Christmas Past (11 page)

‘You’re a sly one, Jack Holmes,’ she said. ‘I wonder how many girls you’ve snuggled up to in these seats before tonight.’

‘Hundreds,’ Jack teased, then added seriously, ‘but not one of them as nice as you.’

‘Nice? What a romantic man you are. Not beautiful, not even pretty, just nice.’

Jack coloured. ‘Well, I’m not very good with words,’ he mumbled. ‘You are – beautiful, I mean – only I’m not good at fancy speeches. If you want all
that flattery you should be going out with our Harry.’

‘No thanks.’ Mary laughed. ‘I’ve heard about him at work. Mind you, all the girls seem to fancy him.’

‘Don’t you dare tell him that; he’s big-headed enough already. Besides, he seems to prefer the married ones, unfortunately.’

Mary didn’t know what to say to that so she opened the chocolates. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘I can’t eat all these myself or I’ll be as fat as one of Tom’s
pigs.’ She experienced the familiar churning in her stomach as she realised what she had said.

Jack put an arm round her shoulders, glad of the excuse. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind you talking about him. It wouldn’t be right to shut him out, and it
wouldn’t be good for you either. I know you were engaged; we can’t pretend it never happened.’

Mary smiled up at him, relieved now that she had mentioned Tom and so discovered that Jack wasn’t going to be jealous; little did she know what an effort it was for Jack not to show his
true feelings.

He looked down into the sun-freckled face and their eyes met. She reached her mouth up to his and Tom was forgotten along with the chocolates and the film.

‘I love you, Mary O’Connor,’ he mumbled between kisses.

‘And I love you, Jack Holmes,’ she said, thinking there was no need of fancy speeches from a man as lovely as this one.

Thankful for the blackout Jack paused at intervals to kiss Mary as they walked to the music shop at the top of Hawley’s Hill, which Ernest Sessions ran in between giving
music lessons and leading a small local orchestra.

Unlike Rowland he had not lost many musicians to the Local Defence Volunteer force, despite an average age somewhere in the mid-fifties, but the undoubted star of the orchestra was a
nine-year-old pupil of his who was doing so well he had been given a place in the first violins, much to the delight of audiences, who had taken the boy to their hearts. Actually, Gladys was
becoming rather bored by Ernest’s enthusiastic account of how brilliant the boy was, and she sighed with relief when Mary rang the bell on the door of the shop, in front of the living
quarters.

‘Well,’ she said, rising to her feet and looking round for her coat, ‘that sounds like Mary. We’d better be on our way.’

‘Why don’t you invite her in for a cup of tea?’ said Celia in her usual friendly manner.

‘Thanks all the same, but she’s rather shy,’ said Gladys, unable to face yet another account of young what’s-his-name’s talents.

‘Yes, we’d better be off,’ said Rowland. ‘It’s slow going on the narrow lanes with the reduced lighting on the car. Luckily there’s a moon tonight, but even
so we’ll be on our way. How much am I in your debt for the sheet music?’

‘Get away with you,’ said Ernest. ‘What’s a few shillings between friends?’ His words made Gladys feel terribly guilty about being in such a hurry to leave. She
knew that the real cause of her uncharacteristic irritability was nothing to do with Ernest, and everything to do with Jack Holmes.

Nevertheless, she was amiable enough towards him when they got outside, inviting him to tea a week on Sunday, and offering him a lift home, which he politely refused, saying he didn’t live
a cock stride away, and the air would do him good anyway.

‘Nice boy that,’ commented Rowland rather grudgingly, as they drove through the countryside back to Longfield.

‘Yes,’ said Gladys simply, thinking what an understatement that was. She could well understand what had attracted Mary to the tall, dark-haired young man, and spent the rest of the
journey wishing dreamily that she was thirty years younger.

‘I wish I wasn’t going,’ said Mary. ‘What if they don’t like me.’

‘If they don’t like yer they must be daft,’ Madge grunted whilst lifting a hundredweight coil from the machine.

‘What shall I wear?’

‘I don’t know as it matters. If Jack likes yer it doesn’t matter about anybody else.’

‘I’ll go in my brown costume seeing as I’m going to church the next morning.’

Madge looked at the girl sharply. ‘Has he told them you’re a Catholic?’ she asked.

‘I think so. Anyway, Jack doesn’t care what they say. Still, I do hope they like me.’

