8. Supper Time

THROUGH THE GATES OF TIME Part 8

“Well, that’s that,” whispered May when the two of them were back downstairs and had dared to turn the television to audible. Somehow they had managed to convince their two visitors that hygiene is not a thing to be afraid of and had shown them how to wash each other’s hair before having a shower. The nameless (to May and Roger) two had lingered in the shower, clearly finding the experience both novel and enjoyable. But then, the truth had more to do with the fact that in their experience water was always cold.

Now they were sitting on a settee, dressed once again in borrowed clothes as they had been before the washing experience. The television was on, people were dancing on it to romantic music and Uggah and Magga were both entranced by the image.

“They seem to like old film musical romances,” breathed Roger, “which is more than I can say I do.”

“Who are they?” asked May, frowning at Roger. “You seemed to be expecting them, so who are they and where did they come from? And why were they naked, for goodness’ sake?”

“I was expecting that other bloke,” explained Roger, “he does a fancy turn, you know, dancing and stuff in front of ladies, giving them something artistic to look at. I thought it would be a Christmas treat for you because.”

“Sound sleazy,” muttered his wife, “you should know me better than that.”

“He’s quite decent. He assured my that he doesn’t overstep the mark.”

“Depends where the mark is,” grunted May. “Those two over there, the one in your boxers and his lady in my nightie, would you say they were overstepping the mark?”

Roger glanced at their uninvited guests. They were sitting next to each other, and both of them had their eyes firmly on the television. Now that they were more settled he decided it must be time to find out where they’d come from, but how would he do that?

“I’ll get a locksmith,” he grunted, thinking aloud.

“What on Earth for?” asked May.

“The fellow. He came out of the closet, and as far as I’m concerned we’ve never had a key for it. Bearing in mind he can’t have been inside it for as long as we’ve lived here because if he has he’d be a great deal slimmer than he is! Or if his world’s in there he might have a kitchen, complete with a supermarket for his food… you see what I mean?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous! By the look of him, if he went into a supermarket he’d beat his way out as quickly as he could, and run for his life!”

“Well then you explain it! You saw him come from the closet, didn’t you?”

“I thought so...”

“He came out of the closet, May. I saw it with my own eyes, but if he didn’t, if he materialised from somewhere else, I’d like to know where that might be. Thin air, maybe?”

May shrugged her shoulders. “And the woman?” she said, looking at her, “she’s rough and ready and pretty in her own way, don’t you think?”

“You’ve got a very different idea from mine of what’s pretty and what isn’t,” replied Roger, “but yes, I see what you mean. Maybe pretty’s got something to do with the way she looks at him. Because I’d say she not only knows him but is a close friend of his.”

“Man and wife?” suggested May.

“I think we’d better inform the police,” decided Roger. “Look at them. They don’t belong here and they’re on edge all the time when they’re not watching Fred Astaire on the box!”

“Do we have to?” asked May, “By the look of them they’re not criminals. At least I don’t think they are. They are strangers in this land of ours and I’ve no idea how they got to be here, but we mustn’t treat them as if they were desperadoes!”

“But they can’t stay here!”

“Maybe they’ll go back to their own place as suddenly as they arrived from it?” suggested May. “Next week you can get that lock smith. He might be able to open that closet and then we’ll get some idea of what’s inside it.”

Roger shook his head. “I doubt there’s much space in there,” he said, “thinking about it, there can’t be. At a guess it’s not much more than a cupboard!”

“Maybe there are stairs down to another dimension?” murmured May.

Roger shook his head. “I wondered that, and then I saw what they were like on the stairs to the bathroom,” he said, “they had no idea what stairs are, they were even frightened of them.”

“I wonder if they need refreshment?” suggested May suddenly, “we’ve no idea how long it is since they ate anything.”

“Or had something to drink,” nodded Roger, “I tell you what, I’ll nip to the chippie...”

“You’ve forgotten that it’s Christmas Eve. He’ll be shut,” May told him.

“Of course. Then a sandwich?”

“That’s it. I’ll knock up a sandwich while you attend to the kettle,” said May, “I hope they understand hot drinks.”

“Surely everyone does!”

“And if they don’t? The woman didn’t think much of water from the hot tap, and that was only warm.”

“They made quite a fuss,” nodded Roger, “which was strange to say the least.”

“Then they can have one of the kids’ soft drinks. We’ve got plenty in. And I’ll have a beer. Fancy a glass of red?”

She nodded. “I most certainly do,” she said, “what we’ve gone through this evening would have driven many a married couple mad!”

“Let’s dim the lights and hope they go to sleep?” he said, more hopefully than realistically. The two strangers seemed to be absorbed by the images on the television.

“They’ve snuggled up a bit closer to each other,” pointed out May, “what do you fancy? Cheese?”

“With onion or tomato,” he said.

“I’m not chopping onion at this time of night because if I did I’d be in tears until bed time!” she replied, half seriously, “so it’ll be cheese and tomato. I hope they like sandwiches.”

She swept into the kitchen, which was off the main lounge where they were watching television and wondering where the strangers had hailed from. Roger followed her, and returned with a bottle of red wine and four glasses.

“I hope they like good plonk,” he said, “it seems a bit judgemental, foisting fizzy lemonade on them when we’ve got better. And it is Christmas.”

He opened the bottle and carefully poured out four glasses of red wine that sparkled like liquid rubies. He took a sip from one and sighed. It wasn’t the most expensive, in fact there wasn’t much wine that was cheaper, but he liked it, not that he looked on himself as any kind of connoisseur.

May returned with a plate of sandwiches and put one of a side plate, offering it to the strange primitive woman. She looked at it, puzzled.

“What is?” asked Uggah in his own guttural tongue. Magga shrugged. “Food?” she suggested. He frowned, and peered closely at the sandwich just as May offered him one of his own.

What should he do? Was it meant to be eaten? And which was the food? The white soft stuff with its red and cream filling peeping out, or the crusty thing it was sitting on?

Or were both meant to be eaten? He had no idea.

© Peter Rogerson 27.11.20