alisonlittleblog

The Boilers last Christmas is a fictional works by Alison Little, the characters places and activities are not based on real life.

Sal steps onto the stairs bearing a large Pot of boiling water towards the bathroom. She struggles slightly as it is heavy, the handle and it’s counterpart on the other side are are glowing from being on the gas rings. The boiler had started to go last year, it still produced some boiling water but not enough for a hot bath or could it dribble out more than a lukewarm filled sink for a morning facial wash. They were being evicted from the house after the Christmas holiday, the Bank were repossessing the little three bedroom terrace which they claimed was legally theirs, the courts being obliged to agree. The building trade had been hit hard by the nineties recession and Sals Dad could no longer make the mortgage repayments. Only safe for a few more days she thinks….

She takes another step up the stairs, steam coming from the bubbling water of the large cooking pot. The cast aluminium vessel was meant for Jam and wine making, both activities enjoyed by her parents, it had then come in handy when the boiler had stopped being forthcoming with enough warm water for a bath. Sal’ parents had brought it second hand from a car boot sale before she was born, it was from an era when things were made to last, coming with its own fully interlocking and steamer spout lid. Heavy-duty and fully functional which easily outstripped contemporary demand for cheap, press formed imports flooding the cookware markets. It was the fourth of four pots of boiling water of this size, plus a few kettles and smaller pots. She had decided to get it really hot and add bubble bath, take her time and relax while she was still safe.

Her foot raises over the creaky step, an automatic response as she had been doing so since childhood. Not that it made much difference now, the carpet had gone, her parents had held back on replacing it as they had been making the pennies stretch, then when they knew the house was being taken they didn’t bother to fund a new one. Her Dad had felt like this about everything in the house for the last year since the threat of Bankruptcy had become a reality. He had become miserable about everything, the voice of doom and gloom flooding the small interior on every possible occasion. His recession-depression was destroying Christmas, there was no real happiness and the presents were even grudgingly wrapped. Only safe for a few more days……………..

Sal enters the bathroom and pours the last pot of water into the steaming hot tub, the bubbles frothing up, even more, inviting than normal as luxuries such as bubble bath had been neglected as of late. It was cold outside, Sal looked out at the back garden as she closed the frosted glass window. The white on the grass had still not defrosted, the shed and the roofs of the terraces opposite still glistened from a night of below zero temperatures. The small plum tree looked dead from winter’s worst weather and there was no sign of any hope from a robin or a starling joining the form. Shivering slightly she locks the door and begins to undress, slowly taking off her clothes item by item. She looks down at her breasts, although she was seventeen she looked much younger, they had hardly developed at all. Her hands felt over the miniature bosom form, she had no real cleavage of any form and looked unlikely to start developing one any day soon. She thought of the other girls at six form she envied, those who looked their age and could fill out low cut cleavage exposing tops.

Sal stretches back in the bath thinking through the plans she had made for the week after next, she had arranged to work extra shifts at her part-time job and knew what days she could stay late in the six-form centre, ensuring her Mum and Dad would be at home when she returned. Sal relaxes in the tub of luxurious steamingly hot water, she knew she will get very little sleep next week, remember how on edge she was last time he was there. She had re-arranged her box room, she had the bedstead against the wall by the door so she can hear if he tries to come in. The bedside table ready to be moved across the opening edge of the door, the small latch locked, both should be enough to bar entry while she dosed.

She lies back with conditioner soaking in, she would try and make her hair look nice and add makeup to try and look older later on when she gets out the bath. Surrounded by the comfort of the bubbles as she gazes towards the door they begin to burst rapidly. She remembers back to how it had all began, Jack her elder brother had been at home from the Army on Leave. He had always found ways to terrorise her and her other Brother Craig, this time he began by pretending he didn’t know she was there, walking around naked from the bathroom, deliberately forgetting a towel when he knew they were alone in the house. This had progressed to Jack starting to play with himself, casually as if it was normal behaviour. He went further, asking Sal to play with it for him, telling her I bet she did that for all her boyfriends.

From that point onwards Sal had made it her mission to never be alone with Jack in the House again. Rising off the conditioner she heard her Mother come in the main door, trying to make the most of things she was singing Christmas Carols and telling her Dad off for complaining as they brought in the festive food shopping. Sal remembers the weak part of her plans, the Sunday morning when her parents go food shopping, she would get up early at the same time as then and take the dog for a long walk. Her lovingly affectionate furry terrier would enjoy a two to three-hour ramble down by the river, she would be safely out of the house. Sal hears a kind of hissing sound from the airing cupboard behind her head, then she can smell smoke drifting into the bathroom. It really was the boilers last Christmas, it was no more.