Christmas Past (34 page)

The losses of father, job, pet and daughter had obviously gnawed away at Jack’s nerves, but a far deeper worry, of which even Jack himself had been unaware, had turned out to be the
culprit: the fear that Mary had never loved him, that she regarded him as second best. That it was Tom Downing who still held the special place in her heart.

Mary had been shocked when Rowland had revealed Jack’s anxiety.

‘Why, that’s ridiculous.’

‘It may be to you, but it isn’t to Jack.’

‘But how could he think such a thing?’ she cried. ‘Oh, I loved Tom, but in a totally different way. I never loved him as I love Jack – I could never love anyone as I love
Jack.’

‘Then tell him so,’ Rowland had advised.

After that, Jack’s recovery had begun.

Jack had been home three weeks and showed no desire to seek employment, and Mary was so thankful at his improvement that she had no intention of setting him back by mentioning
it. Instead she encouraged him to catch up on any odd jobs around the house, taking Rowland’s advice and praising him for even the slightest achievement. Jack found peace of mind and a great
satisfaction in turning to his old hobby of working with wood, and set about replacing pantry shelves and putting up extra shelves in the shop. After that he fixed a picture rail on the wall of the
sitting room, and hung the pictures Jacqueline had given them for Christmas. He found he was somewhat comforted by the picture of Tittle Harry gambolling across the purple-heathered moor.

He spent quite a bit of time next door at the shoe shop. Old Will Whitaker had owned the lock-up premises for as long as most people could remember. He was a good businessman and a gentleman,
always immaculately dressed in white stiff-collared shirt and dark pinstriped suit, complete with gold watch and chain. Before opening the shop, and sometimes in the evenings, he would take off his
jacket, don a long hessian apron and work on repairing the shoes and boots. Jack had never had much to do with him apart from passing the time of day, but Mr Whitaker had been the first to offer
Mary his support on hearing of her husband’s illness.

‘If I can be of any assistance whatsoever, you have only to ask,’ he had said.

He had followed up the offer by bringing first a basket of fruit for Jack, and then a bottle of Wincarnis, the finest tonic for nervous disorders in his opinion. When Jack came home he had
called to offer Mr Whitaker his thanks, over a cup of tea and an interesting and stimulating conversation. After that Jack had taken to calling in at the shoe shop each morning, and a firm
friendship had developed between the two men.

Jack realised that the old man was finding the business too much for him in his declining years, and often took over some small task such as sorting the Wellingtons into sizes, or checking the
shoes on delivery day for faults like varying shades or imperfect inner soles. He also designed a new footstool for the shop to replace the one which must have been in use for at least sixty years
and, although sturdy, looked extremely shabby owing to the leather’s being worn away in parts.

After a few weeks Mr Whitaker asked Jack, ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about cobbling, lad?’

‘Well, I’ve fixed a few clog irons in my time.’ Jack laughed.

‘Did you make a fair job of it?’

‘Fair enough for the pit,’ Jack answered, wondering what Mr Whitaker was getting at.

‘What would you say to a bit of training? In cobbling, I mean.’

‘What, fixing clog irons?’

‘Well yes, if needs be, though there’s not so much call for clogs these days, what with the pit closure. No, what I meant was soling and heeling.’

‘Well.’ Jack was taken aback. ‘Would I be able to, seeing as I’ve never tried? I don’t really know.’

‘Oh.’ The old man brushed away Jack’s doubts. ‘There’s nothing to it. The hardest part about it is squatting down on the floor, and that’s what’s
beating me, I’m afraid. My poor old legs won’t stand it for much longer, not to mention my back. So I thought with you being out of work, if you don’t mind my mentioning it, you
might like to learn the trade, sort of. Of course, you would be paid for any repairs you did. I do hope you’ll consider my suggestion. I wouldn’t like to discontinue the repairing side
of the business. Apart from disappointing my regular clientele, it would be quite catastrophic to let it go, in case I decide to put the shop up for sale in the future.’

Jack didn’t need to consider Mr Whitaker’s offer. ‘I’d love to. Learn the trade, I mean. It always used to fascinate me watching my old man when I was little. There he
would sit with the old cobbling foot and a piece of leather, cutting and shaping, while I passed him the nails.’

