12 Daves of Christmas Page 6

  ‘And I take it you’re the only Dave Smith who resides here?’

  ‘Just me. Is there something I can assist you with?’

  ‘No, it’s okay. I was actually looking for another Dave Smith. Trying to find someone my grandma used to know, that’s all.’ I shrugged, wondering if we’d ever actually find him.

  ‘I take it the Dave Smith you’re looking for does not dress up in women’s clothing and sing at an RSL club?’ She/he winked.

  ‘Not as far as I know!’ I smiled, and went to turn away. ‘Sorry to bother you, and thanks for your time.’

  ‘It is my pleasure …’ she sang again, and I gave a little clap.

  I crossed off Dave/Davina’s name when I got back in the car and wrote ‘talented’ next to it. I was accumulating quite a good list of positive attributes from the Daves of Christmas, and I couldn’t wait to discover what I’d be writing next.

  For the sixth Dave of Christmas, my grandma gave to me

  A Dave more of a woman than me …

  Chapter 9

  Despite not having found the right Dave yet, Grandma and I were having quite a lot of fun. She did her own thing while I worked on my manuscript, popping in occasionally to offer plot ideas and reminding me to eat more than potato chips. When I’d done a decent amount of work for the day, we made our way to the residence of Dave number seven. Would this be lucky seven? I felt lucky. Maybe it was a small town thing, but I’d met so many nice people here. Everyone was helpful and sociable, and I could now understand the appeal of escaping the city for a tighter-knit community.

  I smiled in confidence as I knocked on the door of house Number 7 (see, lucky!) in King Street, wondering what delightful creature I’d meet next.

  ‘Who the hell are you and what the bloody hell do you want?’ a man asked when he wrenched open the door. ‘I’m busy! Can’t you see I’m busy?’ In his right hand was a wooden spoon covered in some sort of chocolate baking mixture.

  Um. Maybe there were some exceptions to the friendly small town thing.

  ‘Be careful, Abby, he looks like trouble and is most certainly not my Dave,’ Grandma warned.

  I stepped back a little as his red, irritated-looking eyes glared at me.

  ‘I’m, um, looking for Dave Smith.’

  He froze, eyes unblinking as his gaze bore into mine. ‘How do you know my name? Who sent you?’

  ‘No one, I’m just looking for—’

  ‘Are you here to steal my cookies? That’s it, isn’t it? Somehow you found out I’m baking my special cookies and you want them all for yourself!’

  ‘No, I don’t want your cookies, I’m just … look, is there anyone else called Dave here?’

  ‘I don’t know. Is there?’ He turned rapidly from side to side, as though paranoid someone would leap out from nowhere and grab him. ‘You’re stealing my identity, aren’t you?’ He leaned closer, his voice quiet and conspiratorial. ‘And you have my replacement hiding somewhere, ready to take over my life! I knew it!’ His arms shot up in the air and a glob of chocolate mixture landed on my cheek. I wiped it off, and realised his recipe must contain more than just the standard ingredients of flour, butter, and sugar.

  ‘Is he on drugs?’ Grandma asked. ‘Or perhaps he’s mentally unstable. You should leave, I think, Abby.’

  ‘You’re right, he’s obviously not the one we’re looking for,’ I said to Grandma. Out loud. Oops.

  Dave’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. ‘Who are you talking to? You’re wearing a wire, aren’t you!’ He reached and grabbed the top of my shirt, trying to pull it down.

  ‘Let go of my granddaughter!’ Grandma yelled.

  ‘Hey!’ I tried to pull his hands away. ‘Let go of me!’

  ‘Where is it? Where is the wire? Get rid of it, now!’

  As I struggled to free myself, Grandma Charlotte growled and grunted and pounded him with her fists. Futile, as each strike went straight through his agitated body.

  ‘I’m not wearing a wire. I’m just a girl, looking for a man!’ Oh dear, that didn’t quite sound right. Though it did sound a bit Notting Hill-ish.

  He let go and stepped back, picking up his wooden spoon that had fallen to the ground in the struggle. ‘So you are here for my cookies then.’

