Christmas Past (5 page)

Gladys’s relief at her decision was well worth forsaking the Christmas visit for. She was promised the fare to go as soon afterwards as she wished, and made up her mind to take advantage
of the offer the moment the worst of the weather had passed, secretly dreading being stranded up in Newcastle by snow. A visit was one thing, but Mary couldn’t face the thought of not coming
back to Longfield.

Tom tapped on the kitchen window for Mary to let him in. The doors were always kept bolted after dark, even though passers-by were few and far between up here in winter.

She threw her arms about his neck before she realised how wet he was, then helped him off with his overcoat. He watched her hang it on the cupboard door handle near the fire to dry, drinking in
the beauty of her as he would wine. God, if it wasn’t for the bloody war he would marry her tomorrow.

Mary poured the tea, strong and thick, into the two cups, then added milk and sugar and stirred it sitting at the table. Tom stood with his back to the fire. He remained silent for what seemed
ages, until Mary felt herself blushing beneath his gaze.

‘Well, have you lost your tongue?’ She smiled.

‘To tell yer the truth I’ve so much to say to yer I don’t know where to start.’

‘Well, start somewhere.’

‘I love yer, Mary, so much it hurts just to look at yer, knowing that tomorrow I shall be leaving yer.’

‘Tomorrow? I thought we’d two more days? You said you were going on Thursday.’

‘I know, love. I didn’t want to upset yer more than I had to. It would only have spoiled yer weekend, and it wouldn’t have altered owt.’

Mary felt her eyes fill with tears, so she jumped up and busied herself raking down the fire so that Tom wouldn’t notice. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. She
straightened up and moved closer to him, and he drew her into his arms, seeking her lips hungrily. Mary pressed closer. She would have got inside him if it had been possible. She felt him harden
and her own body responded in a way she had never even dreamed of. She felt his hand stroking her neck, then moving to her breast, and starting to undo the tiny buttons on her dress. Impatiently
she helped him until she could slip it down over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Tom felt the warm slippery satin covering her body and slowly guided her hand downwards towards him,
hoping for relief. Mary felt the warm hardness in her hand, and was overwhelmed by her need of him. Then, suddenly, Tom pushed her from him. Bewildered, Mary wondered what had happened. Surely that
wasn’t all there was to it?

Tom cradled her in his arms.

‘I’m sorry, Mary. I shouldn’t have done that – getting worked up like that, I mean, and you too. It wasn’t fair.’

‘Didn’t you want me, Tom?’

‘Want yer? I was going mad for yer, but I won’t spoil yer, Mary. It wouldn’t be fair – yer might regret it once I’ve gone. Yer could meet someone else, love. Yer
only young, Mary, an’ I’m going to be gone a long time.’

Mary began to cry. ‘I don’t think you love me at all. If you did you’d have wanted me just like I wanted you.’

‘Don’t let’s quarrel, not tonight. Let’s have something happy to remember when I’m gone, and something to look forward to when I come back. That’s if yer
still want me.’

‘Oh, Tom, I love you. I’ll always want you, even if I’ve to wait for ever.’

She suddenly realised she was undressed and reached down for her dress. He pulled her back.

‘’Ere, let me look at yer. I’ll never see pink satin again without thinkin’ of you. Still, I can’t wait to see yer without ’em.’

Mary giggled. ‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said, thinking suddenly about Joyce Bailey and feeling grateful to Tom for not putting her in the same position.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Have yer got something in the oven?’

Mary jumped up and flew to the oven. ‘The cakes,’ she shrieked, praying they wouldn’t be ruined. She lifted them out, noticing the currants were rather black on the top.
‘Just in time,’ she said. ‘Another few minutes and they’d have been ruined. It’s a good job the fire had burned low.’

‘Who needs a fire with you around?’ he said. ‘You’d melt a bloody igloo.’

‘Just wait till you get to know me better.’ She settled on his knee, looking at him with adoration. ‘I love you, Tom Downing, and I’ll wait for ever if
necessary.’

The preparations for Christmas kept Mary occupied during the days, but nights were a different matter. Thoughts of Tom filled her with longing and disturbed her sleep, so that
Dr Roberts became concerned at the dark circles beneath her eyes.

