Christmas Past (28 page)

Yet because she loved him none of this mattered, and now she had decided to give him the ultimate gift, which once given could never be taken back. She was convinced that then Barney would be
different, more loving somehow.

When Saturday came Jacqueline dressed herself with extra care. The circular stitched bra she usually wore was replaced by a satin and lace creation with briefs and suspender
belt to match; she could see the triangular shape of dark hair through the lace inset on the briefs and a flood of desire threatened to drown her as she thought of the evening ahead.

The place as usual was a mess but Barney, lounging on the bed, seemed unaware of the squalor. The strong cloying smell from his cigarettes permeated the room, and Jacqueline frowned as she
wondered what it was he rolled into them. She began to carry the dirty crockery to the kitchen.

‘Leave them, chick,’ he called, ‘and come to bed.’

‘It’s like a tip in here. I don’t know how you can live in it.’

‘Leave it, it’s my scene,’ he drawled. ‘Come to bed.’

Jacqueline went to sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Come here,’ he said. He reached out and pulled her by the hand until she was lying beside him. His eyes were bright blue in the dimmed light. He began to undo her blouse slowly,
fumbling over her bra fastener so that she undid it herself. She slipped her skirt down so that she was wearing only stockings and briefs. Barney could sense the desire in Jacqueline, and wasted no
time on gentleness or words of affection, although he guessed the girl was making love for the first time.

Uppermost in his mind was his own desire for fulfilment. Jacqueline had expected more pain, but she had also expected more pleasure and was surprised at the lack of both sensations. She felt
suddenly deflated, and desperate for Barney’s reassurance that it had been good, and that he loved her as she loved him. But Barney had collapsed in a heap beside her and it was she who
caressed his wiry beard and murmured, ‘Do you love me, Barney?’

He mumbled words that could have been any answer, oblivious of her yearning for reassurance that it was all right, that she was special to him. ‘Make some coffee, chick,’ was all she
could make out.

Jacqueline went to the kitchen, tears prickling her eyes, knowing deep down – in fact she had known all along really – that Barney didn’t love her, and doubting he was capable
of loving anyone. She poured water over the coffee essence, added milk and sugar and carried it automatically back to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it, her head down. She blinked hard,
trying to still the threatening tears.

‘Hey, come back to bed,’ he said, clutching her arm.

She shook him away, the tears uncontrollable now.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘You’re not another one of those chicks who turn on the vapours, are you? Nobody forced you, Jacqueline. Here, take a drag of this, it’ll calm you
down.’ He held out the cigarette.

Jacqueline shrugged away from him and reached for her scattered clothing. She put on her blouse, fastening the buttons with trembling fingers, and stood up to step into her skirt. He watched
her, a smug grin on his face. ‘I’ll say one thing in your favour, chick,’ he drawled, ‘you’ve a cute little arse on you if nothing else.’

Suddenly Jacqueline’s tears of heartache changed to tears of rage, and a need to hurt Barney Ross as he had hurt her overwhelmed her. Unseeingly she picked up the nearest object, which
happened to be the half-empty coffee mug, and flung it, hitting the half-drugged man straight between the eyes. Then she picked up her shoes and bag, and left Barney Ross for the last time.

It was not until the deluge of cold drenching rain cooled her temper that she realised her coat was back at Barney’s flat, but there was no way she would ever return for
it. She looked around for a place to shelter, surprised to find she had been walking for some time. Her clothes and hair were clinging to her skin, as if to thoroughly wash away the inner feeling
of filth left there by Barney’s lovemaking. She smiled wryly at the expression. How could it be called making love with someone who knew nothing of affection, let alone love?

She stopped suddenly at an open door. The interior looked warm and bright and the plate on the wall said
All Welcome N.U.S.C.
A small crowd was coming towards her and she found herself
drawn in amongst them and almost carried in through the door with the laughing group.