  I readjusted my top. ‘No! I’m not here for your cookies, and I’m not here to steal your identity, and I’m not wearing a wire. I came to the wrong house by accident, that’s all. Now I’ll be on my way.’ I turned and hopped off the porch, sneaking a glance back to make sure he wasn’t following me, when I tripped on a rock and fell face-first into a dead flower bush. The only positive was that my undies weren’t exposed and I wasn’t bleeding from a flesh wound.

  ‘That rock wasn’t there before, I’m sure it wasn’t,’ he called out. ‘Did you put it there? I bet it’s a secret camera. How dare you!’ He leapt off the porch and charged after me, and I quickly scrambled up and ran for it. Why the hell was his driveway so long! Argh!

  I turned to check if he was gaining on me just before I reached the end of his property, and I screamed at the look of him running towards me in an uncoordinated but determined way with a fierce, psychotic look on his face, waving a wooden spoon about like a machete. Is it possible to kill someone with a wooden spoon? ‘Help!’ Bizarre thoughts pierced my mind as I rummaged in my bag for my car keys and finally reached the car getaway vehicle.

  ‘Quick, Abby, quick!’ Grandma stood helpless, urging me to open the door, clearly frustrated she couldn’t help.

  I unlocked the car with a beep and jumped inside, locking the doors immediately. Dave banged on the roof with his wooden spoon, no doubt leaving special chocolate mixture all over it. ‘Argh! Go away!’ I started the engine and sped off, glancing in the rear view mirror to see him running down the street, then doubling over in exhaustion (and probably hunger). I didn’t catch my breath until I arrived back at the motel, and couldn’t wait to get out of this town and on to the next one.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re okay!’ Grandma fussed around me, desperate to do something with her hands but failing miserably. ‘I wish I could hug you!’

  ‘It’s okay, I’m okay. It’s all over now.’ I exhaled loudly, releasing the adrenaline from the latest Character Building Experience.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be putting you through all this. If you want to call it quits I don’t—’

  ‘No!’ I turned to face her. ‘I’m not giving up, we’ve come this far. And one off-his-face idiot isn’t going to get in the way of us finding the real Dave Smith.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure, dear.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Let’s get you inside and lock that door quick smart.’

  I went inside, locked up, and closed the curtains, though I doubted he would have followed me. He just wanted to bake his cookies and eat them in peace. And damn it, now I felt like some. The regular, non-drug-laced ones, of course.

  I opened my shopping bag but all I had bought was fruit (at Grandma’s request) and potato chips. Chips it is, then. I popped open the packet and munched away. Then I remembered the Dave Itinerary and giggled. ‘What am I supposed to write down as his positive trait, huh?’

  ‘Well,’ Grandma said, ‘there is always something positive to be found in any situation …’ She appeared to be thinking. Hard.

  ‘Good in the kitchen?’ I joked. ‘Energetic? Good bodyguard material?’

  ‘No, no, there has to be something else …’

  Silence.

  ‘Oh who am I kidding! That poor excuse for a man was an absolute nincompoop!’ She slumped on the bed in defeat.

  I giggled again, then wrote on the list next to his name: positive attribute TBC.

  For the seventh Dave of Christmas, my grandma gave to me

  A Dave from whom we had to flee …

  Chapter 10

  For the eighth Dave of Christmas, my grandma gave to me

  A Dave who has lost his memory …

  Sad, but true. At
first glance he could have been the right Dave, but on closer inspection by Grandma Charlotte she’d shaken her head. Regardless, he had seemed keen to chat and was very complimentary of my hair, which he said was ‘like the angels’, until his expression became distant and he’d asked again, ‘Hello, can I help you?’ as though I’d just arrived on the doorstep. After repeating myself and telling him not to worry and I’d be going, he repeated the same thing, adding, ‘Are you selling encyclopaedias?’ Not long after, I heard a toilet flush and an elderly woman shuffled to the door, telling Dave it was time for his medicine.

  ‘That’s something to be thankful for, then,’ Grandma said, ‘that my memory remained strong until the end.’

