Christmas Past (20 page)

Her thoughts went back to the Christmas afternoon when she and Tom had made love in the stable. Though in her heart she had no regrets, her conscience would give her no peace. She blamed herself
for Tom’s having been taken from her, and now it seemed her Christmases were to be haunted for ever by the Christmas sin.

It wasn’t until Jack was returning home in the taxi that it occurred to him that Harry probably owed his life to Bill Bacon, and he wondered what the outcome would have
been if his brother-in-law hadn’t arrived on the scene at the same time as Sally and himself. Bill had sobered instantly, and his first-aid training as a pit deputy had enabled him to set
about stemming the bleeding from his brother-in-law’s wounds, and turning the injured man into a position which allowed him to breathe freely again.

Dr Sellers had been summoned and immediately called for an ambulance. She congratulated Bill on his action, and, dedicated as she was, had stayed with the patient until the ambulance arrived,
despite the fact that she had been just about to start out for Midnight Mass.

When the ambulance had gone, Bill took Sally to Mary’s, where Marjory had decided the Bacons would stay in an effort to divert Una’s thoughts from the sight of her uncle lying in the
road. Mary calmed Sally with a cup of tea, and then the girl insisted on going home, knowing her parents would be anxious, even though it was Christmas.

Bill walked her to her door before making his way back up the hill to break the news of Harry’s whereabouts to his parents. He did his utmost to reassure them, playing down the incident
and stressing that Harry was in no way to blame for the attack. Then he left Margaret to comfort the worried couple. Bill thought the world of his in-laws and would have done anything to spare them
the worry, but knew they would never have rested if their son had not arrived home and sent no word. Besides, everyone in the locality would have heard the news by morning, since Constable Jones
had arrived at the scene at the same time as the ambulance.

The man had persisted in probing into who was responsible for the assault, but Sally had denied any knowledge of the identities of the men, knowing instinctively that Harry would wish to let the
incident die down without any publicity, if only for his parents’ sake. She wondered if they would let her know how he was, but doubted that they would even remember her name in their
distress. After all, it was the first time Harry and she had been out together. Yet it seemed she had known him for ever. Already he seemed part of her. Sally was suddenly afraid. What if he
didn’t recover? She didn’t think she could bear never to see him again. She didn’t care about his affair with the Banwell woman. That was all in the past, before Harry and she had
met, and now she loved him, and Sally Anderson wasn’t a fine weather girl: she would love Harry Holmes through the bad times. She would love him back to good health. Even so, she prayed that
night as she had never prayed before.

It was almost morning when Bill reached Mary’s house. Marjory wanted to know how her parents had taken the news.

‘They were a bit shocked, of course, but they’ll be all right. It’s a good thing your Margaret’s with them.’

‘Thank heavens she was home. It’s a miracle she was, with the hours she’s been keeping lately.’

When Jack arrived, white-faced, shaken and lighter of pocket from paying a taxi driver who demanded double fare seeing as it was Christmas Day, Mary gave the two men a brandy, a remedy
recommended by Dr Roberts for situations such as this.

‘Well,’ said Jack. ‘Though I don’t like saying so, our Harry’s only got what he’s deserved for a long time.’

‘But not to such an extent,’ said Marjory, the sight of her brother’s unrecognisable face still vivid in her mind. ‘And especially now when he’s just found himself
a nice girl like Sally.’

‘But he’d been warned often enough,’ Jack said. ‘If somebody was messing around with Mary I should probably feel like murdering him too.’

‘But Ada Banwell isn’t like Mary. She’s no better than a prostitute,’ Marjory retorted.

‘She’s still the man’s wife,’ Jack persisted. ‘Anyway, are we going to have some breakfast while it’s still quiet? I don’t suppose we’ll get
chance when the kids wake up. I thought they might have been up by now. You did do the pillow cases, love?’

Mary nodded. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Sally brought a present for our Jacqueline. I told her to put it in the front room. She said it was from Harry.’

At the mention of Harry’s name, Marjory began to weep.

‘Come on, love, he’ll be all right.’ Bill drew his wife into his arms, where she continued to sob. ‘Come on, love. I know it was a shock seeing him like that, but he was
recovering by the time the ambulance arrived.’

Mary placed a slice of bread on the toasting fork, just as a cry came from upstairs.

‘Mammy, mammy, Father Christmas has been.’

