cast his eyes around Evergreedy's empty apartment.
"Oh, get lost, will you? I'm tired."
"I will leave now. You are very resistant. But, before the night is out, you will see another vision. You would do well to watch him carefully." With that, Captain Mainwaring disappeared.
Evergreedy stood up. He must have been dreaming. He felt fuzzy from too much champagne and the assault on his senses. He thought of having something to eat, but couldn't be bothered to send out for anything. Needless to say, there was nothing of any substance in his large American style fridge. He obviously needed more sleep and slumped back down on the now crumpled sofa and instantly lost consciousness.
After what seemed like a millisecond, he was awoken by the deep, throaty roar that he recognized as the revving of his own Lamborghini. He sat up, and was amazed to see this same car, exhaust blasting from the back end, and tyres spinning on his elegant carpet.
"What the...?"
"Hey, wanna come for a ride?"
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my car, in my apartment?" Evergreedy shouted, over the sound of the engine.
"I can explain all that," returned a disembodied voice.
"Go on then. I'd love to hear it."
A figure emerged from the car, and stood in front of Evergreedy with a distinct swagger. Despite his expensive haircut, his immaculately cut suit and intensely shiny shoes, he looked, somehow, a little cheap. Noticing the close inspection he was receiving, he lifted both arms in front of Evergreedy. "See. I wear a Rolex on each wrist, just to make sure people know how much I'm worth. Who do you think I am then?
"You're a vandal, that's who. I'm going to call security." Evergreedy advanced towards him with menace.
"Hang on a minute. That won't work. I'm the ghost of Bankers Present. You can't get rid of me that easily."
"Hah. I should have known. I'm hallucinating again. That's ridiculous, anyway. I don't look like you."
"You sure, mate? Come for a spin with me. I'm going to show you how others see us." The ghost grabbed Evergreedy's hand, before he had a chance to protest, and pushed him into the car. A strange sense of fatalism came over the young man as he allowed the ghost to manhandle him, close the doors and speed off through the window. The car spun alarmingly through the air as if through a vortex, and, suddenly, they were on a brightly lit street, full of pedestrians. The car accelerated, narrowly missing men, women and children, but succeeded in soaking them with the contents of a massive puddle. Evergreedy looked back at the bedraggled group of people, and couldn't fail to notice the hatred contorting their faces. His companion screeched to a halt and parked in a disabled parking space. He hopped out of the car, and beckoned for the other man to follow him. They walked into a very smart restaurant, barging past a middle-aged couple.
"My usual table," the ghost barked to the embarrassed maitre d'.
"I'm sorry sir, we only have one table left, and that has been reserved by these guests." He gestured towards the couple they had just trampled over.
"Too bad. I want my usual table. I spend a lot of money here and I expect satisfaction."
"But, sir, it is their 25th wedding anniversary."
"And, we've been saving up for years. It's a special treat."
"Tough. Do I have to phone the owner, my friend, to sort this out?"
"Very well, sir," the maitre d' replied, his lips closing into a thin line.
As
they sat down the ghost winked. "See. Money talks, doesn't
it?"
"But what does it say?" mused Evergreedy. For
some reason the wall into the restaurant kitchen appeared to be
transparent, and he could distinctly see the restaurant staff
spitting into every dish they brought out to the bankers' table.
Evergreedy's fillet steak was kicked around the kitchen like a
football before being flipped unceremoniously onto a plate.
After a lavish meal, for which he strangely felt no appetite, the ghost dropped him back at his own apartment.
"Is that it, then?" he said, glaring at the ghost who had caused him so much embarrassment.
"One more thing I want to show you. Look at the window." The cinema screen appeared again and Evergreedy wondered what he would see this time. The picture that emerged was a family tableau, a couple sitting round a small Christmas tree, watching a toddler climbing in and out of a cardboard box, a couple of presents still wrapped up beside him. His mother was cuddling a newborn baby. Despite the indulgent smiles, the man looked worried.
"I wish I could have bought him more," he said.
"Don't worry," his partner replied, "He's more interested in the cardboard box, anyway. It's always the same with kids."
"If it wasn't for the bloody bank bailout wrecking the economy, I'd still have my job."
She touched his arm. "Don't worry. We have each other. That's all that matters."
The picture faded. The ghost cleared his throat. "I'm off now. Got other fish to fry. You can probably guess who's coming next."
"I can't wait," Evergreedy replied.
This time, he was afraid to go to sleep. There was no doubt now that something weird was going on. He lay down and closed his eyes, but his mind was spinning. Could he have been dreaming, or had he really been the recipient of a visitation? He had never felt so unsettled in his life - not since waiting to see if there would be a bonus in 2008, anyway. He shut his eyes, and was quite sure that he wasn't sleeping, when he heard the sound of a person gently clearing their throat. Opening them cautiously, heart beating hard, He saw, standing in front of him, a young Chinese woman, small and demurely dressed in a simple black suit and cream blouse. She inclined her head in the slightest of bows.
"You are..?" Evergreedy said, with little surprise evident in his voice.
"I think you probably know who I am, by now," the diminutive creature replied.
"At a wild guess, I'd say the ghost of Bankers Yet to Come."
"That is correct," she said. "Well done. You have learnt something tonight, at least."
"So, what are you going to show me?"
"I will show you the future of banking, and what your future might be, if you would like to follow me," she said, holding out her hand, which trailed in the air like a wisp of mist. He tried to grasp it, with no reluctance this time. Although his hand connected with nothing more solid than thin air, he felt them both floating out through the window and into the air, as if they were Peter Pan and Wendy. This really was a weird trip.
They drifted for some time, over dark and murky landmasses. The sun was beginning to rise as they floated towards a land mass filled with skyscrapers.
The ghost scrutinized his face. "Do you know where we are?"
"It looks like Hong Kong," he said, "only different."
"It
is Shanghai," she replied, "but bigger, and even more
crowded than it was. This will be the banking centre of the World.
Would you like to see one of the trading floors?"
"OK,
why not?" he replied, uncertainly.
They floated through the side of a building and emerged into an enormous office, filled with rows and rows of screens and desks, each populated by a young, unostentatious Chinese man or woman. The digital clock on the side of the building flew through the hours, and the traders all stayed at their desks, supplied with bento boxes to prevent starvation.
"They are working very hard," ventured Evergreedy.
"Yes," replied the ghost, "and they are salarymen and women. They work for a set salary and do not ask for bonuses merely for doing their job. They are happy to have a position, and accept modest remuneration."
"I see."
"Do you?"
"I think so. But where am I in all this?"
"To discover that we will have to return to your country."
"Oh good," said Evergreedy.
The spirit snapped her fingers, and they were back in London, standing at the counter in McDonalds. This was most confusing.
"Like I said, where am I?"
The ghost inclined her head. Evergreedy followed her eyes. "What? I'm that fat git?"
"That is correct," she said. "The one who is flipping burgers."
He was about to complain, but she winked and disappeared.
Evergreedy jumped up. He was back in his own flat. He had been asleep. It had all been a dream. Thank God for that. He tried to push the thoughts that were crowding into his brain away into the deeper recesses. He felt uncomfortable in his skin. A little voice, barely audible, said,
"Evergreedy Squeeze. Have you learnt something tonight?"
Evergreedy stood up. "Yes, wherever you are, and whoever you are, thank you. You have helped me to learn the error of my ways."
"Good. And what have you learnt?"
"Well, I now have two New Year's resolutions - to learn Chinese and join a union."