Mr Whitaker’s face broke into a thousand creases as he grinned. ‘Put on my apron, then. There’s no time like the present for beginning something new,’ he said, and so
began Jack’s first lesson.

Mary was delighted, not only that Jack had something new to interest him, but that he was about to begin earning again. Not that they were desperate for cash, the shop was busier than ever, but
Mary had learned her lesson and decided to cut her working hours and devote more time to Jack.

Accordingly, she had begun to stock more high-quality ready-made garments, and was surprised to find that trade hadn’t been affected in the slightest. There were still a few discerning
customers who insisted on Mary Holmes wear, and she continued to make all her own bridal gowns, taking pride in knowing that each dress was an exclusive design.

No, it wasn’t the thought of extra cash which pleased Mary, it was the knowledge that Jack would feel independent once more, which would be another step towards his recovery. She was also
relieved that he had at last been able to cease taking his medication. At first he had suffered sleepless nights and the tension had seemed to build up again, but with Rowland’s constant
support and Mr Whitaker’s friendship the withdrawal symptoms had been overcome. Now, with yet another interest, she hoped her husband’s recovery would soon be complete.

After about a week of being supervised by Mr Whitaker, Jack was quite confident to be left to work on his own, calling on the older man for advice if he needed it, and becoming more proficient
every day. He had been given back his self-respect, and was far less stressed now he had been relieved of the need to think about seeking employment. By the time Jacqueline brought Avril home for
the summer holidays her father was almost back to his old self; indeed he looked fitter than his daughter could ever remember seeing him, and had taken over the shoe repairing completely from Mr
Whitaker. The family were astounded at the amount of work it entailed, and some weeks Jack was earning almost as much as the wretched job at the brickworks had paid.

After the first few days Jacqueline spent little time at home during the day, and her friendship with Doug Downing seemed to go from strength to strength. On the pretext of
painting a selection of nature studies she was off to Longfield each morning, wheedling a lift out of Alan before he left for work. Then, weather permitting, she would paint for a couple of hours,
visit Grandma and Grandad Roberts for lunch, and spend the afternoon working alongside Doug in the greenhouse, recently named Gardener’s Rest. Jacqueline had painted the name on a sign and
hung it by the roadside, and now she was busy learning the names of the various plants, and how to pot out the cuttings. Her artistic talents were put to good use in the arrangement of hanging
baskets, and she took over the customer sales so that Doug could attend to the farm work.

Some days Avril would accompany her friend, but in general she much preferred to make herself useful in Mary’s shop, intent upon repaying the Holmeses’ kindness in inviting her to
stay, and enjoying the company of Yvonne, who was now employed full time.

Jacqueline completed her set of pictures, a selection of seven by ten watercolours in various floral designs. One was of tall purple foxgloves, rising like sentinels against the blue of the
summer sky; another depicted the meadow at Downing’s Farm, the wild flowers nestled against silvery shimmering grasses. Her favourite was a study of a wild rose, pale and fragile against a
mossy green drystone wall.

Originally she had intended sending the finished pictures to a greetings card publisher for appraisal, but Doug persuaded her to exhibit them in Gardener’s Rest instead, and within a week
Jacqueline was accepting commissions for her work.

‘I can’t believe how popular they are,’ she told Avril, completely astounded by her success.

‘People recognise a good thing when they see it,’ Avril pointed out. ‘I don’t think you realise the amount of minute detail you put into your work. I hope you’re
charging their true worth,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Well, I didn’t really know what price to put on them, so I left it to Doug. I was sure he had overpriced them but he insisted if people wanted them they’d be willing to pay,
and he was right.’

‘Good for him.’

Jacqueline looked thoughtful. ‘Why don’t you do some? Pictures to sell, I mean?’

Avril stared at her friend. ‘Me? Why, who’d want to buy anything of mine? You know my style is nothing like yours; everyone says I’m way ahead of my time.’

‘Well, I know they’re rather way out, but you never know, they might catch on. A lot of people are going for abstracts at the moment.’

‘Maybe in London, but can you honestly see them selling in Longfield? Now, be honest. Can you see one of my designs hanging on the wall amongst the polished copper saucepans in the
Downings’ kitchen?’

