Winter’s Children (31 page)

They could get a fresh turkey. She still had a tin of mince pies. Nik would chop down a tree and Kay would muck in when she got back. It would take their minds off last night’s drama, the fire, the search. The poor lass must be worn out with worry and this was the very day last year when her husband was killed, Nora suddenly recalled. It would take her mind off her grief to be kept busy.

They did have all the ingredients for a good Christmas right here – enough food, a tree, plenty of candles – but Christmas also needed a baby in a manger, good friends around a table and some silly games.

Nora stood up to rub her swollen knees, looking for her stick. ‘You make your own Christmas,’ she smiled, ‘and it’s the thought that counts, not the expense. That’s right, Mr Christmas?’ She turned to look at old Jacob. ‘It begins with the right spirit and a hopeful heart. Now what more do we need? Oh, aye, a Santa. We can’t have him missing Wintergill on his rounds, now can we?’

Nik returned from his shopping trip to find Wintergill in a flurry of preparations. He was commandeered to shift furniture from the side of the hall and given a list of jobs to do before dark. His mother was rooting through the larder checking for stores when Pat Bannerman called in for news bringing a huge bunch of scented lilies. She was given coffee and a mince pie, and a brush and dustpan to clean out the grate ready for a log fire, then she scooted off before she was landed with any more chores.

‘I’m afraid Christmas dinner’s going to be a bit of a pot luck Jacob’s join this year.’ Nora looked up at her son, waiting for his protest. ‘A bit of a loaves-and-fishes do, but if we’re going to do this properly, let’s open up the upstairs drawing room like we used to. It’ll need a bit of an airing. There has to be somewhere for the oldies to have a quiet snooze. Can I leave you to do that?’ She smiled. ‘What did you get in town? There’s not enough in the larder to feed our resident mice. Oh, and I’ve shifted some of your smelly stuff out of the kitchen if I’m going to do a bake.’

He’d not seen his mother so animated for months – years, in fact. ‘Don’t you ask me to shop on Christmas Eve ever again, Mother. It was like a cattle market on auction day, a rugby scrum and a stampede all rolled into one. You’d think the shops were shut for a month, not two days,’ he muttered, putting on his wellies and making for the door. ‘You do what you want in here. I’m off for some fresh air and a bit of wood chopping. The forecast is ropey for tomorrow.’

‘Find us a good tree, son. I want it up by the time they get back. We’ll show them we can trim up as good as Sutton Coldfield any day!’

Nora was just about to find the broom and sweeper, the basket of polish and dusters and set to with gusto on the upstairs when two of her cronies from the WI turned up with presents for Evie. Before they sat down to attack her famous mince pies, she got them sweeping, vacuuming, dusting and polishing the drawing room until it sparkled like a spring clean.

The curtains were thick and lined with ancient woollen blankets to keep out the draughts, the chintzy sofa covers faded with sunlight, but it was a gracious, well-proportioned room, panelled with turquoise-painted wood.
Country Living
magazine would do a good makeover here, she smiled as she cleared out the grubby fireplace and laid down some sticks. Pat’s lilies were already scenting the room with sweetness.

When Edna Danby called in for the latest update on the Partridges, she was sent out into the copse to find some greenery – holly with berries, ivy and foliage – from the front garden borders. She’d just time to fiddle with it all as only an expert of the North Craven Flower Club knew how. Then the florist’s van came with a huge red poinsettia and holly wreath from her Book Circle; the plant filled the one uncracked jardinière left. Then down the track came the post van with special delivery of cards and a parcel from Sutton Coldfield for Evie.

Slowly Nora watched each room coming to life as the tins of mince pies disappeared. Everyone loved her special pastry made with ground almonds and butter. Now the house was filled with the smell of fresh baking, spices, cinnamon and cloves. There was even her spiced currant bread rising under a cloth, and outside she could hear the thud of chopped wood, kindling sticks and logs piled into the wicker baskets.

She strung up their cards on the beams and twisted holly over the mantelpiece. Edna had time to help them polish up the brasses to burnished gold. Nora had never seen her home so transformed, and it gladdened her heart no end to see it come alive again. Standing back to admire the day’s hard work, she chuckled with satisfaction.
You’ve scrubbed up well, old girl, and now I must do the same …

Nik took his spade in search of a decent Christmas tree. It took him back to the times he’d done this with his dad all those years ago and there was always one found just perfect for under the stairs in the hall.