The chairs were set in rows and she found one near the back. The service had already begun and the words ‘Give Me Thine Ears’ penetrated her numbed mind. She suddenly wondered what
she was doing here in this place which would certainly be condemned by the Catholic Church. The words ‘Hail Mary full of grace’ came into her mind but were hastily dismissed, meaning no
more to her than the words in the open hymn book before her. She wondered if she had ever been a true Catholic, and thought back to the morning assemblies at school, when she should have excused
herself and gone straight to class with the other Catholic children. Instead she had stayed with Pat and joined in the prayers and singing of rousing hymns like ‘Praise My Soul The King Of
Heaven’. Perhaps if her mother had been more steadfast in her faith, she and Alan might have joined the flock of St Catherine’s, but the scepticism of her father, who was to Jacqueline
the epitome of gentleness, kindness, and even perfection, proved to her that goodness was nothing to do with religion and one church no different from another. It was the people, and what was
inside them, that mattered.

She picked up the hymn book and began to sing.

‘Now we will join in prayers for all sick people everywhere. Please give out your love, and if it pleases God we will try to heal them with His help. Amongst the sick today are these
members of our church.’ The man then read out a list of names, and prayers were offered.

‘Now we come to the clairvoyant part of the service when we will all try to relax, send out our thoughts of love, and open our minds so that our absent friends might inhabit them. And for
the benefit of any members of the congregation who have never joined us before, I would like to assure them that our friends are not dead, but have merely passed into the world of Spirit and are no
more than a thought away.’

Jacqueline could feel herself becoming drowsy and relaxed as she hadn’t been for months. Her head lolled forward and she would have slept if the voice hadn’t roused her.

‘Can I come to you, miss, the young lady near the door? I have a gentleman here by the name of Bill, or Will. I can feel a weight on my body as though I am crushed, or trapped in a dark
place, a mine perhaps, or a tunnel.’ Jacqueline remembered the story of her grandfather’s brother, the reason her mother gave for Grandad O’Connor’s heavy drinking when she
was a little girl.

‘Do you follow me?’ the man was enquiring.

‘Yes. Oh, yes,’ Jacqueline said eagerly. ‘He was my great-uncle.’

‘Well, he wants you to know he’s happy now, no darkness, and no suffering. I’ve also got another gentleman ... wait a minute ... he says he’s a miner too.’ The
man suddenly laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think I can repeat that. This gentleman likes to swear a bit. He says you’re better off without that selfish B, says you’ll find love
nearer home. Do you understand?’

Jacqueline felt the tears rolling down her face. It was as though Grandad Holmes was here in person. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s my grandfather.’

‘Well, he’s certainly a character.’ The man continued. ‘He says he’d never have believed he’d ever come to church voluntarily, but he wants to give you his
love, and tell Lizzie to keep her pecker up.’

Jacqueline felt a comfortable warmth envelop her, and vaguely heard the man addressing another member of the congregation. She looked round the church, which was badly in need of repairs and
redecorating. She joined in the closing prayer and for the moment was at peace with the world.

Afterwards a woman came to her. ‘Will you join us for a cup of tea, dear?’ she said. ‘Thomas would like to have a word with you before you go.’

Jacqueline was reluctant to leave and welcomed the invitation, joining the others in a side room which turned out to be the living quarters of the woman who had approached her and her husband
Thomas. He brought her tea and an arrowroot biscuit. ‘Welcome to our church,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’ Jacqueline was suddenly overcome by guilt. ‘I ought to confess, I really came in out of the rain.’

‘I guessed so,’ he said. ‘But, you know, you ought to come here more often. I do believe you’re quite psychic’

Jacqueline blushed, embarrassed, yet for some reason the news came as no surprise.

‘You really ought to develop your gift; it’s rare and should be treasured. Tell me, have you experienced anything unusual at any time?’

‘I had a visit from my grandfather on the night he died, although I was miles away at the time.’ She laughed, ‘That’s the one who swears a bit.’

He smiled. ‘Look, I shall have to circulate, but will you come again? Preferably to the open circle on Wednesday evenings, about seven. I do think it’s important to you, and we
always welcome new members.’ He shook Jacqueline’s hand warmly and moved on through the remaining groups.

Jacqueline was calmer when she left the church. She knew now how stupid she had been, thinking that Barney had cared for her. The past few months seemed unreal now as she attempted to analyse
her feelings for him. She had liked the look of him, certainly. He was one of the most handsome men she knew, but it wasn’t just that. There had been something else. He had been rebelling
against his parents. He had told her about how much the business mattered to them and how they had imagined money could make up for not spending time with him. How he had been sent away to boarding
school.