Jacqueline began to giggle. ‘Well put like that, no, but some of the city dwellers might well be tempted. Doug’s getting a fair amount of afternoon car trade, some of it from select
areas like Dore and Millhouses. They’re quite sophisticated, wanting shrubs and plants I’ve never even heard of.’

‘Maybe, but I’ll stick to dressing the windows for your mother if you don’t mind. Besides, I’m supposed to be on holiday. Unlike you I’m happy to see the back of my
drawing equipment for a few weeks.’

‘You’ve made a very good job of the windows,’ Jacqueline said.

‘Mr Whitaker must think so. He’s asked me to do his shoe displays.’

‘Really? Have you agreed?’

‘Oh, yes. It’s all experience for the future. Besides, I’ve always been fascinated by shoes. My dream is to have a pair of shoes to match every outfit. Not that I’ve all
that many outfits at the moment.’ She dimpled.

‘I hope your dream comes true one day.’ Jacqueline smiled.

‘It will,’ Avril said. ‘I’m not slaving my guts out at college for nothing. Just you wait – in a few years’ time I shall be planning the decor at Buckingham
Palace.’

‘Oh, and what about South Africa?’

Avril blushed. ‘I’ve decided I’m not going after all.’

‘Oh, and why not? I don’t suppose my brother has anything to do with your decision?’

‘Of course not,’ Avril said, but the look in her eyes and the indignant tilt of her chin gave a different answer.

‘You can tell me, you know. After all, I’ve bored you solid with details of my love life in the past.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Avril turned away from her friend and began clearing the table.

‘Oh, so I must be imagining the way you look at each other, and the way you seem to spring to life the moment he walks in the room. And I’m not so dumb that I don’t notice the
way you sneak downstairs the moment you think we’re all asleep. I’m not condemning you, Avril. In fact, I think it’s great – I just wish you weren’t so secretive.
After all, I am supposed to be your best friend, aren’t I?’

‘OK, I’m sorry. I just didn’t think you’d approve; besides, I never thought things would turn out as they have. I thought we could just be friends. It was Alan’s
fault. If he hadn’t been so damned attractive, and warm, and—’ Avril suddenly burst into tears. ‘Oh, Jacqueline, I’m sorry. I’d have given anything not to have
fallen for your brother, but it just happened. It was sort of love at first sight, or at least that’s how Alan described it. I should have told you. I’m sorry.’

Jacqueline placed an arm round her friend and drew her towards her. ‘So, what’s all the weeping about? I think it’s marvellous. You could do a lot worse than fall for my
brother, and he could do worse too.’

‘But he’s younger than I am.’

Jacqueline laughed. ‘So what? By how much? Eighteen months at the most. Oh, come on, what difference does age make? Look at the difference between Doug and me, but it doesn’t stop me
loving him. I would love him if he was twenty years older – I don’t know why I didn’t realise it sooner.’

Avril cheered up. ‘So you’re in love too. I thought as much but you never said.’

‘Well, it looks like it’s confession time.’ They both began to laugh, happy to have confided in each other, relieved now their secrets were at last disclosed.

Avril was in her element. The floor of the shoe shop resembled a bomb site, but the windows were so eye-catching that passing shoppers wondered if the place was under new
management, and paused to admire the new displays.

Gone were the monotonous rows of footwear, placed like soldiers standing to attention, all facing the front in pairs, and instead of segregating the men’s, women’s and
children’s in their own windows she had intermixed them, dressing each window by theme rather than age and gender. One displayed sandals, plimsolls and beach bags; she had even popped out to
the Co-op and purchased a bucket and spade to use as a centrepiece. Another window was ultra-smart with high-heeled courts with matching handbags or evening purses, placed in colour groups of half
a dozen, with only the outsides of each shoe facing the window, and the men’s styles similarly displayed, complemented by leather wallets. School shoes were set off by satchels, and
toddlers’ by one of Jacqueline’s teddy bears.

The window in the centre was given over completely to such things as carpet slippers, wellies, football boots and sundries like stockings, inner soles and leather belts. Mr Whitaker almost had a
seizure when he realised the pairs had been separated, wondering how on earth he would find the odd shoe in a hurry, but Avril had come up with the ingenious idea of sticking a red spot on the end
of each shoe box containing only one shoe.