Magic Lamp

Margaret stood up, walked around the table, and kissed me on the cheek. I turned my face towards her. She kissed me lightly on the lips before walking back to sit down. I could see a tear on her cheek.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why? To say thank you, of course," Margaret retorted.

"Not that. Why the tear?"

Margaret took a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and wiped it away.

"You notice too much, Peter." She said.

"You're worried too, aren't you, Margaret?"

"Yes." That was almost whispered.

"Why?"

"Why? Because my son and I are facing a very uncertain future. As from tomorrow both of us are self-employed with no customers. We hope it will work out eventually. The next few weeks or months will be difficult."

"What sort of builder is your son?"

"Ian is qualified in several trades. He's been working for Smith and Jones for a decade. They have been very supportive by encouraging him to take courses and pass examinations. He's a plumber, painter, electrician and can do most things. Smith and Jones are short of work. They've had to let a third of their people go, including Ian. That's another worry. If there isn't work for the best builders locally, who is going to employ Ian?"

"Or you?"

"Yes, or me. I had a regular wage, regular customers every week, and now I'm on my own. All my regulars have gone to the company who bought out my employers' contracts."

"I found something else yesterday," I said.

"Trying to change the subject, Peter?"

"No. If you'll listen for a couple of minutes, it might be relevant."

Margaret didn't look convinced.

"I found a bronze Roman lamp. As I was trying to clean it the kitchen light tube failed. I should have changed it weeks ago when it began to get dim and flicker. The lamp and that tube got me thinking about light..."

Margaret was listening patiently but I could sense she was confused.

"The new light tube showed me how grubby my kitchen was. It's filthy except for the new washing machine..."

Margaret was beginning to see where the conversation was going.

"...and the rest of the house inside and out is neglected. Since my divorce I haven't cared for my house or myself. Apart from waving my metal detector across the beach and coming here a couple of times a week I haven't really had a life. When I bought the bungalow it had been neglected. Five years on? It hasn't changed. But..."

I grinned at Margaret.

"But if I employed a professional cleaner the inside of the bungalow could be much better. And if I employed a multi-skilled builder the maintenance that has been ignored for years could be done."

"Could you afford to?"

"Except during the first six months after I moved in? Yes. I could have paid for professional help years ago. Now the cost would not worry my bank manager unless I intended to pull the bungalow down and rebuild it."

"You don't look as if you are in funds, Peter. You've been wearing the same set of clothes for years. Are you sure you could pay?"

"Yes, Margaret. I could pay and pay some of it in advance if that would help you and Ian. I'd pay for materials and equipment if they were needed. I assume you haven't got the cleaning machines you used?"

"No. Nor the company van. All I've got is my ancient hatchback. I've got mops, buckets, and a vacuum cleaner in my house but nothing I used to use professionally. I'll be starting from scratch."

"And Ian?"

"He's got some of his own tools and an old van. But..."

"No buts. How about you two come to my bungalow on Tuesday morning? I'll take the day off work. They owe me weeks of time off. We can talk about what needs doing, what equipment you need, and you could start whenever you're ready."

"OK, Peter, I'll come. I'll talk to Ian tomorrow. I'm sure he'll be available on Tuesday too. I'll let you know by text if he can't come."

"No need. Either he's available or he's not. The cleaning needs doing first."

"OK. How about another drink now, Peter?"

"Only if I'm paying. What do you want?"

"A glass of red wine. I'll get it. Another pint for you?"

"Yes."

I followed Margaret to the bar. She pulled my pint and poured herself the wine. I pushed a note across the bar. She operated the till and gave me the change. She came out from behind the bar just as Mervyn and Diane walked back in. I was picking up my pint. I put it down hurriedly as Diane rushed at me and wrapped her arms around me. Mervyn was smiling at us as Diane kissed me several times.

"Thank you, Peter, thank you," Diane said still hugging me.

"It's nothing," I replied.

"It's far more than nothing," Diane retorted. "That ring reminded me how much Mervyn loves me and what I should be thankful for."

"And now you've thanked him, sister, can I have Peter back, please?" Margaret said. "He's mine."

Diane let me go.

"Yours?" Mervyn queried. "That's a new development."

"He's my new employer," Margaret answered. "I'm cleaning his bungalow starting on Tuesday."

"I thought you meant..." Mervyn said. His sentence was stopped by a kiss from Diane.

