Christmas Toffee (part 1)

Two weeks ago I promised you a Christmas story. Now the first part is ready, and if I want to finish it before you are sweating over your turkeys, I´d better bring it immediately. When and where will it end? - no one knows, least of all me. 

-------------------------------------------------

When Toffee Brown moved to Knavesborough, no one noticed her the first few weeks. She could just as well have been a ghost. Perhaps she was? No, surely she would have noticed. She tried to poke a finger through her own body and wailed loudly. These country bumpkins just chose to ignore her! How inconsiderate!

She, however, noticed her neighbour in the adjacent house. The blind man in the wheelchair with the afghan coverlet and the blue-eyed cat constantly on his lap. She especially noticed that each time they passed each other on the pavement, the cat ignored her, but the man seemed to be following her with his eyes, but of course that was impossible. Toffee, you are losing it, she whispered to herself.

Every day she made up her face as carefully as always, she did her white hair and put on her tailored, pink coat before she went out to walk Tweedledee, her snow white Pekinese. But invariably, her new neighbours would pay more attention to Tweedle than to herself. Especially the cat which glared as if it wanted to pounce on her poor little doggie. And she had a creepy feeling that its blind owner was laughing at her.

Whenever she passed a shop window, she checked her elegant figure among the glittering Christmas decorations and made sure her beret sat at just the right angle. Nothing wrong with her, as far as she could see.

“Trimming our feathers, are we?”

Toffee jumped, sure she was going to have a heart attack.

“Didn´t mean to scare you, Ms Brown. I am Agatha Mistletoe, your new neighbour.  Jim Partridge´s nurse.” Miss Mistletoe´s creased face cracked up in a broad smile much like the vigilant cat´s.

“Oh, the gentleman in the wheelchair?” Toffee was not sure he was what she´d consider a real gentleman, but she never forgot her manners.

“Sure.” Miss Mistletoe barked. “Mr Partridge is our local antique dealer. Old knick-knacks are his speciality.” She tilted her head and sized Toffee up.

“Have a good day, Miss Thistlemoe.” Toffee spun around and dragged Tweedledee back so fast his short legs hardly touched the pavement, wishing she had never heard about Knavesborough.