Traditionally, Honor and Hugh went carol singing in aid of the church. Most of the twenty-odd singers were not choir but members of the congregation – ‘poor bloody infantry’ as Hugh put it. They performed a two-hour, early-evening circuit of the village, the younger members of the group collecting door to door with a watchful adult, winding up at the vicarage for mulled wine and mince pies.
This year the night of the carol singing was particularly beautiful, the moon a silver paring and the stars shone out brilliantly, so that the words of the hymn felt particularly relevant: ‘When like stars his children crowned; All in white shall wait around.’ Honor found herself looking up and thinking, There they are!
They sang their hearts out and were all quite hoarse by the time they reached the vicarage. The vicar himself had been going round with them, carrying a battery-powered lantern and organising the carol choices. The vicarage was a four-square Georgian villa with twin chimneys, windows set symmetrically on either side of and above the door. All the curtains were drawn back and the lights on in honor of the occasion. As the vicar led the way across the drive the door opened and Mrs Jones – Catherine – came out on to the step with their two small children huddled in dressing gowns and slipper-socks.
‘Here we are!’ called the vicar. ‘And we must sing number twenty-one.’
That was ‘It came upon the midnight clear’ with its message of the ancient splendours of peace. Catherine and the children applauded warmly at the end, the youngest child ran to her father, and they all trooped in, following Catherine into the big, shabby drawing room where the tree stood – still with some cardboard boxes, leads and bags stuffed hastily behind it.
‘We just finished that about ten minutes before you got here!’ announced Catherine, she was one of those women who seem born to laugh. Coats were loosened, hats and scarves removed, and the vicar circulated with the mulled wine in an assortment of china mugs while Catherine took the mince pies out of the oven. Hugh was in boisterous conversation with another bloke, so Honor took her mug over to the window, to admire the tree and survey the scene. Behind her, the nighttime front garden with its mature trees screening the drive from the road, was inky black. Next to her the tree fizzed with a cheerful jumble of colour and light, little crackers, and at the top a trio of angels made (some time ago by the look of it) out of clothes pegs. The room hummed with the heartfelt sound of seasonal wellbeing and a job well done.
‘Thank you for coming along, Honor.’ Ed Jones was standing next to her. ‘It’s appreciated. Something tells me the time is fast approaching when we’ll struggle to get enough people together for this.’
‘I bet you will,’ she said. ‘People don’t have to be religious to enjoy singing carols.’
He laughed. ‘Ain’t that the truth? Four weeks from now it’ll be a case of if I ever have to summon all ye faithful again it will be too soon. Which is a pity in a way.’
The smallest child – a boy of about two – came over and clasped his father’s leg. The vicar put down his mug on the windowsill and lifted his son. The toddler’s hand was a soft, importunate starfish against his father’s cheek. Honor experienced a pang of hopeless, unidentified longing, tinged with nostalgia. There was a relaxed completeness here which had been present in her own childhood home but which, with time and growing up, had become diffuse and scattered.
The vicar was asking what she’d be doing on the day.
‘I’ll be at home,’ she said, ‘as usual.’ And then adding in case she’d sounded plaintive, ‘Which is what I like.’
‘Up at Heart’s Ease?’
‘Yes.’ She felt his eyes on her – interested, curious, in a good way. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.
‘Did you find out any more about the brigadier and his flighty lady?’
She shook her head. ‘Only what I could find in the local paper.’
‘Poor things – can you imagine.’
‘But he’d been dead for a long time, so he didn’t know.’
Jones raised his eyebrows humorously. ‘Ah, but who can say?’
Hugh joined them. ‘Well, I’ve swigged and scarfed and it’s probably time we were going. What do you think, my girl?’
‘Right.’ She swallowed the last spicy mouthful and put her glass down next to the vicar’s. ‘Ready.’
The vicar accompanied them into the hall, still carrying his son who had gone floppy with tiredness.
‘So I shall see you on the big day if not before.’
‘Not on the actual day, no,’ Hugh wound his scarf. ‘We’re going up to London to stay with our eldest daughter.’
‘Ah, OK, but you …’ He addressed Honor. ‘You’re not going?’
‘No.’
‘No need to worry about her,’ explained Hugh, ‘she’s entertaining friends. A rough bunch I have no doubt.’
They both laughed, kindly. Honor and Hugh said thanks and farewells and set off up the lane. They walked in silence, the beam of Hugh’s torch bobbing in front of them. At about the halfway point Hugh put his arm around her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
‘My girl. Thanks for coming. I enjoyed that.’
Honor, inexplicably a little tearful, didn’t reply.