Jacqueline thought now that it might have been pity she had felt for him. He had been like a small boy and in a funny sort of way she had felt the same. Perhaps she had been rebelling against
her mother by falling for someone she knew her mother would have disapproved of – if not hated. Maybe it had been a protest about all the hours Mary had been too busy for them. Too busy for
Alan, too busy to visit her family in Newcastle, despite numerous invitations. Too busy to spend time with the Robertses, who cared for her like a daughter. Worst of all, her mother had been too
busy to enjoy time with her father.

Jacqueline had never realised how much she resented the hours her mother spent at that bloody sewing machine until Barney Ross had brought it to her attention. She hoped to God that after
tonight she wasn’t pregnant. Her mother would never stand the shame of it. Besides, it might lose her a few customers and that would never do. Jacqueline sighed. How she wished she was back
home. Not at the shop, though, in her present frame of mind. She wished she was at Longfield, with Grandma and Grandad Roberts. With the Downings, who despite the farm always made time for her and
Alan. Back with Doug. He would never treat a girl as she had just been treated. She had seen how gentle he was with the animals, appreciated the way he had taken time to talk to her – even
though he was four or five years older. There was no comparison between someone like Doug Downing and Barney Ross. If only she had realised it before tonight.

As Jacqueline walked back to her room she braced herself for Avril’s ‘I told you so’, but her friend had herself been the victim of one or two broken affairs and knew how deep
the pain could be. She was actually relieved now Barney Ross was out of Jacqueline’s life, and so provided the proverbial shoulder to cry on. She knew better than to criticise the weak
useless layabout; her friend would already be aware of his shortcomings. But the knowledge didn’t help heal the heartache; only time could do that. In the meantime, if Jacqueline needed her
she would be there.

Jacqueline did need her friend, more than she had ever needed anyone. Her recovery from the Barney Ross affair seemed to be taking far too long, and Avril was extremely worried
about the way her room-mate was surviving on endless cups of tea and very little food. Jacqueline’s normally slim figure now looked like nothing more than skin-covered bones, and it needed
nothing more than a letter from home or a word of kindness to reduce her to tears. Now the Christmas cards had begun to arrive it was even worse.

Jacqueline opened yet another one and Avril couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy as the pile increased.

‘Who’s it from today?’ she asked.

‘My cousin Una.’

‘Is that the pretty one?’

‘Yes.’ She unfolded a sheet of blue paper and scanned the enclosed letter, her face becoming animated as she read. ‘Oh, guess what, she’s appearing in pantomime at the
Lyceum. Only in the chorus, but that’s really something. It’s one of the best theatres in the country. I always knew she’d make it. Oh, I wish I was home so I could go and see her
performing.’

‘You should go home for Christmas, it’s just what you need. Besides, you know how disappointed everyone will be if you don’t.’

‘I’ve told you, I’m not going to leave you alone at this time of year. What sort of friend do you think I am?’

Avril didn’t try to argue. They had been through it all so many times, and Jacqueline was right: she would be lonely during the festive season. She experienced another wave of homesickness
and wished her parents were here in England. Though she loved them dearly she did wish they had waited for her to complete her education before her mother had left for South Africa.

Her father had emigrated a few years ago and was now enjoying success as a builder. He had developed the firm and was now employing a number of men. Initially the arrangement had been for his
wife and daughter to follow when Avril finished college. However, her mother, both impatient and lonely for her husband, had decided to join him, leaving Avril to follow later. Now Christmas was
close she couldn’t help feeling abandoned, and missed her parents dreadfully. Though not, Jacqueline suspected, half as much as she herself missed Millington, her parents and her brother.
Dear Alan who had grown so tall and strong and broad of shoulder, his arms always waiting to surround her with their comforting warmth. Grandma Holmes, always there in her old rocking chair, and
Grandma and Grandad Roberts, who would be missing her more than any of the others. Oh, what she would give to be with them at Moorland House. The warmth of the kitchen, the piano, the view over the
reservoir, stark and beautiful in the weak winter sunshine. Suddenly she made up her mind. ‘We’re going home,’ she said.