"We'll see about that," Margaret said as her arms wrapped around me.

She turned me to face her and pulled my head down to kiss her.

"It has possibilities," Margaret said. "But for now we're just having a drink together."

She and I picked up our drinks and walked back to the table. This time we sat side by side. Mervyn and Diane continued kissing.

"Sorry, Peter, I shouldn't have claimed you. I was just teasing Diane."

"Did I object?"

"No. You didn't. Why not?"

"I've always enjoyed your company, Margaret. I've had two kisses from you in one evening. Two more than you've ever given me. Diane kissed me too. That's more kissing than I've had since Anne left me."

"Oh dear. They meant more than they should, didn't they?"

"I liked being kissed. I know they don't mean anything..."

"Mine do, Peter. You've been a friend for years. Unlike some of the other regulars you've always treated me as if I was an attractive lady. Most look straight past me at Diane. You helped me with the paperwork when Don died..."

"Why not? I have expertise that you needed."

"And all the thanks you got was tears against your shoulder."

"And coffee, Margaret. Many cups of coffee. They helped as did the knowledge that I was useful."

"What I loved was that you didn't do anything but help. Some other men tried to take Don's place in my bed. That was insulting, as if their offer of sex was irresistible. I was hurting, grieving and numb. Sex was the last thing on my mind. You came as a friend and nothing more. You helped me to sort myself out and walked away. You cared about me. You didn't see me as a newly-available woman. You treated me as a friend. At the time I was too hurt to notice your consideration. I've thought about it since and wondered if I could repay you with help from me. Until today you were too distant, too aloof, and stuck in a rut. What changed, Peter? What changed?"

"I've seen the light," I joked.

"Meaning?"

"In two ways. Literally -- changing the kitchen light tube showed how much I had neglected the kitchen and my house. In the other sense I saw that my life was going nowhere. I had no plans for the future. I was just existing from day to day. Last night I dreamed of you."

"Me? That sort of dream?"

I laughed.

"No. Maybe that will happen tonight. After all, you've kissed me twice."

Margaret kissed me again.

"Three times. What was last night's dream?"

I explained about the magic Roman lamp and Margaret following it with a magic vacuum cleaner. She thought my dream was hilarious.

"I'd like to see the lamp," Margaret said.

"I was going to take it to the museum tomorrow lunchtime. Penelope, the Portable Antiquities person, is always there on Mondays. Any other time I'd have to make an appointment."

"And she might keep it?"

"That is a possibility."

"That's a shame. I'd still like to see it, Peter."

I looked at my watch. There was more than two hours to closing time.

"It would only take me five minutes to go home and get it."

"Yes please, Peter. I'll get you another pint. When you return with the lamp you'll get another kiss."

"That offer is..."

She kissed me as we stood up.

+++

I walked back into the pub with the cardboard box. I sat down next to Margaret. She kissed me on the cheek. I felt slightly disappointed. I opened the box lid and lifted the tissue paper. The Roman lamp gleamed brightly. I picked it up and passed it to Margaret. She turned it in her hands looking intently at it.

"The inscriptions?" She asked, peering at me over her glasses.

"They're Latin. That one means 'Let light bring peace'. The other one means 'Know yourself'. But the coat of arms is a puzzle. It can't be Roman."

"There's something you might have missed, Peter," Margaret said. "Look into the spout where there should be a wick."

She held it so the light shone into the spout.

"Oh shit!" I said.

"Shit indeed," Margaret said, laughing at me. "I don't think the Romans had screw threads in their lamps."

"They didn't, and certainly not machine cut ones. How did I miss that?"

"Perhaps because you were dreaming of me with a magic vacuum cleaner?"

"No, Margaret. I should have seen that thread when I cleaned the lamp. I feel foolish."

"It's still a wonderful object, Peter, even if it isn't Roman. And you should treasure it. It has changed your life even if I don't have a magic vacuum cleaner."

Margaret put the lamp back on the tissue paper. She kissed me full on the lips.

"Margaret! Let Peter breathe. We can't afford to lose customers."

It was Diane standing beside us.

"He's enjoying it," Margaret retorted.

"I'm sure he is. Could you take over behind the bar? The girls have gone and Mervyn and I..."

"OK. I know, Diane. You want to thank Mervyn properly for the ring he wanted to give you all those years ago..."

Diane blushed. Margaret finished her answer.

