JEFFREY ARCHER’S Christmas Carol: Master storyteller reinvents Dickens original in a modern setting

Marley was dead to begin with. There was no doubt about that.

Eben Scrooge rested for a few more moments before he got out of bed. 

The same four-poster that had been occupied by his great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Ebenezer, almost 200 years ago.

He was always delighted when anyone described him as every bit as mean as his ancestor, and among the other traits he was proud to have inherited were being ruthless, cunning and selfish, all of which he considered compliments.

He thought about the day ahead, and wondered if he could get away with it. 

Over Christmas, Eben intended to pull off a coup that would make him even richer — at the expense not only of his rivals, but even a member of his family. Ebenezer would have been proud of him.

However, he was well aware he still had to convince his noble and worthy nephew Fred that it was in his best interests to part with his inheritance, which had been left to him by Eben’s late partner, Jake Marley. 

As one of Eben’s heroes had once said, he intended to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

Eben took a long bath while he went over his plan again and again, before getting dressed in a pair of grey flannel trousers, a navy blazer and a club tie. Not his normal garb, but all part of the deception.

He then made his way down to the kitchen, to find his housekeeper, Mrs Carter, had already set out a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a Vitamin D tablet, a bowl of cornflakes with some sliced watermelon, nuts and raisins, along with a copy of The Daily Grump. 

He glanced at the headline: ‘Christmas looking gloomy for the poor while the rich can expect another prosperous year’. He smiled.

Eben took his seat at the head of the table without so much as a good morning to Mrs Carter, who had just placed two eggs into a saucepan of boiling water and set the timer for three minutes and 45 seconds. 

Two minutes later a slice of bread would be dropped into the toaster so his next course would be ready the moment he finished his cornflakes.

He flicked through the paper, only stopping to read articles that reported famine, flood and pestilence, as they often created opportunities to make even more money out of other people’s misfortunes.

He finally turned to the business section, his favourite part of the paper, and checked his shares on the stock market: gas up, oil up, coal up. Solar energy down, wind power down, carbon capture down. Most satisfactory.

After he’d finished breakfast, he folded the paper and rose to leave, but was taken by surprise when Mrs Carter asked him a question. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but would it be all right if I left a little early this evening?’

Eben Scrooge was always delighted when anyone described him as every bit as mean as his ancestor, and among the other traits he was proud to have inherited were being ruthless, cunning and selfish, all of which he considered compliments

‘Why?’ demanded Scrooge.

‘I haven’t had any time to do my Christmas shopping.’

‘That’s hardly my fault, Mrs Carter,’ Scrooge snapped. ‘Nevertheless, I’ll allow you to leave a couple of hours early. But I expect you to make up the time next week.’

He left the room before she had a chance to thank him.

Once Eben was out in the hall, he paused for a moment to admire the portrait of his ancestor, Ebenezer Scrooge, painted by someone called Thomas Lawrence. He had acquired the picture at a knock‑down price as no one else wanted it.

Ebenezer glowered down at him, and Eben looked up and returned the compliment. He then grabbed his father’s old overcoat and hat from the hall stand and opened the door to find his driver waiting outside in the cold. 

Heath opened the back door of the Bentley and stood aside to allow his master to climb in — he’d left the engine running and the heater on so Mr Scrooge would be warm.

After closing the door, he jumped in behind the wheel and set off immediately, aware that his master wouldn’t want to be late for his appointment.

Scrooge didn’t say a word during the 15-minute journey to Southbury Football Club. He spent the time mentally preparing himself for the encounter with his nephew Fred, who had been brought up by Jake Marley after Scrooge’s sister Nell had died in childbirth.

Scrooge may have been Fred’s uncle, but Marley had always looked upon the boy as his own son. This explained why Fred had ended up inheriting the one thing Scrooge had always wanted. But that was about to change. 

He still thought of Fred as a boy, as he’d watched him growing up over the years and had been happy to see him developing all the weaknesses of Scrooge’s late partner Jake Marley.

Fred was far too honest for his own good, which Scrooge now intended to take advantage of. He had written to congratulate the boy when he was appointed chairman of the football club. All part of his long-term plan.

As Heath drove into the ground, Scrooge was delighted to see his nephew standing on the top step of the clubhouse, clearly waiting for him. That put him at an immediate advantage.

