The Moon Spun Round (23 page)

Abbie included both sisters in her Christmas Day and insisted they joined them for a traditional family breakfast before church. Not wanting to have to explain about the shortcut through the trees, Sally led the way via the grassy verge to the corner of Wicker Lane and Abbie’s gate. It felt quite strange knocking at the front door.

They had been warned to wrap up warmly, a reference, she thought, to the icebox parish church, but it turned out that what Abbie called her family included the horses. Breakfast took place in the stable yard where all the animals were on parade, wearing woollen blankets, their tails and manes trimmed with tinsel and their breath puffing white clouds as they stamped their hooves. The aroma of freshly roasted coffee mingled with the now-familiar horse smells. Philip and Daniel were both looking forlorn, bereft of their respective girlfriends and nursing hangovers from the night before’s session in Cambridge. But that didn’t stop them demolishing the mountains of bacon sandwiches and bowls of
porridge with brown sugar, served from a heated trolley that had been trundled into the yard.

Despite the happy greetings outside, the church service was a sober and staid event. George and Abbie and the boys took the pew second from front, as custom dictated, with Sally and Morgain squeezed in at the end. Sally felt herself prodded in the back, and turned to see Naomi wink as she sat down behind her, settling a prim and innocent expression on her face. She was soon joined by Ruth and Jack. Fran bustled in from the vestry only moments before her husband emerged in his starched white surplice. Naomi shuffled up to make room for her, and they exchanged a quick peck on the cheek, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the Reverend Cunningham. There was a ripple of coughs and a shuffling of feet as the small congregation settled down to welcome the newborn child. About half of the pews were either full or empty, depending on one’s viewpoint.

Thank God for the carols, thought Sally. They at least were familiar friends, and there was obvious pleasure in the singing of them, even though ‘Joy to the World’ did sound a little incongruous in those bleak surroundings. A couple of times she had to nudge Daniel, who was in danger of falling asleep. Fran was right: it was an icebox, and the dilapidated crib and meagre scattering of candles did nothing to dispel the aura of gloom. Nor did the Reverend Cunningham’s expression do anything to add cheer to the event. Once handsome, his thinning face had caved in upon its chiselled bone structure, giving him a cadaverous appearance. His eyes were cold grey, and his mouth forced into a permanent pucker of displeasure, as if penance were a way of life. At no time did he allow the joy of the season to deter him from his task. His sermon, on the gift of love, showed little kindness to the congregation’s freezing feet as he droned on for what seemed like hours. By the end of it, Sally thought she had learned nothing except the meaning of the phrase ‘as cold as charity’. Throughout the service he glanced repeatedly over Sally’s shoulder to where Naomi was sitting next to his wife, and each glance honed the steeliness of his eyes to a sharper edge. At one point Sally could resist no longer and turned to catch a glimpse of Naomi’s face, a portrait of innocent sweetness and rapt attention.

Just when she thought that the circulation in her legs was lost forever, Edward Cunningham reached for his hymnbook and the organ burst into the opening strains of ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’. Seeing the end in sight, the congregation rose as one and rejoiced in song. Despite her lack of religious conviction, Sally never failed to be moved by the singing of carols, especially that one. It seemed to encapsulate everything that Christmas should be and could be: the fulfilment of hope. As usual, she felt herself moved by some irrational emotion and had
to fight back the tears. One voice rose above the others, a clear, strong soprano coming from behind her. She was surprised to realize it was Naomi, singing loudly and with full conviction. But of course she was her father’s daughter and there was music in her veins.

After a respectable pause, they all filed out. Like children freed from lessons, the congregation relaxed and there was an outbreak of excited chatter about what the day had brought so far and the treats to come. Sally waited for Naomi to join her.

‘I’m surprised to see
you
here. I know you said you would come, but I thought you were joking. You sing beautifully.’

‘I love singing carols, all the old familiar tunes.’

‘So do I. Though like you I’m not sure I believe in what I’m singing.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I think all myths should be believed. They’re all true at some level.’

Reverend Cunningham was at the door, shaking the hand of each parishioner. Fran introduced the newcomers and he looked faintly disappointed that neither Sally nor Morgain looked likely to swell future numbers in the pews. He gave an almost audible intake of breath as Naomi offered her hand.

‘An interesting service, Vicar.’

The merest touch of fingers was all he allowed her. ‘I’m surprised, as usual, to see you here, Miss Walker.’

‘As usual, I came to keep company with my friends. And to enjoy the singing, of course.’

‘Yes, I do realize you’re not a believer. As you’re fully aware, we don’t see eye-to-eye on theological matters. Nevertheless, I’m glad that you’re still willing to come to hear the Word of God. I never cease to hope that one day you may come to me and not only hear but understand and accept His Word.’

‘Oh, I hear the Word of God all the time, Mr Cunningham. That’s the difference between us, you see. I believe that the ruler of the universe is quite capable of communicating with me, or anyone else for that matter, whenever She wishes. She doesn’t actually need any help from you, and She certainly doesn’t need your permission. But thanks for the kind offer.’ Naomi gave him the sweetest of smiles and turned away, almost skipping down the path.

‘That was a bit below the belt, wasn’t it?’ Sally muttered when she caught up with her.