"I'll look after the bar and shut down at the end, Diane. Off you go."

"Thank you, Margaret. And thank you, Peter. You don't know how much that ring means to us."

I stayed and helped Margaret clear up when the pub closed. She pushed me out of the side door with a final kiss.

+++

That night I had another dream. It started with Diane and Margaret laughing as they hugged and kissed me. It changed to Penelope giggling as she looked at my not-Roman lamp. But the lamp floated around my bungalow again showing the dirt, the clutter and the neglect. Margaret was following it slowly but the lamp was moving faster than she could clean. She admitted defeat and came back to me in the kitchen. Again she hugged me from behind as I sat on a chair. All three women sat around my kitchen table discussing the lamp and the changes it was making to me. They seemed to approve. The dream ended with Anne's voice in my head saying 'you can do it, Peter'. Do what? I didn't know but Anne seemed sympathetic. I was feeling slightly sad that we had divorced as her voice faded.

+++

In the morning I shaved and showered as usual. I reached into my wardrobe to get one of my ancient office suits. My hand stopped. I looked at my Sunday-best suit in the dry-cleaner's plastic bag. I had last worn it to a funeral two years ago. Why not? I thought. I grabbed it.

As I drove the few miles to work I was too aware that my car was old, rattling, and the inside was like a mobile dustbin. Instead of going to the office car park I went to the car wash fifty yards away. I left it there, telling them to give it a full valet and ditch everything inside. I carried the lamp in its cardboard box.

Work was as boring as usual but one of the younger women had a query for me. That wasn't unusual. I have been working there for several decades and have dealt with almost every type of problem. What was unusual was her thanks. She kissed me on the cheek. She had never done that before.

At lunchtime I walked to the museum carrying the lamp in its box. I had to wait a few minutes to see Penelope. She was at her desk talking to a teenager who had found what he thought was a Roman coin. I heard her tell him that it was a replica and similar ones were sold in the museum's shop. But she thanked him for checking. As the teenager walked away she looked up at me and smiled.

"What have you found this time, Peter?" Penelope asked.

"I thought I had found a bronze Roman lamp," I said. "It looks Roman but it can't be."

I took the lamp out of the box and unwrapped it.

"It's beautiful, Peter," Penelope said. "You've cleaned it?"

"Yes. It was buried in the sand. It took many hours to get it looking as it does."

"And why do you think it isn't Roman?"

I pointed to the spout.

"There's a machine-cut screw thread in there."

Penelope picked up a magnifying glass and peered.

"So there is..."

"And it has a heraldic crest there," I added.

"Ah. I know that one, Peter."

"You do?"

"Yes. It is Catherine Di Medici's crest and that inscription is her motto. I think I know what the lamp is. Hang on a few seconds while I check the archives."

Penelope typed a few search terms into the museum's archive catalogue. She had to repeat the search several times before she had what she wanted.

"I thought so. I was sure I had seen a picture of one."

"So? What is it?"

"It's French. It's a replica of a bronze lamp given to Catherine Di Medici. But it was called 'The Magic Lamp' -- in French of course. It was sold as a souvenir at the 1889 Paris Exhibition, the Exhibition for which the Eiffel Tower was built."

Penelope turned the screen towards me.

"As you can see, screwed into the spout is a piece of moulded glass in the shape of a flame. Inside that was a filament, making the flame a light bulb. In the body of the lamp there were wet cell batteries, Leclanché cells. It was a popular gimmick to show electric light. Although it worked and was wonderful to people who had never seen portable electric light, the lamps only lasted a few hours. The batteries would go flat or the filament would burn out.

It was expensive. There were more complaints about the Magic Lamp than about anything else sold at the Paris Exhibition. The basic lamp was sold with Catherine Di Medici's heraldic crest and motto. For a franc extra the customer could have a second motto added like your one.

It's a nice item. It looks great. But you're right, Peter. It's not Roman. It's late 19th Century French. As that it's not covered by the Portable Antiquities Scheme. You can keep it with no problems."

"I will, Penelope, I will. Finding it has been interesting and has been a catalyst for changing me."

Penelope looked at me.

"Changing you? I can see you have a smart suit on, unlike your usual ones. What else?"

"It has made me think about what my life is like -- boring with no purpose. This suit is just a symbol. I could have bought as many new suits as I need. I just couldn't be bothered. Not bothering has been the theme of my life since my divorce. I haven't moved on. Now I am, or I am going to."

