Chance encounter : A Christmas story

These past months had been gloomy enough and now there was Christmas with nowhere to go and no one to see. She'd got the children, she'd made sure of that. And they were going away too, with that new man of hers.

Joe picked up a four-pack and released one of the cans from the plastic hoop. He pulled the ring and drank from the tin. He could do this because there was no one to point out his lack of manners.

The beer was soon gone, so he freed another. Madonna was on the television, hurrying from a plane in Scotland to a waiting car with black windows. Joe looked at the disappearing Madonna over the rim of the can, and absently pulled the ring. There was a great whoosh, as if someone had agitated the can.

"Thank God for that. You've no idea what it's like being cooped up inside one of those things. And, heavens, what is that muck you are drinking? Supermarket special, I'll warrant."

"I've just got divorced, you know. I have to count the pennies, and..." Joe realised that he was talking to... to what exactly?

He had been alone a minute ago and now there was a man in the room; or something like a man. The bulky stranger sat next to Joe on the sofa, the one that had come from his mother's garage and still smelt a little strange.

"No use getting all resentful over it, is there?"

"Over what?"

"Madonna's wedding for a start. She's obviously not going to invite you at this late stage. And your ex-wife, well she's not going to relent and have you round for a slap-up Christmas dinner, is she?"

"God no, but... hey, why am I talking to you? Who on earth are you and why did come out of that can of beer?"

"We can't choose the vessel. Personally, I'd have gone for a classier container, something red and fruity with a cork, perhaps. Or a nice single malt. But no, to find my way in here, I had to hide in a vessel of what you were drinking."

"Look, I'm only on my second can, so I can't be seeing things yet."

"Very true, Joseph..."

"No one calls me that, only my mother."

"Ah, yes, your mother. She is thinking of you. But she'd always wanted to go on a Christmas cruise. She does feel a bit guilty, but she's having a grand old time."

"How...?"Joe stopped. He did not know what to say. He looked round the small rented flat, taking in the few Christmas cards, the drawing his daughter had done for him, portraying him as Father Christmas, which was a joke in itself.

"You look puzzled, perplexed and perturbed, Joe. I can call you Joe, can't I?"

"Whatever you like, but what can I call you?"

"Chance is my name, or to give me my full moniker, the complete appellation, Ghost Of A Chance."

"And what...?" Joe looked at the figure next to him. He was handsome and burly in a way, bald but with white tufts of hair rimming his skull. His eyes burned coal black, as bottomless as space.

"I know, I'm getting on a bit. But I don't look too bad, considering."

"Considering what?"

"Oh, the centuries I've wasted. But we are not here to talk about me."

"So why are you here?"

Chance coughed and put a finger through the solid-looking flesh of his throat and pulled out something, which he flicked into the bin. "Ah, that's better. A bit of something caught in my throat. A bone, I shouldn't wonder. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You, my friend, are sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Quite puddled in resentment, aren't you? You're not the only one who's heading for a dismal Christmas, you know."

"Wife's left me, kids are with her and..."

"Yes, yes. Snap out of it. I'm here to show you what might be, if you got off your self-pitying behind."

Chance swirled thick, gnarled fingers in the air and plucked out a sheet of curled parchment. "This is your flat. Sorry, it's an old map, but it's all I could find. In your street there are... one, two, three, four, people with no company for Christmas. As well as that old couple over the road whose children only pop round for an hour on Christmas Eve."

"So?"

"So? What sort of a way is that to talk to a venerable ghost who's been cooped up in a can of cheap beer?"

"Er, sorry. So what would you like me to do about it?"

"What would I like you to do? You can do whatever you wish. What I might suggest is this." Chance swirled his fingers over the map across which a picture now flowed. There was a party going on, in this very room. But the room wasn't sad and threadbare, it was full of people.

"What's...?"

"Heavens, use your imagination. This is the party you could have if you only did something, instead of sitting here, feeling dejected, disconsolate and woebegone..."

"I reckon it was a dictionary you had stuck in your throat."

"Ho ho... sorry, that's the other fellow's catchphrase, isn't it? Well, I think I'll be off."

"Hang on a minute, who's that?" Joe pointed to a dark-haired woman who smiled shyly as she received a drink.

"Ah, yes, thought you'd notice her. Three doors down. Boyfriend's just left her, parents are in Canada. She's all by herself and... That's all I'm prepared to say. Time I was going. Farewell."

With that, Chance was gone, leaving a trace of mustiness in the air. Joseph sat for a moment. Then he turned off the television. He could smarten this place up a bit. There'd be room, wouldn't there? Only a small party, a happy gathering. It was certainly an idea.