Now he looked across the silent fields. He should be out foddering sheep, checking the ones on the tops, for the weather was drawing in with snow on the wind again; Christmas snow, just what the tourists wanted but a nuisance for farmers.

The copse was silent and for once he sensed he was alone. That tormented spirit had gone to rest and he hoped never to feel her like again. He hoped he’d bought the right gifts for everyone. He’d made his way to the jewellers on Duke Street to buy a memento for Kay and the kid: just a porcelain sheepdog, one of the Border Arts collection popular with farmers up the dale. He hadn’t intended this but after what they’d all been through … he couldn’t resist the black and tan sheepdog with the markings just like old Muff whom he must bury out in the field later on.

He nipped to Spencer’s off-licence, which sold the best hand-made chocolates. He’d be giving his mother something extra too. Old Jacob would be proud of this show of Christmas spirit, he sniggered, not a ‘Bah, humbug’ in sight.

Since that outburst with his mother he was feeling uncomfortable and wanted to make amends. It had cheered him to see her perked up with the idea of a Jacob’s join, giving her orders like a sergeant major. He could see she’d made a real effort to spruce up the place. What a disappointment it would be if the kid had to stay in Airedale for another night. He had something up his sleeve for Evie, something he hoped she’d enjoy, and he was trusting the weather to come true to form or it would all be a flop.

Much as he went on about his shopping trip, he’d rather enjoyed being in the bustle of the marketplace, meeting up with old mates out doing their last-minute shopping for their wives, moaning about the expense and the queues. It was grand to feel part of the community. Everyone was asking about the kid as if she was his own.

This must be what it feels like to be a family, he thought, and for once he wasn’t shying away from this novelty. You’re getting soft in the head! he laughed, and carried on his search for the perfect tree.

Evie lay back in the bed, waiting for the doctor to come on his rounds. When she’d woken it was a shock to see where she was, looking out onto a courtyard in the middle of the hospital. There were no fields or snow, no Muffin, no Lavender Lady sitting by the bedroom fireplace. She was listening to Christmas music and television, with children careering round waiting to be sent home like her. Was Christmas over? Had she missed it all? She wanted to cry, turning her face to the pillow and sucking her thumb. She wasn’t sure what day it was. Had she missed the
Blue Peter
special?

There was a big Christmas tree on the ward and lots of decorations, but it was noisy and busy and she wasn’t allowed out of the door. Where was Mummy? Why couldn’t she go home?

Then she remembered the fire and getting lost in the snow and Mr Grumpy coming to rescue her … or was it Daddy? There was this funny dream of being stuck under a wall and the White Lady grabbing her wrist and flying like a snowman through the air until she fell down and woke. Mummy was crying and Mr Grumpy was rubbing her hands or something. He wasn’t Mr Grumpy any more. He’d been her friend like Mrs Nora and Muff and the Lavender Lady in the big house on the hill where there was no Christmas; no decorations and no pretty lights, nothing.

If she went back there Santa would never come.

‘Into the car, muppet,’ smiled Kay as she threw Evie’s bag into the boot. At last they were going home. Kay had waited all day for the doctor’s discharge, dreading that she would be kept in over Christmas Day. Anyone could see that Evie was no worse for her terrible adventure. The thought of being stuck in hospital over Christmas miles from anyone they knew was too awful to contemplate, kind as everyone was to them both.

The press had had a field day. The papers were full of the rescue and her lucky escape. Kay was buoyed up by euphoria at first but her spirits soon flagged when she thought of what might have been. The last few days were beginning to feel like some strange dream and now she was waking up.

In a strange way Evie’s rescue had taken away all the angst about Tim’s anniversary, and she felt mean that she’d scarce given his parents a thought. She rang them from the hospital in case they should hear anything on the news. They were all for rushing up to bring them back south but all she wanted was peace and quiet at Wintergill. They were going to come and visit for New Year instead. She rang ahead to the farm to tell them they were on their way back. Why on earth she should dare to go back there was a mystery, but nothing seemed to matter any more.