‘Oh-oh, I knew our Jacqueline would be the first,’ Jack said.

Marjory recovered from her weeping. By this time Alan and Una were also awake.

‘Well,’ said Mary, ‘no point in making the children miserable. We’d better go up – we don’t want to miss the fun.’

‘If that’s what I think it is,’ Jack said, looking at the covered basket and correctly interpreting the stream of liquid which was flowing from between the wickerwork,
‘we’d better leave it downstairs.’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Mary. ‘I can’t wait to see our Jacqueline’s face when she sees Uncle Harry’s present.’ And the four of them trooped upstairs to join
the children, Mary carrying the basket just like one of the wise men, on the very first Christmas of all.

The desk and chair caused a stir for the first few minutes, along with the black doll beautifully dressed in a red knitted outfit by Gladys, but when Mary produced Uncle
Harry’s present all else was forgotten.

Jacqueline removed the cardboard box to reveal a shivering brown and white cocker spaniel puppy, and from that moment a lifelong relationship was formed.

Alan didn’t care about anything but his train set, a clockwork, wind-up affair, with a home-made bridge and platform on which a set of lead soldiers and farm animals were already being
arranged.

The bedroom reeked of June perfume which Una had received in a box which also contained talcum powder and a large fluffy powder puff. The bed was piled high with books, coloured pencils, gloves
and board games. Una was flaunting her new charm bracelet, but Jacqueline, oblivious of everything but her new pet, was already skipping downstairs in search of a dish in which to give her pup
something to drink.

Mary and Jack followed their daughter and Jack disappeared into the front room, returning with a huge parcel which he placed on the kitchen table. ‘Merry Christmas, love.’ He drew
Mary towards him and kissed her tenderly.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Open it and see,’ he said, smiling.

Mary undid the mass of brown paper, to reveal a gleaming black and gold sewing machine. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve always wanted one. All my life I’ve wanted a
sewing machine. Oh, Jack, thank you.’ She kissed him and began examining the workings of shuttle and cotton holders, before she suddenly remembered. ‘I’ve got something for you
too, but it looks so paltry compared to this.’

She opened the cupboard in the recess by the fire and climbed up on to the chair-arm so she could reach the third shelf. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘It’s not much,’
Jack tore at the wrappings as Mary continued, ‘And it’s only second hand.’

Jack lifted the plane out of the paper and grinned. ‘Well, it looks like new to me. Thanks, love.’

Mary had been on the look-out for a plane for months, knowing of Jack’s love of working with wood. He had made a perfect job of Jacqueline’s desk, but a plane would have saved him a
lot of time.

Jacqueline was examining the puppy’s long floppy ears with wonderment. ‘Isn’t he the bestest dog you’ve ever seen? Why isn’t Uncle Harry here? He said he’d be
here this morning.’

Jack looked for guidance to Mary, wondering whether to tell the child the truth and risk upsetting her.

‘Uncle Harry’s not very well,’ Mary said, knowing her daughter was perceptive enough to see through any excuses. ‘He’s had to go to hospital, but he will come as
soon as he’s better.’

‘I knew he wouldn’t be well. I didn’t want him to go out. I told him, and Caroline knew too, but he wouldn’t take any notice.’

Mary suddenly felt a shiver down her spine. It was true: her daughter had known. She had begged her uncle to stay but to no avail. And the look in her eyes had reminded Mary of the day Tom had
left her for the last time. She realised at that moment how wrong she had been to dismiss Caroline as a figment of her daughter’s imagination. It had never occurred to her that her
grandmother’s gift of seeing the future had emerged once again. Mary hoped that history wouldn’t repeat itself, and that it had not been the last time Jacqueline would see her uncle
alive.

‘I’m going to call him Little Harry,’ the girl suddenly announced. ‘That’s Caroline’s favourite name.’

Alan padded downstairs in his bare feet, his face and pyjamas covered in chocolate, a half-eaten apple in his hand.

‘
You
are going to be sick,’ Mary scolded her son half-heartedly. After all it was Christmas morning.

Bill trundled downstairs with Una’s pillow case, followed by his wife and daughter, and Mary buttered the toast and poured the tea.

‘Little Harry’s hungry,’ Jacqueline declared.

Jack set about putting together some bread soaked in milk for the new arrival. If only Harry had warned him they would have been better prepared, but then his brother always was one to do things
on impulse. He hoped his wounds would prove less serious than they looked, for though he and his brother were very different they loved each other dearly.