‘It’s only natural she looks peaky,’ said Gladys. ‘The girl’s in love. What’s more, she’s never stopped working since Tom left. Still, it may be the
best thing for her.’

Mary had filled the cellar with pepper cakes, mince pies, cooked hams and Christmas bread, enough to feed all Longfield. The house had been scrubbed and polished from top to bottom, and
decorated with coloured paper trimmings from the attic, and holly laden with scarlet berries from the garden. The spare rooms had been prepared for Rowland’s nephew, his wife and their two
little boys. Christmas cards filled every available shelf and window ledge, and now on Christmas Eve Mary was trying to pluck the chickens while rising the Yule cake for tomorrow’s
breakfast.

Gladys had disappeared upstairs on the pretence of resting, intent upon finishing the costume she was to give to Mary on Christmas day. Only the buttons needed to be sewn on and it was ready.
She hoped it would cheer the girl up. It wasn’t like Mary to be so subdued. Still she was missing not only Tom but her family too. Perhaps she should have gone home after all in the
circumstances.

The knock on the door caused Mary to swear to herself. What a mess she was in, with feathers clinging to her fingers and apron. Shaking her hands to be rid of the down, she reluctantly opened
the door. Her shriek brought Gladys hurrying downstairs, but seeing Mary enfolded in Tom’s arms she climbed silently back up again, leaving them to get on with whatever the young lovers felt
like doing. Gladys might be fifty but she wasn’t yet past enjoying a bit of hanky panky herself, nor one to deny anyone else the pleasure.

Tom had almost let the cat out of the bag in his letter to Mary. He knew he was entitled to leave after six weeks but he hadn’t been certain it would fall at Christmas,
so he had kept silent rather than disappoint her. Now he knew he had been right to surprise her.

Dr Roberts invited Tom to spend Christmas day with them at Moorland House, but considerate as usual Tom thought about his mother’s delight at having him home and compromised, accepting the
invitation to dinner, which was to be at two o’clock, and determining to go home afterwards to tea with his family. Gladys insisted Mary take the afternoon off so she could go with him.

At dinner Gladys enjoyed spoiling their nephew’s children, who were in high spirits, and Mary was reminded of her brothers, though it saddened her that they would never know a Christmas
such as this. Afterwards they opened presents round the fire in the lounge, encouraging the little ones to sing for them the carols they had learned at school. Mary excused herself to reset the
table for tea, slice up the hams and ensure Gladys had little to do later. Satisfied with her preparations, she slipped upstairs to change, impatient to try on the costume which had been hanging
behind her door when she awoke that morning. At first she had felt ashamed that all she had for the Robertses were carpet slippers, but they had been as thrilled as if she had given them the crown
jewels.

The costume fitted like a second skin, and the soft brown checks brought out the warmth of her eyes. Rowland had bought her a cream satin blouse to go with it. Mary hardly recognised herself in
the wardrobe mirror and hoped she didn’t look too posh to fit in with the Downings. Still, she knew Tom liked her in satin. She giggled to herself as she remembered their last meeting, then
hurried downstairs.

Yesterday’s rain had changed to a light sprinkling of snow during the night, and now the flakes were large and feathery, covering the countryside with a white blanket. Tom held her hand
and they walked round the house, making footmarks in the virginal carpet. Old Pepper neighed a welcome even before Tom unlatched the stable door.

‘Happy Christmas, old boy,’ he said as the horse nuzzled his nose into Tom’s shoulder. ‘And happy Christmas to you an’ all, love,’ he said, drawing her inside
the rough warmth of his greatcoat and wrapping it round her. He knew that, for all his good intentions, nothing except resistance from Mary would prevent his giving way to the burning passion she
roused within him.

It did not come. He kissed her slowly, removing her jacket, and then her skirt, folding them carefully, thoughtful even in his eagerness. Gently, he undid the tiny buttons of her blouse and
slipped it from her.

He removed his coat and spread it on the hay, and as though in a dream Mary lay down. He lay beside her, caressing her sensuously, while she fumbled with the broad webbing of his belt.

And then, in the stable, sheltered from the cold Christmas afternoon, Mary discovered the miracle, the fulfilment of love.