At least Christmas would be low key with no fuss, and she had bought enough presents for Evie to feel that Santa had called on his rounds.

She wanted to sleep for a week, to go for long walks and calm down. She didn’t care if there was not a mince pie in sight as long as Evie was happy and in sight of her. How could she ever let her out on her own again?

She wanted to thank Nik. How could you thank a man for saving your child? She needed time to think through her future. Christmas could go hang as far as she was concerned.

Yet her spirits rose as they climbed the hill out of Wintergill village. So many people had stopped and waved and wished them well. She had to keep winding the window down to chat to wellwishers as they crawled through the main street of the village. It was like being a celebrity. Evie had fallen asleep in the back. She was still tired and the excitement was acting like a sedative. It was dusk when they bumped down the farm track and she saw the lights.

From every window there was a candle burning brightly, welcoming them in the gloom, and it felt as if her dream were coming alive before her eyes. She could see a huge holly bough bedecked with ribbons hanging from the open front door. Mrs Nora must have been watching out for their headlights for she was waiting in the hall smiling, looking frail but upright.

‘Welcome back. Come in. Merry Christmas,’ she said, and her eyes went anxiously to Evie, still sleeping in the back.

‘She’s fine but flat out, I’m afraid. I’ll take her upstairs.’ Kay stopped, looking at the wonderful transformation in the hall. The fire lit, the table laid. Something was different but she couldn’t decide what.

‘Come and have some tea and mince pies and tell me all about the hospital,’ said Nora, guiding her into Nik’s kitchen, which was scrubbed, tidied and bustling with preparations. ‘There’s a ham in the stove and wine on the chill when Evie wakes up. We’ll trim the tree and then Christmas can begin at Wintergill.’

Nora watched Evie creeping down the stairs, hearing the laughter from the hall. Her eyes were on stalks as she surveyed the scene: strings of holly and green leaves wrapped around the banister rail, candles shining at the windows, cards strung up and music playing. Kay rushed up the stairs to bring her down.

For a second Nora fancied she was seeing Shirley grown up with her own daughter, her family as it should have been, but it was only an old fool’s fantasy. None of that sentimental guff, old girl, she scolded herself. Just enjoy what you have been given. It won’t last long.

They had deliberately left the tree undressed so the child could have the thrill of putting the decorations up. How many decorations there were in the box! It was years since some of them had had an airing. Some were fragile and very ancient pre-war specimens, collector’s items now, no doubt. Evie was dying to put everything on in great lumps of tinsel.

‘Slow down, little Miss Rush-it!’ Nora laughed. ‘First things first. We have to test the lights to see if they are working.’ There was a large box of Pifco electric lanterns from the 1950s, still pristine and in good order.

‘Next we must find the angel for the top. She’s the most important decoration of all,’ she said. ‘The guardian of the tree, my mother used to say.’

Evie was not impressed with the battered celluloid doll with hand-knitted frock and feathery wings; not exactly a herald of glory. She had seen better days.

‘Where does the robin go?’ asked the child. ‘And the corn dollies?’

‘You choose’, Nora smiled, fingering a white rose made out of bleached nylon stockings and stretched over wire. It was one of the post-war make-do-and-mend decorations she had made at the WI and it still did the trick.

‘Everyone gets to choose a decoration in turn, put it on the tree and make a wish. It’s tradition.’ She was making it up as she went along, wanting to hang on to this precious moment, sharing memories with a child.

‘Come on, Mummy, you choose,’ yelled Evie into the kitchen, ‘and Mr Grump–’

‘I heard that!’ shouted Nik. ‘You’d better be good or Santa will miss our big chimney!’

He was standing in the doorway watching the proceedings and, much to Nora’s amusement, her gruff middle-aged son began rooting in the box, searching for a faded furry flying horse: Pegasus, with bells dangling from it. ‘This was always my favourite,’ he said, laughing. ‘Every time the wind blows in this draughty hall it will make the bells ring. I used to think it was sleigh bells,’ he added, placing the horse high to catch the draught and moving back to drink his tea.

I never thought I’d see that again, Nora mused with a lump in her throat. It was strange how Christmas brought out the child in a man, just as Mischief Night and Bonfire Night brought out the naughty boy in him. Nik was full of surprises tonight. There must be magic in the air.