SHORT STORY

The White Elephant

The gift that keeps on giving

Paula woke up late. Downstairs was silent. Normally, her son Damian would be playing music in the living room, smoking joints, watching TV, or buying shit online.

The summer holidays were a nightmare. She hated them almost as much as her ex-husband, who’d saddled her with a troublesome son and a whopping great mortgage.

Luckily, she wasn’t at home most days, as she worked full-time at a recruitment agency finding other people good jobs. Any money she made went on the mortgage and keeping D-Man — as all his stupid friends called him these days — in trainers, clothes, takeaways, video games, cinema tickets and dope.

She spent nothing on herself, and on the days she had off, like today, she spent it in the kitchen looking at the bills. When she mentioned to Damian that perhaps he should get a job during the summer holidays, he flew into a rage and said it wasn’t his fault his dad had left him.

Paula would feel guilty and say sorry. Only for him to ask her for another £100 the next morning. Life was becoming intolerable, which was why she had nailed two and a half bottles of red the night before, ate a curry in her room and watched Netflix.

Paula got out of bed and walked into her tiny shower in the en suite. Her ex-husband had enlarged the main bathroom to give Damian a bigger one. Leaving them with a shower no bigger than a cupboard.

But at least the water was hot, as she let it pour over her body for a good fifteen minutes, trying to snuff out the hangover. She was already dreading the day and wondered why she simply didn’t work on her days off — earn more money!

She only took them to tell herself she was being a good mother, but what did he care. As long as he got money, he couldn’t care whether his mother was there or not.

She dressed and went downstairs and checked the post. The house was a 1970s three-bedroom semi-detached, in a suburban estate that was neither affluent nor poor. Dangerous or safe. Just dull.

They only bought it because it was cheap. But then her ex-husband had to remortgage it when his company got into difficulty. Then he left her, and the last thing she had heard, he was in Thailand. She had wanted to sell and move out of town, but Damian had gone nuts at the suggestion of leaving his friends. So they stayed put.

There was a letter from the bank. So she walked through to the kitchen that looked over the garden. She opened the letter and quickly read it. With interest rates going up, she braced herself for the worst.

Then breathed out slowly.

She made a coffee and reread the letter. Mr. Nelson, it said, formerly of 23 Addlestone Drive, had made a payment to the above mortgage account totaling £83,000, reducing the monthly payments by over a half.

She read it again. And again. Then phoned the bank. Quite straightforward, the advisor told her. The payment was made two weeks ago from Thailand, and the money cleared a few days ago.

‘Your lucky day!’ the advisor said over the phone.

Paula sat looking out of the window. Why would he do that? She was tempted to phone him. But why? If he had wanted to make a big thing out of it, he would have called her. Maybe Damian knew something?

‘D-man!’ she shouted out. ‘Wanna go for lunch?’ she asked without thinking, her mood clearly improved by the news.

She went into the living room from the kitchen and was taken aback when she saw a white elephant standing by the fireplace with its trunk rooting around in the indoor plants.

On any other occasion, she would have been scared to death. But for some reason, she wasn’t. It seemed normal. As though it had been there all her life.

She knew straight away it was Damian. It was the eyes. Despite his attitude and anger, he had beautiful eyes. Big eyes that looked like the chocolates her ex-husband used to buy. Big fat Belgian chocolates called Walnut Surprise or Cherry Fondue or Orange Oval or Brandy Barrel.

The elephant had Damian’s forehead as well. Even though her son was only 16, it was permanently creased, as though it needed ironing. And was perhaps the reason, he always rubbed his head, especially when he was mad.

There the resemblance ended, of course — it was an elephant. But there was something gentle about the creature. Just like Damian had been when he was young. Such a gentle and caring boy. Always asking if his mother and father were OK.

After her ex left her, Damian changed, almost overnight. He was ten when it happened. And almost from that age, he became difficult, when before he was perfect.

He started being violent towards other children at school. Biting and fighting. So much so, that he was expelled. By the time he was 13, he had been expelled three times, and was only at the school where he was now, because he had met friends there. Other kids from broken homes, absent or dead fathers. Painkiller-addicted mothers with not enough love or money to go round.

At least, Paula tried. Yes, she enjoyed a drink, but it wasn’t the norm. She worked, cleaned and cooked, and tried her best to give Damian a good life. And now he was a white elephant. Figure that out, Paula!

She remembered the origin of the expression from school. It came from Siam, where the kings used to give their courtiers who they didn’t like, White Elephants, in order to burden them. It was the perfect ploy. The perfect non-present. Like being given a bomb, and told to keep it. Which is exactly how she’d felt these past six years.

Until now.

Of course, for many, the idea of having an elephant would be an impossible burden. But for Paula it was beautiful. She loved elephants. They were wise, quiet, calm, and gentle. Just like Damian used to be.

What she would do with it, she had no idea. But she didn’t care. For the past six years, she’d been saddled with a white elephant that had only given her grief. Now she had her son back, the real one that she wanted to keep.

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