‘Well, there’s one who certainly will,’ said Madge. ‘He’ll have yer knickers off before yer know what’s hit yer will that brother of his.’

Mary laughed. ‘Oh no he won’t because I don’t wear ’em, didn’t you know?’

Madge laughed affectionately with Mary. It was nice to know she was back to normal after the tragedy. In fact she hadn’t half come out of her shell this past few weeks. Oh well,
that’s what love did for you.

‘How’re yer getting home, tomorrow night I mean?’ she asked.

‘I’m not. I’m staying at Theresa Murphy’s, going to church Sunday morning, then Jack’s walking back with me and staying for tea.’

‘I’m going to church tonight,’ Madge said softly.

‘You?’ said Mary incredulously. ‘Going to church, and on a Friday night? You’re joking.’

‘I’m not,’ the woman said. ‘I sometimes go to the Spiritual Church in Darnall.’

Mary didn’t know what to say, and just repeated Madge’s words parrot fashion. ‘Spiritual Church in Darnall? Where’s that?’

‘Other side Sheffield. It takes two buses to get there, but it’s worth the journey. I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve gone home when I walk into that
church.’

‘What do they do? I mean, is it weird? I always imagined it would be frightening with all those seances and things.’

Madge laughed. ‘There aren’t any seances. It’s just a church, but a lot more cheerful than the ones here. All they do at the one I got married at is talk about everybody and
their grandmothers, and I’ve heard tell it’s worse still at the chapel. Like my mother used to say, yer don’t need to attend places of worship in order to do Christian deeds, but
I must admit I’ve gained a lot of comfort from that little church in Darnall.’

Mary would have liked to ask further questions but just then the buzzer went.

‘Hey, come on,’ said Madge, ‘home time. Look, don’t say anything to the others, about me going to Darnall, I mean. They’d only ridicule me if they knew.’

‘Of course I won’t. In fact I’d like to know more about it when we have more time.’

Madge’s face lit up. ‘Yer don’t think I’m daft, then?’

‘No. My grandmother had too many strange things happen to her for me to think it’s daft.’

Madge linked arms with Mary as they walked down the gangway. ‘Yer could come with me if yer liked.’

Mary blushed. ‘I couldn’t. It’s not allowed in our Church.’

‘Oh, no, I forgot. Oh well, let me know if yer change yer mind.’

And with that they parted company, both anticipating what the weekend would bring.

Mary was scared stiff when Rowland waved goodbye from the car in Millington. He had dropped her off near the clock, and she moved nervously from one foot to the other as she
waited for Jack. She saw him hurrying down the hill towards her and set off to meet him. She wondered if he was nervous too about taking her to meet his family. They walked back in the direction of
five long rows of brick houses.

‘We live on the top row,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m so thin, trudging up this hill every time I go anywhere.’

Mary smiled, knowing his lean frame was the result of working like a horse in the pit at the far end of Millington.

They reached the top row, and turned to walk on to number forty. It was the middle house Jack said. Despite the cool of the day men and women were sitting outside, watching the children play;
some on doorsteps, others on straight-backed kitchen chairs and one young man even reclining on an upturned zinc bath, straightening to stare at Mary and muttering to Jack as they passed.

A small boy in patched trousers came running towards them. ‘Will yer play footy with me Jack?’ he called.

‘Not today, Robby,’ Jack answered, ruffling the already tousled hair.

‘Aah, come on, you alius play footy on a Saturday.’

‘Not this Saturday. Go find yer pals.’

A disappointed Robby continued to try to coax Jack into changing his mind, until Mary was led over a newly whitened step into the house.

Mrs Holmes was in her usual chair. She had changed her all-round pinafore for a clean apron and rocked gently as she weighed Mary up. Mary was suddenly filled with a longing for her own mother
and the little house in Newcastle which was so similar to this one.

‘This is Mary, Mother,’ Jack announced. ‘Mary, this is my mother.’

‘Pleased to meet you, lass. Come in and sit yerself down. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house – yer’ll ’ave to take us as yer find us if yer going to
join’t family.’

Mary coloured, embarrassed at Mrs Holmes’s assumption when Jack hadn’t even asked her yet. Jack winked at Mary, putting her at ease. ‘Where’s the clan?’ he
asked.

‘Eeh, yer might know, lad. Yer dad’s gone to bed for an hour. Said he’d be down before you arrived but yer know what he is after he’s had a pint at dinner
time.’