"To a new woman?" Penelope laughed. "That's the usual reason."

"Maybe. Not yet. I need to sort myself out first to make me worth considering by anybody."

"I think you are being too harsh on yourself, Peter. I've enjoyed discussing your finds with you. You are more interesting as a person than you seem. But it's ending. Today is my last day here."

"It is? I'll miss you, Penelope. Where are you going?"

"Going? First to the Registry Office to get married. I've found someone who wants me and likes my teenage son too. My son approves..."

"Congratulations, Penelope."

"Which reminds me. I should apologise to you, Peter. You heard me telling my son off on the phone. That was very unprofessional of me."

"I didn't mind. Teenagers can be annoying."

Penelope laughed.

"He was telling me to get married and stop dithering."

"That sounds like good advice."

"It was. I was annoyed because he was right. All three of us were unhappy because I was stalling."

"And now all three of you are happy?"

"Yes. And you look happier too, Peter."

"I am, Penelope, I am. Now I ought to get back to work, taking my Magic Lamp with me."

Penelope looked around.

"Not without saying goodbye, Peter."

We stood up. She came round the desk to hug me. She kissed me on the cheek.

"Goodbye, Peter. I'm transferring to another museum in London."

"Goodbye, Penelope, and my best wishes to you and your bridegroom," I said.

"And my son?"

"And your son too. Any son who tells his mother to stop dithering and get married must be a good one."

"He is."

I left a smiling Penelope as I walked out of the museum carrying the Magic Lamp.

As I walked back to my office I was feeling happier than I had done for years. In the last two days four women had kissed me. Three of them meant nothing except thanks but even thanks was nice. As for Margaret? Who knows?

+++

After work I collected my car from the car wash. I paid for the full valet.

"Mr Andrews?" The manager said. "As you asked we cleared out the rubbish but we found this under the passenger seat."

He held out an old rectangular tobacco tin. It rattled as it moved.

"It was making a noise. Inside..." He lifted the lid.

"...these look old."

"Thanks. Yes. They are old. They are lead musket balls." I replied.

Instead of going home I went to the local shopping mall. My car wasn't rattling. The musket balls sitting on the passenger seat were. I tried on and bought three new suits on my debit card. My old office suits were too worn for anything but recycling. I had been wearing them years after I should have replaced them.

I ordered a takeaway Chinese meal to be delivered. I didn't want to cook in my mucky kitchen.

I didn't have any dreams that night, or if I did I didn't remember them. I just slept soundly.

+++

Margaret rang my front door bell at nine o'clock. I opened the door. She was alone. I took her coat and hung it up.

"No Ian?" I asked.

"Not yet. He has to go to Smith and Jones this morning to collect his final pay packet and his paperwork. He should be here in a couple of hours. I haven't brought any equipment in. I want to see what has to be done..."

"Everything, everywhere," I said. "But first? A cup of tea while you look at the state of the kitchen."

Margaret followed me to the kitchen. She sat down at the kitchen table while I boiled the kettle. I could see her looking around.

"Oh dear," she said. "This kitchen alone would take a whole day, Peter."

"Longer I think. Apart from what you see the insides of all the cupboards need washing."

"Washing? It might be cheaper to ask Ian to rip them out and replace with a new kitchen. The paint is peeling on the outside. I could scrub the work surfaces but they are damaged in so many places. Whatever I do they'll never look clean. If this kitchen was a commercial one the food safety inspectors would condemn it and issue an immediate closure notice. It's unhygienic and unsafe."

"That bad, Margaret?"

"Worse. The wiring is dangerous. Your cooker and fridge look as if they were thrown out of the Ark. The plumbing? That sink would be better as a flower trough. It's cracked and leaking."

"Oh. It didn't think it was that damaged."

I gave Margaret a mug of tea.

"Seriously, Peter, I shouldn't clean this kitchen. It would be a waste of my time and effort. I can't make it safe or clean. Ian could find out how much it would cost to put a new kitchen in. You would have to have the floor screeded, some of the walls replastered, and it should be rewired before the new kitchen could be installed. I suppose the rest of the bungalow's wiring is as old?"

"Yes, Margaret. It is. The electricity company told me a couple of years ago that I needed to rewire. I still have round pin plugs and sockets. "