The snow continued well into the new year. Mary had thought the house beautiful in the August sun and the autumn mists, but now the sight of it snug in its snowy blanket filled
her heart with an unbelievable serenity. Every morning a robin waited for the scraps she brought out. At first it grabbed its fill and escaped to a nearby rhododendron shrub; later, gaining
confidence, it remained close by, so that by now it was almost meeting Mary on the doorstep. Icicles hung like crystal chandeliers on the laburnum tree, dripping in the weak midday sun only to
freeze again in the late afternoon.

Mary was at peace at Moorland House. To her it was home now, and she knew that whenever or wherever she travelled in the future, this house, this winter, would remain vividly in her memory
– the time when she had emerged from girl to womanhood. She thought of Tom every waking hour but now she could bear the separation, knowing she belonged to him and he to her. She dismissed
from her mind the thought of what would happen once his training finished, thinking only of his next leave, praying the weather would mellow and make the village accessible before he was due to
arrive.

Gladys had guessed immediately that the couple had made love. She had noticed the footprints leading to the stable whilst taking the little boys to see Pepper on Boxing Day morning, and even
without that evidence she would have guessed anyway by the look on Mary’s face. Gladys remembered only too well the change she herself had experienced after her first sexual encounter with
Rowland, the difference being that she and Rowland had waited until their wedding night. Still, things were different in wartime; no one knew what would happen from one day to the next. Gladys,
more knowledgeable than Mary about the progress of the war, decided to say nothing. Soldiers were being shipped out every day to various destinations, and only God knew what horrors were awaiting
them on their arrival. It was better for Mary to remain in ignorance of what Tom might have to face.

Tom’s next leave was spent quietly. The snow had been thawed temporarily to a squelchy mess by incessant rain, and this time, without the Christmas celebrations to
distract them, the only thing on their minds was the uncertainty of when they would next be together. Everyone was unnaturally cheerful and only Tom’s mother showed her true feelings,
starting to cry when little Douglas asked Tom, ‘Have yer killed anybody yet, Tom?’

‘Not yet.’ Tom laughed. ‘But just you wait. As soon as I see one of our enemies he’ll have a bullet up his arse and no mistake.’ A game of soldiers then began, with
Tom chasing his little brothers round the table, drawing his mother’s attention away from her sadness at his approaching departure. Had it not been for the youngsters, Mary had the feeling
that everyone would have just hung around waiting for Tom’s leave to end.

They didn’t make love again. It was as though something special had occurred, something too precious to spoil. Instead they held each other, touching, kissing, gaining satisfaction just
from being together.

When the time came for Tom to return to his unit, Rowland took them into Sheffield in the car, driving erratically once he got amongst the other traffic, although he doubted if they noticed. He
left them with a couple of hours to spare, promising to pick Mary up when it was time for Tom’s train. Then he drove to the infirmary, concerned about a patient who had been injured by a roof
which had collapsed under the weight of the snow.

The couple strolled round the shops, laughingly choosing furniture, optimistic that it wouldn’t be long before they would be buying. Mary promised to fill her bottom drawer ready for
Tom’s return.

‘And don’t forget the pink satin,’ Tom warned. Then he led her to Brown’s the jewellers, where instead of window shopping he took her inside. ‘I didn’t get
chance to buy you a Christmas present,’ he said.

‘We’d like to see an engagement ring,’ he told the assistant who approached them.

Mary almost fainted, wondering what obligations went with becoming engaged. She’d never known anyone in real life who had done so, and she had no idea.

‘I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘I ought to ask my ma or somebody.’

‘Yer don’t need consent to become engaged. It’s just a belated Christmas present, and a promise that I’m going to marry yer. Or don’t yer want to marry me? Is that
it?’

The assistant watched, hoping they weren’t going to walk out without buying. Trade had been quiet since Christmas and an engagement ring would boost her commission. She wanted her hair
cutting in the new style and she would be able to afford it if they bought a ring. She glanced at Mary’s hand, guessing the size from experience, and plucked a sparkling ring from the
tray.

‘Perhaps Madam would try this for size?’ She offered the ring to Tom. The realisation that she was being addressed as Madam so shocked Mary that she let him slip the ring on to her
finger. It was a perfect fit.