‘Miserable old sod. Look at him—his face looks like a sponge full of vinegar.’

‘Oh, be fair to the poor man: you only came to his service to provoke him.’

‘Yes, s’pose you’re right. Still, it gives him something to feel self-righteous
about, doesn’t it? He’ll probably enjoy fuming about it for the rest of the day.’ ‘Yes, he will, but it’s Fran who’s going to bear the brunt of his bad mood.

Won’t do much to improve her Christmas, will it.’ ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Oh, shit!’

So that was Christmas morning. Christmas dinner followed late in the afternoon, giving Daniel, Philip and Naomi the chance to escape to the pub while Sally and Morgain helped Abbie roast the turkey and prepare all the stuff that went with it. George made several offers of assistance, but was dismissed from the kitchen each time. He had cut logs and stacked them in the sitting room, where he tended an open fire on which he planned to roast chestnuts later that evening. His duty was to carve the meat. He had selected several bottles of an especially good wine and introduced a favourite vintage port to follow the pudding, which was, of course, ceremoniously doused with brandy and set aflame.

Meanwhile Fran had invited two elderly ladies and one even older gentleman of the parish to join them for a Christmas dinner. And, of course, Edward had felt obliged to invite the church organist, a widow with no immediate family. Fortunately the curate had made other plans, but the old chap who kept the graveyard tidy was alone and abandoned and so was able to even up the numbers. It was just as well some generous farmer had donated an outsized turkey over whose carcass the Reverend Cunningham intoned grace before they all sat down to eat. Fran dashed about the table, ladling out sprouts as if it were a soup kitchen, while Edward, still seething from his encounter with Naomi, carved the bird and served his guests seasonable portions of overcooked meat with generous helpings of sanctimonious indignation.

Ruth, forbidden by her daughters to lift a finger in the kitchen, forgot all about the Queen’s speech. She was too busy crawling around the floor connecting sections of speedway track, promising the youngest grandchild she would read a story from the new book just as soon as she had worked out how to assemble her sisters doll’s house. She did, however, consume several large glasses of sherry, and eventually fell asleep on the sofa, still wearing her paper party hat.

Claire worked at being the hostess. She kept an anxious eye on the kitchen while serving drinks and dutifully admiring her sister-in-law’s new diamond earrings. Ayden’s mother loudly stressed their value and her daughter’s husband’s generosity. Ayden parried with references to Claire’s new gold watch. It was ostensibly a Christmas gift from him to her, but it didn’t take much to work out
why it has been purchased and whom it was meant to impress. Her surprise and pleasure were, therefore, short-lived, although there was little time to indulge in disappointment. She knew Ayden expected this meal to be perfect, so she kept vigil on the oven and dressed the table with what she hoped was stylish flair. Ayden entertained his family and made no comment on her efforts, but she knew he was watching her straighten the edges of the tablecloth and set out the silverware. She prayed that the day would end peacefully.

After the protracted eating binge at the big house, everyone staggered from the table and collapsed in front of the fire. Presents were brought out from under the tree and there was even something for Morgain. Sally was glad she had thought to bring gifts for George and the boys, in addition to the chocoholic recipe book she had found for Abbie. Calm and level-headed as ever, Abbie had stage-managed the day, making it all look so effortless. She even found time to sit down and enjoy the company of her family and guests between slipping out to attend to the animals.

It had been the perfect Christmas, the one Sally had always dreamed about. But it was, after all, a day for families. So early in the evening she suggested that she and Morgain returned to the cottage, determined that they should spend the remains of the day together. Now mellowed in mood, she wanted time to talk about their mother’s death and their father’s new marriage. Perhaps they would even reminisce about their early life together; share a little of their hidden selves that had not been revealed when they had been with their parents. But when they were alone in the peace of Sally’s home, they found that the only remnants of their childhood were the memories of their parents’ rocky relationship. As that well-worn subject was quickly exhausted they ended up sipping cream liqueurs and watching television.

The next morning, Boxing Day, Sally took Morgain into Cambridge, showed her the ancient colleges and the river. They had lunch in the Fort St George pub while watching the college rowing teams training on the Cam. They were both relieved when Morgain said she had to work the next day and had better make her way back to London that evening, leaving Sally and Cat to settle down and enjoy each other’s company.

Thinking she ought to call in on Abbie and thank her and her family for sharing their Christmas with her, Sally took the shortcut through the trees and visited the pool before crossing the stream. Her mind was still on Morgain which explained why, as on her first visit, she rounded the corner of the stable block and nearly
collided with a man. This time it wasn’t Daniel but a stranger, standing with his back towards her and deep in conversation with Abbie.

‘Yes, I think he can go home now, though he still needs to rest up for a few weeks. They’ll have to keep him warm and give him good food and gentle exercise for a few minutes each day. No riding until he gets the all-clear. You know the drill.’

‘Of course. And he’ll need something to build up his strength. It’s really knocked the stuffing out of the poor—’ Abbie was interrupted by a volley of yapping from the terriers as they rushed to greet Sally. ‘Oh, hello. Sorry I didn’t see you there.’

‘Hi. Perhaps I’ve come at a bad time. I didn’t know you had visitors.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m just on my way out.’ The man gave Sally a smile as he hefted a battered leather case into his Land-Rover.