Fred ran down the steps to greet his uncle as the Bentley came to a halt. He shook him warmly by the hand, saying: ‘Happy Christmas, Uncle Eben.’ Scrooge didn’t believe in Christmas. It was just another excuse to take a day off. But he somehow managed to say: ‘Merry Christmas, Fred.’

‘Mary and I wondered if you’d like to join us and the rest of the family for Christmas dinner?’

Scrooge didn’t say a word during the 15-minute journey to Southbury Football Club. He spent the time mentally preparing himself for the encounter with his nephew Fred, who had been brought up by Jake Marley after Scrooge’s sister Nell had died in childbirth

‘I haven’t the time,’ said Scrooge. ‘Too much work to catch up on before my staff return on Boxing Day.’

‘Well, I’ll leave the offer open,’ said Fred, ‘in the hope that you’ll change your mind. I know the whole family would love to see you.’

Scrooge doubted it.

‘But for now, why don’t we go and watch the team. They’re playing in the semi-final of the Marley Cup.’

They walked the short distance to the touchline together, where they joined a small group of wishful thinkers. Scrooge pretended to take an interest in the game, even though he wasn’t sure which side he was meant to be supporting.

‘If we win this match,’ Fred said, with undisguised enthusiasm, ‘it will be the first time the club has reached the final.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Scrooge, who was taking a far greater interest in the seven other pitches that surrounded them.

He tried to calculate the value of the 22-acre site. He knew he would have to be patient, and allow the next move to come from his nephew so that he would continue to hold the advantage.

‘Goal!’

Scrooge snapped out of his reverie to see a young lad running around the pitch, his arms held high in the air, before being surrounded by teammates ecstatically sharing in his triumph.

‘That’s Wayne Ibrahim,’ said Fred. ‘No prizes for guessing who he was named after.’ Scrooge wouldn’t have won the prize, as he was none the wiser.

‘They tell me he’ll play for England one day,’ Fred prophesised. ‘That will be a first for the club, and would have made Mr Marley so proud.’

‘It most certainly would have,’ said Scrooge, as he glanced across at the clubhouse. Above the door was the date 1836, the year in which the first Jacob Marley had died. Since then, the club had been passed down from generation to generation, each of which was entrusted with the responsibility of ensuring that it continued to flourish as a charitable trust. 

Trust wasn’t a word Scrooge understood.

‘But the club is now facing a problem,’ said Fred.

‘A problem?’ repeated Scrooge.

‘I’m afraid so. Because even Jake couldn’t have anticipated how successful his club would become.

‘Since we were promoted to the First Division last year, every kid in the area wants to play for Southbury. Every weekend there are more than 300 young lads from the age of eight to 18 out there enjoying themselves, with 600 parents and friends cheering them on.’

‘Most impressive,’ said Scrooge.

‘But success has brought its own problems,’ Fred continued. ‘And we no longer have your late partner to solve them.’

‘What kind of problems?’ asked Scrooge, hoping he sounded sympathetic.

‘Well, as you can see, the clubhouse is almost falling down. If we don’t build a new one fairly soon, we’ll have to start turning some of the lads away.’

Scrooge was only too aware where his nephew was heading and simply said: ‘That would be sad.’

‘I’ve done my best to . . .’ Fred continued.

‘You’ve been doing a fine job as chairman,’ said Eben. ‘Jake would have been proud of you.’

‘Mr Marley, God bless him, always accepted that I was never going to join you in the firm. He knew I was more suited to working with young people than becoming part of the cut and thrust of business life.’

Scrooge replied: ‘Jake was a wise man. He would have approved of your stewardship of his club.’ Another well-prepared sentence.

‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ said Fred, ‘but we have to think about the future.

‘With that in mind, I’ve set up a fundraising committee.’ Something Scrooge was well aware of, but he didn’t interrupt him. ‘And we were rather hoping you might consider following in Jake’s footsteps and take a closer interest in the club.’

‘What do you mean by “a closer interest”?’ asked Scrooge, enjoying himself.

‘We hoped you’d agree to take his place as president.’

‘That would, indeed, be a great honour,’ said Scrooge. ‘But what would it entail?’ he asked, egging on his nephew.

‘Goal!’ went up another cry, as Wayne scored a second time. Scrooge waited patiently for the crowd to settle, before Fred continued.

‘First, I want to knock down the old club house and build one fit for the 21st century. One with proper changing rooms, showers and a gym the players could use on dark winter evenings.

‘And over there,’ he said, pointing to an empty strip of land, ‘I want to build a car park.’ So do I, thought Scrooge, but didn’t express an opinion.