  I smiled at her as we sat in a park not far from the beach, watching young children feed the seagulls frolicking nearby. ‘So true. Such a shame, that poor man and his wife. He’s a charming chap.’ I was starting to sound like my grandma. Maybe the old lady undies had gotten to my head.

  ‘Write it down.’ She pointed to my bag, which housed the Dave Itinerary.

  ‘Oh yes.’ I withdrew it and added ‘charming’ next to Dave number eight. ‘I still can’t think of one for psychotic wooden spoon man, though.’ I chuckled.

  ‘I give you permission to leave that one out.’ She winked, then stared off into the distance as she fiddled with the hem on her blouse.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked, wishing I could cover her hand with mine.

  ‘Yes, dear.’ She didn’t look at me. ‘I was just thinking what a blessing and a curse memory is.’

  I swivelled on the park bench to face her, waiting for her to elaborate.

  ‘Memories, good memories, are wonderful things. But good memories can lead to bad memories too, and those, well, sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if I’d lost them.’ She lowered her head. ‘The time Dave and I had together was wonderful, but it only served to fuel the pain of our separation. It was the not knowing that was the worst. Had we broken up like a regular, failed relationship, at least there would have been closure. But not knowing what happened to him? Not knowing what horror he endured in the war and being told he most likely suffered some horrible fate? It’s so hard for a young woman in love to comprehend. Hard for anyone to comprehend.’ She shook her head.

  I glanced at the children wearing expressions of innocent delight as they watched the seagulls, and hoped they’d never have to experience what war was and the effects of being wrenched away from someone they loved. ‘I can’t imagine, Grandma. You must have been so strong. You are so strong.’

  She flexed her arm and clenched her fist, showing off her biceps. I laughed and folded forwards. ‘See? Sadness doesn’t last long with you. You pick yourself right back up.’

  ‘I had to. A busy life didn’t allow me time to wallow in grief. And once I had a family depending on me, responsibility became my focus. In a way, my grief morphed into an intense purpose to care for people; my family, my patients, and make sure no harm ever came to them.’ She smoothed down her shirt. ‘Had I not had my family, I may have fallen apart. Oh, and my books.’ She winked again. ‘Ah, reading. Such a simple but profound pleasure. I read my first romance novel after Harry and I had our first fight. By the end of it, I was feeling much better and he could see that, and we made up. I liked how every book had a happy ending. No matter what challenges were thrown at the characters, somehow things would always work out. Some might say that would make a boring and predictable story, but they couldn’t be more wrong.’

  ‘I agree with that.’ I nodded.

  ‘It’s all about the journey, isn’t it? In books, and in life. We all know we’re going to die one day, but that doesn’t make life boring and predictable just because we know the ending.’

  ‘Well said, Grandma! I’ll have to put that on a t-shirt.’ I smiled.

  ‘As long as it doesn’t have unsightly rips in it like your choice of attire,’ she scolded, and I coughed an ‘ahem’.

  ‘Did reading those books ever make you wish you could have had a different ending?’

  She twisted her lips to the side. ‘In the early days I often wondered how my life would have turned out had Dave come back and found me. But after a while, I realised I wouldn’t have wanted to change a thing. I wouldn’t have had my lovely children, after all, had I not married Harry.’

  ‘Of course. And as much as I want to find Dave for you, I am glad you married Grandpa, otherwise you could be sitting here talking to some other granddaughter who most certainly would not be as awesome as me.’ I held my hand to my chest, and Grandma Charlotte laughed.

  ‘Awesome indeed,’ she said. ‘Exceptionally awesome.’ A slight tingle laced my body as she attempted to put her arm around my shoulder, but it dropped back to her side. It was heartbreaking, seeing her so emotional but not being able to comfort her with human touch.

  ‘You don’t really wish your memories were erased, do you?’ I asked her.

  She looked into my eyes and a soft, magical smile floated onto her lips. ‘Not in a million years.’