Jack grinned. ‘Where are the others?’

‘In’t room. Carding, I expect. It’s to be hoped yer know how to play cards, lass; it’s like a gambling den in our room when the family gets together.’

‘Gambling den, she says. Pennies, that’s all we play for, and then me mother forgets to put in half the time.’ He laughed and dodged his mother’s hand as she aimed a
good-natured blow at him. ‘You should feel honoured, Mary. If you hadn’t been coming she’d have been in the game herself by now. Let’s go in and meet the clan.’ He led
Mary out of the kitchen, past the bottom of the stairs, and into the other room. The smell of Mansion polish and smoke met Mary as she entered. Harry Holmes – whom she recognised from the
farmers’ ball – sat shuffling cards at a round polished table, then began to deal them to his sister Marjory, her husband Bill Bacon, and Margaret, his other sister, who looked about
Mary’s age. A little girl of about four was counting an enormous pile of pennies and broke off to run into Jack’s arms, laughing as he threw her up into the air and caught her
again.

‘Say hello to yer Auntie Mary. Una,’ he said.

Una muttered ‘Hello’ before stuffing her thumb in her mouth and turning all shy. Mary guessed the pretty curly-haired child would be jealous of her and opened her handbag to find the
bag of toffee Gladys had made that morning.

‘Here,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve brought you some toffee.’

The little girl beamed, struggled free of Jack’s hold and ran into the kitchen, where Mary heard her showing off the sweets to her grandmother. Jack fetched a stool from the kitchen and
she sat nervously, wondering whether she ought to go back and keep Jack’s mother company. Mrs Holmes made up her mind for her by bringing another chair and joining the family at the
table.

‘Fancy a game, love?’ Bill Bacon asked as he began to shuffle the cards.

‘I don’t think I know how to play,’ said Mary.

‘We’ll show yer. Come on, put yer money in. Halfpenny in the middle and halfpenny in the kitty,’ Bill said, not giving her chance to refuse.

Margaret volunteered to show Mary how to play, and before she knew it she was on a winning streak.

She had an idea she was going to like this family, probably because they reminded her of her own back in Newcastle. She suddenly wondered what her parents would think of Jack, and had the
feeling they would love him as much as she did.

After tea Mary had a wash in the sink in the corner of the kitchen, combed her hair and put on a dab of Phul Nana, then set off with Jack for Theresa Murphy’s house a few doors away. The
little lad who had approached them earlier turned out to be the youngest of her nine brothers and sisters. Mary wasn’t sure if everybody in the house belonged there or if they were just
friends or relations. Mrs Murphy didn’t seem to take much notice of anybody. Fat and jolly, she just sat near the fire with half a dozen Lady Jane curlers fighting a losing battle against her
straight wispy hair. She prised herself to her feet at intervals to mash another pot of tea, which she poured pale and watery into an assortment of cups and pint pots, mostly without handles. A
loaf of bread stood on the bare tabletop with a large jar of jam keeping it company.

‘Has everybody had their teas?’ she finally called at the top of her voice, and as nobody bothered to answer she covered the bread with a newspaper, scooped all the pots with a
clatter into the smelly stone sink in the corner, and wiped the spill stains off the table with what looked like a floor cloth. Mary decided there and then that she wouldn’t bother with
breakfast in the morning.

Theresa, Mary and Jack set off eventually for the dance hall. It was a massive place with a large stage at one end. Mary couldn’t help but compare it favourably with the
schoolroom at Longfield.

Throughout the evening she was introduced to a succession of Jack’s mining friends. Everybody in the room seemed to know him. Also present were many of the girls from the strip department.
The small band was excellent and their repertoire included everything from the hokey-cokey to the tango. Mary loved to dance and found Jack an easy partner, and was really sorry when the National
Anthem was played.

Jack had been hoping that Theresa would walk home with one of the lads she had been dancing with, and he was slightly put out when she tagged on with Mary and himself, so that all he got from
Mary was a quick goodnight peck on the cheek before she had to follow Theresa into the house.

Mrs Murphy was still sitting by the fire reading the
Woman’s Companion
and Mary wondered if she would be staying there all night; maybe she was too fat to climb the stairs, or,
worse still, perhaps there was no vacant bed for her to go to, what with the ten of them and Mary besides.