‘And that’s only the beginning,’ said Fred, unable to hide his enthusiasm. ‘I want to put floodlights around every pitch so the kids can play in the evenings.’ He hesitated. ‘Rather than roaming the streets at night looking for other ways of occupying their time.’

‘How much do you imagine all this will cost?’ asked Eben, now satisfied that his nephew couldn’t dig himself into a deeper hole.

‘A million would cover the cost, and we were hoping . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘that you might consider a contribution that would start the ball rolling.’

Scrooge nodded thoughtfully, but once again, didn’t interrupt.

‘If you felt able to kick-start the campaign, I feel confident we could hit our target by Christmas.’ The older man hesitated for a moment while pretending to consider the idea. ‘I think that might be possible,’ he eventually managed. ‘But I would have to ask a favour in return.’

‘Anything,’ said Fred, far too quickly. ‘If you were able to sell me the land, I would happily donate the million,’ said Eben, ‘You see, I could claim it as a tax loss. That way, we could take advantage of the Government’s new charity laws.’

‘Wow!’ said Fred. ‘If you felt able to do that, Uncle Eben, it would solve all our problems.

‘Wow!’ he repeated. ‘What a Christmas present!’

‘I’ll get my lawyers on to it immediately,’ said Scrooge.

The two men shook hands, which the late Jake Marley had once told Fred should be more than enough to close any deal.

‘I’d better get back to the day job,’ said Fred as Eben’s mobile phone began to ring. ‘I can’t wait to tell the committee what you have in mind.’ If only you knew what I have in mind, thought Scrooge as his nephew headed off in the direction of the club house.

Once Fred was out of earshot, Scrooge checked the name on the little screen.

‘Good morning, Councillor,’ Eben said. ‘Your timing couldn’t have been better. I’ve just closed the deal with the club chairman. 

So, as long as your committee grants me planning permission for a supermarket, that frontline villa in Majorca that your wife’s set her heart on will be yours, and you’ll be able to spend your retirement in the sun.’

‘Consider it done,’ responded Councillor Roberts. ‘Your nephew has already applied for permission to knock down the old clubhouse, replace it with a new one and build a car park, which I rubber-stamped last week. Once you own the land, all you’ll need to do is apply for a change-of-use order, which I’ll make sure goes through on the nod.’

‘Not a word until all the paperwork has been signed off,’ said Scrooge.

‘Have you got someone lined up to make such an outlay profitable?’

‘Of course I have,’ snapped Scrooge. ‘Otherwise I would never have agreed to the deal. After your committee granted Costsavers permission to build a new supermarket at the other side of town, all their rivals have been desperately looking for a prime site. And don’t forget, Costsavers paid £7 million for that piece of land, which is less than half the size of the club’s land. I’m anticipating a profit of between £15-20 million, which wouldn’t be a bad return on an investment of £1 million.’

‘The locals won’t like it,’ said Roberts as Scrooge began walking back to his car.

‘Trust me, councillor, half of them will be delighted that they will no longer have to travel halfway across town to get to a supermarket now there’s one on their doorstep.’

‘But the other half will be up in arms when they work out what you’ve been up to.’

‘Sticks and stones,’ said Scrooge with a shrug.

Master storyteller Jeffrey Archer has reinvented the Dickens original, A Christmas Carol, in a modern setting, creating a joyous tale for our age

‘Your nephew will never speak to you again.’

‘I’ll learn to live with it. Along with my £15-20 million profit.’

Another triumphant cry rang out from the spectators on the touchline.

‘It looks as if young Ibrahim has scored again,’ said Scrooge.

‘They tell me he’ll play for England one day,’ said Roberts.

‘I don’t give a damn who he plays for,’ said Scrooge, who ended the call without another word.

Eben began walking back towards his car when he spotted Bob Cratchit, the club’s groundsman, heading towards him carrying his disabled son on his shoulders.

Scrooge quickened his pace, hoping to avoid a man who’d been in the same class as him at school. He didn’t want to be reminded he’d left the local comprehensive at 16. Most people assumed he’d been to the town’s grammar school, and a recent small donation to their new library fund had only added to that myth.

‘Can you spare a moment, Eben?’ said a voice behind him, as he had almost reached the sanctuary of the Bentley.

‘Not now,’ growled Scrooge.

‘It’s just that your godson, Tiny Tim . . .’

A gesture Scrooge had long since regretted. ‘Another time,’ he snapped, as Heath opened the back door of the Bentley and he quickly disappeared inside.