  * * *

  That night I forfeited my writing time to watch Christmas movies with Grandma. Sometimes other things were more important. She was annoyed that she couldn’t share in my microwaved popcorn, but had closed her eyes and tried to imagine and remember the taste and smell. We watched It’s a Wonderful Life followed by The Santa Clause, and enjoyed an intelligent debate about whether classic or modern day movies were better. The result was inconclusive: classic movies had a certain charm and simplistic beauty, modern day movies had special effects and fast-paced storytelling. We agreed that the pros and cons balanced each other out. For one fabulous night, I forgot that Grandma was dead and that we were looking for twelve Daves. It was as though she was just visiting my apartment for a chat and a movie, like she’d done in the past.

  The next day, however, our mission resumed. And thanks to another helpful neighbour we found out that Dave number nine was definitely not the one we were looking for because a) he was in his forties, and b) he was in Hawaii with his boyfriend.

  Yep:

  For the ninth Dave of Christmas, my grandma gave to me

  A Dave who bats for the other team …

  Oh well, onwards and upwards, as Grandma would always say. But first, Dave number nine’s positive trait, which was hard to assign due to not having met him. But from what his neighbour had told us about his passion for water sports, singing joyful songs at the top of his lungs while gardening, and the fabulous street parties he would host, I decided to write ‘fun’.

  Who knew there would be so many diverse and interesting Dave Smiths out there? It made me want to become a bit more sociable generally, get to know new people face-to-face, not just online. Maybe I was missing out on meeting some fabulous (word of the day) people by being too holed up in my apartment and not getting out enough to different places or trying new things. I vowed to ‘get out more’ once I returned home, and to meet someone new every week. Even if they turned out to be wooden-spoon-wielding psychopaths, at least my life would be interesting and fun.

  Would the final three Daves be interesting and fun? Would one of them be The Dave Smith? Time would tell, as tomorrow we would make our way to the historic town of Umbarra to begin the final stretch of our mission.

  Chapter 11

  Ironically, driving into Umbarra was like driving back in time. Old buildings towered over the wide main street of town, trees lined the sidewalk, and cobblestones speckled the narrow laneways that led to quaint shops and bakeries, candy stores and homewares boutiques. There was even a horse-drawn carriage decorated with tinsel and jingling bells that clip-clopped through the streets, taking tourists on a town tour every hour. When I’d taken some time to browse a couple of funky vintage stores, Grandma had exclaimed, ‘Oh, so there are other people that have your fashion sense!’ She admired some of the old-style clothing that reminded her of the fifties, but couldn’t understand why I had to mix and match it with grungy, modern-day fas
hions to create a ‘mish-mash of confusion’, as she’d called it.

  I checked into a room above the pub, the only room that had been available on this Friday night, two weeks before Christmas. It was nicer than some of the motels I’d stayed in, apart from the bathroom door that kept unlatching and swinging open with a creaking sound. Maybe it was haunted. Insert winking emoticon here.

  After lunch we went to Wilson Street and I knocked on the door of 26, accidentally sending a Christmas wreath falling to the ground. I rescued it and had just finished reattaching it to the door when it opened, an old man with a fresh and eager-looking face greeting me with a smile.

  ‘Dave Smith?’ I asked both him and Grandma.

  He nodded and said, ‘How do you do?’ then shook my hand, while she stood close to him.

  Hurry up, Grandma! Is it him or not?

  ‘I … It might be him, I think it … maybe … I’m not one hundred per—’

  ‘And who do I have the pleasure of being introduced to?’ he asked, not realising he was interrupting the ghost who stood beside me.

  ‘Abby Solomon. We spoke on the phone a little while ago?’

  ‘Ah yes, that survey. I remember. Lovely to meet you in person.’

  Looked like this Dave had certainly not lost his memory.

  ‘You too. I’m sorry we had to cut our phone call short.’ I snuck a sideways glance at Grandma to see if she had worked out yet if it was him, but she still looked unsure.

  ‘No apology necessary for a busy young woman like yourself. Please come in so we may continue.’ He held out his arm and stepped back.

  Was it wise to enter the home of a stranger? Surely he was harmless, and there were no chocolate-coated wooden spoons in sight.

  ‘Oh, hang on, love. I’ll just be a sec.’ He wandered down the hallway.

  Oh yes. Now I remembered him. Prostate Man.

  While he was busy attending to nature’s call, I asked Grandma, ‘So, is it him or what?’