I should explain that Benihogar – although a stone’s throw from Alicante – is surrounded by arid countryside. There are roosters that crow in the morning and donkeys that bray in the afternoon, and a herd of smelly goats that get guided here and there by the local goatherd to pasture on the scrubby, dried out land.

‘You had an accident,’ Pepe-Luis said in Spanish. It was a statement, not a question. ‘I saw you go off the road.’

‘Yes,’ I replied. I looked back at the stationary car in the olive grove. Gertie was nowhere to be seen. Had I imagined her?

‘Are you OK?’ Pepe-Luis asked me in his thick Benihogar accent.

‘Yes,’ I answered in Spanish. ‘I managed to get out of the car with no broken bones, I believe. It was a miracle really. My son is coming for me.’

I saw Pepe-Luis make an automatic sign of the cross. ‘Well, you’re in luck. At my house I’ve got the key to this gate. I live next door and do odd jobs for the owner here. I’ll get the key ring and let you out.’

‘Gracias, Pepe-Luis!’ I replied.

Soon after that, Tommo arrived in his Hyundai and Pepe-Luis returned and opened up. Tommo was shocked when he saw the state of the Gold Bug.

‘Oh my God, Dad! Are you OK? How did this happen?’

‘I’m fine,’ I answered. ‘I just fell asleep at the wheel.’ I didn’t mention seeing Granny Gertie earlier. I didn’t want my son to think I was hallucinating.

Pepe-Luis gave Tommo his number, saying. ‘I’ll call the owner and let him know to come by tomorrow to sign the insurance papers.’

‘Gracias, Pepe-Luis!’ Tommo replied. Then he bundled me, the shopping, and the car papers into the Hyundai, and drove us down to the local hospital.

‘I’m OK!’ I protested. But by this time, the adrenaline was beginning to wear off and the dull aching in my arms, legs and lower back began. I allowed Tommo to hold my arm as we walked into A&E for the triage.

As you might imagine, New Year’s Eve is not the best night to be in the Accident and Emergency department of a local hospital. The place was full, and there was a lot of waiting to be done while people were attended to. Among other casualty victims, I spotted a youth who had burnt his hand on a firework, a young girl – accompanied by her concerned mum – who had somehow got a magnet stuck up her nose, and an older woman, brought in by her husband, who had slipped at home and damaged one of her wrists. Time went by very slowly. My lower back and legs were aching quite fiercely now, so a nurse put me in a wheelchair.

Tommo jollied me though it all. He helped me explain my accident to the doctor on duty who noted it all down on her computer. I was then whisked away in my wheelchair to have x-rays taken of my chest, lower back, and right arm. The bruises on both my arms were by now ripening into livid purple patches. ‘I’m starting to look like a piebald pony!’ I joked. Fortunately, aside from the times when I removed it for the doctor to examine me, my festive jumper covered the contusions on my arms as well as helping to keep me warm.

As it turned out, no bones were broken, and no tendons snapped. I was finally released at 10.30 pm with a nothing but a prescription for a mild painkiller.

‘You were extremely lucky you weren’t injured more severely!’ the doctor on duty told me as Tommo and I said goodbye to her.

‘She’s quite right, Dad,’ Tommo said while we made our way to his Hyundai. ‘Seeing the state of Granny Gertie’s car, you could have died in that olive grove!’

He drove me straight home and helped me get into my pyjamas and into bed. Then he made up a hot water bottle for me to put against the small of my back to help relieve the severe aching there.

‘I won’t be out celebrating, Dad. I’m just not in the mood,’ my son explained. ‘So I’ll be in the bedroom next door. If you need anything, just shout.’

‘I will, Tommo. And now I think I’ll try and get some shut-eye.’

I drifted off to sleep quickly. But some time later, I woke with a jolt, feeling cold. I looked across at the luminous figures of the alarm clock on my bedside table. It was five minutes to midnight.

The moonlight flooded in through the window. It illuminated my dressing gown hanging on the back of the closed bedroom door. At least I thought it was my dressing gown at first. But then the shape shifted a little and I saw that Granny Gertie was standing quietly there in the corner, watching me.

‘Gertie!’ I murmured. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I popped in to say cheerio and to remind you.’

‘Of what?’

‘Your New Year’s Resolution.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘To take up writing again, Dickie!’

‘Oh Gertie. Thanks for the suggestion, but I don’t know. When I was young, I felt so confident in my abilities as a wordsmith. But now, I’m really not so sure.’

‘Nonsense. Give it go. You can do it, I’m sure! Writing is much like riding a bicycle. Once mastered, you never unlearn it!’

‘But what could I write about?’

‘Up to you. You have a whole life of experience to draw on now. Not like when you were in your twenties.’

‘Gertie, that’s too much choice. Where should I begin?’

‘Well how about describing your accident in the Gold Bug this afternoon for starters? In my opinion that would make a simply marvellous short story. I’ve even got a snappy title suggestion to share with you.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘Gold Bug Resolution,’ she replied, with a throaty laugh.

Just at that point, fireworks in the nearby village crackled and fizzed into the night sky, signalling midnight.

Gertie turned to gaze through the window at their starry trajectories. Then, silently and swiftly, she vanished – just as the year ended.

 

THE END