An eye for a guy

It was the eve of Guy Fawkes, the night that every kid in the country saw the sky ablaze with rainbow-coloured explosions. For Didi Hope it was an anniversary worth celebrating for different reasons. It was a year to the day that the doctors told her she was ill. They were confident, as was she, given her age and strength and determined spirit that she would pull through. But that came as little comfort to her panic-stricken father who sobbed as the news was broken. Didi made a pact with her dad.
"This time next year, dad, you and I will be at home making a guy for Guy Fawkes night," she said as the nurse tied a floral gown around Didi.
Didi kept her promise.
Exactly a year later she raked through a box of clothes her dad had pulled from the wardrobe, clothes he assured her were no longer needed and selected the perfect outfit for her guy.
"What about this dad?" she said holding up a crisp blue shirt with a firm collar. "I think we should make him a smart Guy, after all Guy Fawkes was a smartly dressed man."
Didi's dad snuffled and gently took the shirt from her. "I think that's a perfect idea, Didi," he said with a smile before laying the shirt on his bed.
Didi then selected a pair of brown tweed trousers. "These will keep him warm, I think."
"Didi, tomorrow he'll be warmer than us," said her dad with a chuckle.
"I know," she said as she pulled a dark blue blazer with large brass buttons from the box. "But it's cold outside."
"Okay, you're the boss."
"Yes. I am," she said and selected a blue striped tie, a pair of pink socks and her dad's old golf shoes.
"Golf shoes, Didi?" said her dad with raised eyebrows.
Didi glanced up at her dad. "Why not? He might want to get a game in before we incinerate him."
"That's very decent of you."
"The condemned should always get a last request and I reckon my Guy is a golfer."
"I suppose you'll be wanting one of my clubs as well?"
Didi pondered the idea. "Nah, I can just give him a long stick. That'll do."
"That's a relief," said her dad. "At least I know I'll have a full set for the match on Saturday."
"So what are we going to stuff him with?" asked Didi.
Her dad raised a finger. "Ah ha!" he said. "Now we come to the most cunning part of my plan."
He picked up all the items of clothing and beckoned her to follow him. Outside, on the patio, was a bail of straw.
"I picked it up today from Bill Giles," he said. "I told him what I needed it for and he gave it to me for nothing."
Didi peered down at the block of straw. It was soggy and dirty and not at all what she wanted to fill her guy with. She didn't want to appear ungrateful but the idea of filling her Guy with infected straw gave her chills. It took her back to the doctor's surgery a year ago when she was told her blood was sick.
"Do you think its just spoiled on the outside?" she asked, plunging her fingers into the bail to feel if it was soggy right through.
Her dad stroked her hair and crouched down beside her. "Why don't we cut the bailer twine and see shall we? I'm sure it's clean inside."
And he was right. Whilst the outside was caked in mud and soggy from the rains the inside was dry and crisp and clean and golden in colour. It was Didi's gold.
"Excellent!" she cried as she pulled tufts of the spiky straw from the compact slices that made up the bail and scrunched them into tight balls.
"I think we should fill his trousers first, don't you?" asked her dad.
"Agreed. Then we can fill his shirt and put his jacket on," said Didi as she stuffed the balls of straw into Guy's tweed trousers.
Her dad tucked in Guy's shirt and Didi filled that too. Before long her Guy was beginning to take form.
"I think we should stitch his shirt to his trousers, Didi, otherwise his legs'll fall off."
Didi slapped her hands against her mouth and guffawed at the image of picking up Guy and seeing his legs drop to the ground. "It'd be mighty funny though."
"Not for Guy it wouldn't."
"That's true, but he was a bad man, after all. I mean he did plan on killing lots of people by blowing up the Houses of Parliament. But I agree we should probably make sure they don't fall off."
Whilst Didi's dad began sewing the shirt and trousers together Didi set about making his head. "If we use this old pillowcase and stuff it with straw we can draw a face on it."
"Brilliant idea," said her dad. "Are you going to give him a beard and moustache?"
"Did Guy Fawkes have a beard and moustache?"
Her dad nodded. "A pointed beard I seem to remember and a long handlebar moustache."
Didi pondered how she was going to make his beard when, like a bolt of lightening, an idea hit her. She rushed upstairs to her bedroom, grabbed an old wig she had, a pot of glue and some scissors and set to work.
"Didi, what are you doing?" her dad chuckled.
Didi snipped at the wig, daubed the round, straw-stuffed pillowcase with glue and stuck clumps of black hair onto it. "Making his beard," she declared. She was concentrating so hard on it her tongue curled round the corner of her mouth.
When she finished her dad stitched Guy's head onto his shirt and Didi fitted the trimmed wig to his head.
"He looks great, Dad," said Didi.
"Now for the finishing touches," her dad said as he tied Guy's tie round his neck, buttoned up his blazer and gave him a long gnarled stick for a golf club. "He looks fit to be incinerated."
Didi stared down at her creation. Shock, despair, anger, hatred, determination, sorrow, pain, joy and elation, all swept over her. She saw in that Guy the journey of her life in the last year, and was about to witness the end of a chapter. The destruction of her Guy.