‘Home,’ said Scrooge as he settled back into the plush leather seat, satisfied that things couldn’t have gone much better. 

First thing tomorrow morning he would call his lawyer and explain why he needed all the paperwork to be done quickly, so that the bulldozers could move in early in the New Year. 

Once the old club house had been razed to the ground all he would have to do was wait for bids from the rival supermarket chains to roll in.

Scrooge was always happiest when a profit was guaranteed, and he didn’t give a second thought to the future of the town’s football club. He’d leave his nephew, who, after all, would have his million, to worry about that.

When the Bentley came to a halt at a set of traffic lights, Eben glanced out of the window to see a policeman heading towards them. He gasped as he stared in horror at the image of a man he recognised immediately. Scrooge thought he was going to throw up when Jake Marley began to tap on the window.

Tap, tap, tap.

‘Get moving!’ Scrooge shouted at his driver, but the traffic light remained resolutely red.

Shock turned to fear as the ghostly hand of his late partner slipped through the closed window. Scrooge quickly slid across but the hand followed him to the far side of the seat, a wagging finger of disappointment which Eben vividly recalled Jake Marley administering whenever he’d caught him doing something he disapproved of.

Scrooge cowered in the corner until the light finally turned green. As the Bentley moved off, the hand slid back out of the window.

‘Did you see that policeman?’ demanded Scrooge, trying to recover. ‘What policeman, sir?’ asked Heath as the car moved off.

Scrooge tried to convince himself that what he’d just witnessed must have been an illusion, a trick of his imagination.

A few moments later the car came to a halt at a pedestrian crossing, where a lollipop man raised his hand to allow a group of children to cross. 

Scrooge began to shiver from head to toe, and almost fainted when he once again recognised the image of Jake Marley. His former partner waited for an old lady to cross the road before he waved the car on.

They had only travelled another couple of hundred yards before Heath came to a halt behind a bus where several passengers were climbing on board. Scrooge froze. Among them was Jake Marley, who took a seat at the back of the bus. He turned to wave at Scrooge. ‘Overtake that bus!’ demanded Scrooge at the top of his voice, and when they had, he didn’t look back.

When Heath finally pulled up outside his home, Scrooge was still shaking, and it didn’t help that he was greeted by a group of young carol singers bellowing at the tops of their voices, ‘God rest ye merry, gentlemen . . .’

As he got out of the car, a collection box was thrust in front of him by a man he thought he recognised. He brushed him aside, and hurriedly opened the front door before disappearing inside.

After locking and bolting the door, he went into the drawing room. He was about to draw the curtains when he saw Marley walking across the road towards him.

Scrooge quickly pulled the curtains closed, but didn’t turn on any lights until he reached the safety of the kitchen, where his housekeeper had prepared a beef stew with dumplings, and left it warming on the Aga. He still intended to deduct two hours’ wages from her pay packet to ensure this didn’t become a habit.

As he picked up his knife and fork, he glanced at the headline on the front page of The Evening Grumble, ‘Southbury reach the final of the Cup’, which was accompanied by a photo of Wayne scoring the winning goal.

Scrooge didn’t bother to turn to page seven and read the full story, but pushed the paper aside.

He ate his meal slowly, with only the ticking of the kitchen clock for company, unaware of the hours passing until the clock struck 10pm, when he decided on an early night.

As he passed Ebenezer’s portrait, he gave his ancestor a slight bow as he did every night before climbing the stairs to his bedroom on the first floor.

His thoughts returned to the agreement he’d made with his nephew. The knowledge that Jake Marley wouldn’t have approved of the deal brought a smile of satisfaction to his face.

He entered the bedroom, switched off his mobile phone and placed it on the bedside table before getting undressed. As he pulled back the bed cover, he glanced at the glowing numbers on his bedside clock: 10.11pm. He switched off the light, lowered his head onto the soft pillow and dozed off.

The shrill ringing of his mobile woke him abruptly. He fumbled with the phone for a moment and stared at its screen to see the message ‘Unknown caller’. The bedside clock read 1.43am.

Who could possibly want to speak to him at that time in the morning? If it was a wrong number, he already had a few choice words to offer the intruder.

He pressed the phone to his ear and demanded: ‘Who the devil is this?’

‘Look at your screen, Eben, and you will see that I am the ghost of Christmas past, and I have come to remind you…’

© 2021 Jeffrey Archer