‘I love Tittle Harry,’ said Alan, intent on feeding the puppy a chocolate penny.

‘So do I,’ said Jacqueline, ‘and so does Caroline.’

The month of January 1947 was an eventful one for the Holmeses, to say the least. Most important was that Harry began his slow painful progress on the road to recovery. His
broken nose, when it began to heal slightly out of shape only seemed to add to his handsome looks, but an operation was necessary to remove a splinter from his fractured ribs, which had punctured a
lung. Sally, a constant visitor, was the inspiration he needed, strengthening his will to regain his health.

Jack told him on one of his frequent visits that the house had been taken over by Tittle Harry, with whom Alan’s mispronounced name had stayed, and Mary’s sewing machine, which was
never still from morning till night.

One consolation for Mrs Holmes throughout the long worrying period was that Margaret seemed to have settled down again, had ceased staying out until all hours and seemed content to spend more
time at home. Lizzie thought it was Harry’s accident which had brought her to her senses, and couldn’t help feeling relieved, despite her daughter’s prolonged silences and subdued
attitude. If she had but known, the heartbreak her daughter was living through had nothing at all to do with Harry, but was due to the departure of dark-haired, brown-eyed Adam, the most gentle man
Margaret had ever met; Adam also happened to be Polish.

It had all begun innocently enough when Margaret had agreed to make up a foursome to go dancing. It had taken no more than one waltz for Margaret and Adam to fall passionately and completely in
love. They had known the affair was doomed from the beginning. It was only a matter of time before he must leave, and leave he did. To be back in Poland in time for Christmas, where his wife and
two beautiful children were waiting.

They had agreed there was no alternative, and parted bravely, both hiding their heartache and desolation.

‘Don’t write,’ Margaret told him. ‘Your future is with your family. Besides, I need to forget you.’

But they both knew they would never forget. A love like theirs was a rare and wondrous thing, and without each other life would never be the same again. Besides, Margaret knew she would strive
to remember every touch, the way he walked, the mispronounced words which made her laugh. But she had no regrets, for she had known love, and no one could take that away.

Another major event was Jacqueline’s starting school, after the first day of which she announced she wouldn’t be going any more as she didn’t think much to it.

On that first morning she had walked hand in hand with Una, full of anticipation as to what new delights she would find. By the first playtime break she already knew the horrors of a detestable
teacher and the claustrophobic atmosphere of a room filled with forty-three other children. Her hatred of Miss Robinson, the middle-aged teacher, was sealed when the woman refused to set a place at
the table for Caroline. Her requests for a chalk and slate for Caroline were met at first with an embarrassed silence and, later, by anger and the threat of a rap over the knuckles with a ruler if
the name was mentioned again.

Jacqueline didn’t mention Caroline again. Instead she worked diligently, repeating her letters parrot fashion along with her classmates: A for apple, B for ball, C for cat and so on,
becoming bored after a while doing things she had already been taught over a year ago.

After lunch she enjoyed crayoning a pattern on a square of paper, and was pleased when Miss Robinson chose it to hang on the wall, but the woman’s stern looks still made her nervous and
she decided school wasn’t at all what she had expected.

She was shocked on the second day to discover that school wasn’t voluntary and everybody had to go, like it or not. The only good thing she could think of was that she had acquired a new
friend, whom everyone except Miss Robinson called Pam, short for Pamela. Pam was a freckle-faced girl with straight ginger hair held out of her eyes by a slide which Jacqueline had to replace every
couple of hours, due to the slippery straightness of Pam’s hair. Jacqueline saw this as a means of repayment for Pam’s offer to eat all the grey, mashed, lumpy potatoes off
Jacqueline’s plate at lunchtime. At home time the two friends realised they lived no more than two streets apart and walked home with arms wound firmly round each other’s waist, and
Jacqueline promising to call for her new pal at quarter to nine in the morning. From that day on Jacqueline and Pam were inseparable, and woe betide anyone who attempted to separate them.
Jacqueline even shared Caroline with her new friend, and if Pam offered a stick of liquorice root or a bag of lemon crystals to Jacqueline, she always asked if Caroline would like one too.
Jacqueline on the other hand was the first person ever to admire Pam’s freckles and wish she had ginger hair, for which the little girl would be eternally grateful.