A Strange Parcel
Janice straightened the greetings cards again. She knew John Matthews, her boss, was watching her. He believed the staff at the gift shop should be busy every minute of the day whether there were any customers or not.
‘Gifts Galore’ was on the High Street of Anythorpe a small seaside town on the East Coast. Trade was slack and Janice felt sorry for her boss. He had spent a great deal of money setting up the business but keeping her on her feet straightening cards wasn't going to help them sell. Thank goodness she was off to Ibiza tonight with her friend Christine and could forget the shop for ten whole days.
‘I suppose,’ Christine said pessimistically as they seated themselves in the waiting room at the airport, ‘It is too much to hope our flight will be on time.’
Hardly had she spoken when a sinused voice commanded them: 'Passengers for the 585 flight to Ibiza now boarding...’
‘That’s us,’ Christine gasped. ‘Have I got time to go to the loo?’ Without waiting for a reply she shot off.
Janice gathered the bags. Really Christine was a liability she thought as she missed one handle of Christine’s carrier bag. A sandwich box, a packet of crisps, a mars bar and an orange juice escaped. Hastily she gathered them up and joined the queue.
‘Excuse me.’ An elderly man touched her elbow. ‘I think you dropped this.’ He thrust a small parcel into her hand and disappeared before she could thank him.
Anxiously Janice watched for Christine’s return and gave a sigh of relief as she came running.
‘Sorry, excitement always makes me want to go.’
It was when they were basking in the sunshine on the balcony of their apartment that the parcel was mentioned. Janice had returned from the local supermarket. ‘Nothing exciting in the way of cheese, I’m afraid.’ She unloaded the carrier bag. ‘Edam, Gouda and this,’ She banged a hard dry wedge on the table. ‘I asked for a strong cheese. The girl must have thought I meant unbreakable. ‘I bought a bottle of plonk.’
Christine brushed back her straying hair ‘It doesn’t matter, I’m not hungry and I’m starting a headache. I don’t know whether I should drink this. I don’t usually you know except for an occasional glass of sherry.’ She took a swallow of wine and a generous chunk of Edam before jumping to her feet and knocking the table with her ample knees. The wine ran red over the chequered mats.
‘Oh dear, bother! I’ve just remembered your parcel.’
‘What parcel? Sit down and finish your meal.’
‘The one you put in my carrier. It’s on the bed. I meant to give it you when I unpacked.’
‘I didn’t put anything in your carrier bag.’
‘You did! I saw you - when you were in the queue.’
Janice felt a cold sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She remembered the question, ‘Has anyone asked you to carry anything.’ Surely it was ridiculous. Christine was such a scatter brain she had obviously forgotten she had brought the parcel with her.
‘Here it is.’ Christine held the parcel. ‘What is the matter? You’ve gone quite pale.’
‘He said I’d dropped it. I thought it had come out of your bag.’
Their eyes met each registering a terrible fear. Christine held it to her ears listening for an ominous ticking.
‘If it was a bomb it would have been timed to go off on the plane.’ Janice said.
‘The return journey?’ Christine suggested.
‘No. You would have been expected to open it before then.’ Janice replied.
‘Not me - you. It is your parcel remember.'
Both women were quiet. They stared at the box for several minutes. Janice spoke first. ‘Either we open it or we take it to the police.’
‘We could just drop it in the street.’
‘Yes but what if?’ She didn’t need to finish the query. The possibility of drugs was in both their minds.
Every day the parcel was secreted in a new hiding place. It travelled from the refrigerator to the pot cupboard, rested in the broom cupboard, under the grill, in the sink cupboard and in a saucepan. It wasn’t until they returned from the last look at the sea on the final day that they determined to open it.
‘Right,’ Janice said. ‘I’ll get my nail scissors you get the thing.’
She returned to the balcony to find Christine empty handed. ‘It’s gone!’
Impatiently Janice turned on her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Where have you hidden it?’
They search every hiding place they had thought of and some they hadn’t.
‘You’ve thrown it away.’ Janice accused. She didn’t believe Christine’s denials and the atmosphere was decidedly cool as they finished their packing.
They were ready to depart when the house maid appeared dragging a small boy whose face gave undeniable evidence of recently gorged chocolate. His mother gave him a shake each time she shot a volley of words. She displayed a small battered Easter Egg box.
Christine and Janice looked at each other.
‘An Easter Egg,’ Janice gasped. She began to laugh. Christine joined in. Their helpless laughter infected the boy and his mother and soon all were moping their streaming faces.
When they had calmed down the maid gave them a chocolate smeared card which she indicated had been inside the parcel. Janice read it:
‘A gift from an admirer.’
She turned it over. On the back was printed ‘Gifts Galore' for all your gifts.
They were still laughing when they boarded the plane.
They stopped laughing when Christine said, ‘I’ve just remembered I left the carrier in the shop store room. Could the egg have fallen in?’
‘All wrapped up in brown paper? You must be joking.’
‘John!’ They said simultaneously.
‘I reckon he fancies you.’ Janice said.
‘Not me. He must have thought the bag was yours.’
‘A good thing I posted my resignation before we left or he might have thought it was something to do with the size.’
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