Seventeen
‘I realize it’s a longshot,’ Robin had said on the phone, ‘and I’m sure there a thousand things you’d rather be doing, but I’d deem it an enormous favour.’
‘Sure, no, don’t see why not,’ Bruno heard himself say, well aware that it was a lie, and there was no end to the reasons why not. ‘I mean, if you can’t find anyone more … if you think I’m the man for the job.’
‘Great!’ Robin’s relief positively crackled over the line. ‘Absolutely, you’re a star – taxi both ways on me.’
So here Bruno was, about to take his nephews and niece to some sort of carol do at the hospice. What, he wondered, had happened to him? Not that he had any objection to helping out, God knows he owed Fliss and Rob, but both the event and his role in it were well outside his area of expertise.
The taxi was a good idea, he wouldn’t have wanted to be marshalling the kids on public transport. Noah went on the jump seat and he sat between Rollo and Cissy. They were rather sweetly delighted with the experience, you’d never have known they were children to whom travelling around London by car was as natural as breathing. Something about the interior of the cab, the larger floor space, the way they sat facing each other, the driver in his own little world and they in theirs – they were enchanted. Cissy sat slightly pressed up against Bruno, but gazing out of the window. Rollo sat on his hands, kicking his heels back against the seat, humming with pleasure. Noah made conversation.
‘We’ve never been here before.’
‘The hospice? No?’
Bruno was glad to hear it. A building full of the dying didn’t strike him as the ideal place for a family day out. He’d been glad when Robin mentioned the concert would be outside. And this was one of those dank, dingy days when at least it wouldn’t be too cold and the early dark would be scarcely noticeable.
Noah said, ‘I’m going to be rather embarrassed to hear Mum sing.’
Bruno thought he might be too, but didn’t say so. ‘Did you ever hear her sing before?’
‘Once,’ said Noah. ‘She’s in this choir?’
‘I haven’t heard her since I was a kid. We used to sing in the car.’
‘Really?’ Bruno fancied he could see the thought dawning in his nephew’s head. ‘Like we are now?’
‘Well no, not in a taxi with … you know …’ Bruno nodded at the driver.
Rollo, his interest piqued, turned to look at him. ‘What did you sing?’
‘All kinds of old cr— All kinds of things. “Ten green bottles”, Eagles, “She’ll be coming round the mountain”, that sort of thing.’ They gazed at him blankly. ‘Just a way of passing the time on long journeys.’
The two boys stared at him, polite but blank. Jesus Christ thought Bruno, I’m an uncle, I’m old!
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‘Mum’s stuff is really boring,’ said Noah, not critically, just sharing information. ‘And she makes funny faces.’
‘Well,’ said Bruno, deciding that for the time being uncle-hood was in his job description and he’d better embrace it, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
For the concert the choral group had been asked to wear any combination of ‘Christmassy’ colours. It was neither raining nor too cold so Felicity had opted for a red dress with a black fur jacket, black suede boots and an emerald scarf with a gold pin. She’d put her hair up in a soft twist (her Danish pastry as Robin called it) and added a discreet red silk rose. When she saw the other members of the group she couldn’t help wondering if they’d all had the same brief and if she’d overdone it, but one of the tenors made a point of telling her how ‘wonderfully festive’ she looked, which she took as a compliment.
A big crowd was assembling in the garden in the gathering dusk. Where possible patients were moved so they could see out. A buffet of mince pies, sausage rolls and cake, with tea or mulled wine, was set out in the big day room which could be accessed from outside. This was manned by a team of volunteers including Dorothy from reception. Felicity bumped into her beforehand and she was quite shiny-eyed.
‘I’m so pleased to be part of this. We always used to come as visitors, it’s so exciting to see it from the other side.’
Felicity realized she knew almost nothing about Dorothy. Who, for instance, was ‘we’, and why was that in the past? Dorothy on the other hand often asked about her family, and did so now.
‘Will you have anyone here today?’
‘Probably not – Robin’s got an important business thing, he was going to bring the children if he got away in time, but I think it’s unlikely.’
‘Life’s just so busy, isn’t it?’ agreed Dorothy sympathetically. ‘Especially at this time of year.’
By the time the concert started there must have been two hundred people down on the lawn, centred on the huge Christmas tree donated by the local Round Table. The tree was covered in white and gold lights – more tasteful than the exuberantly multi-coloured ones indoors – and topped by a long-tailed silver star. The rooms of the building behind them glowed cosily, the lights dimmed for the occasion. Two free-standing spotlights illuminated the performers.
The hospice manager Caitlin welcomed everyone, including the mayor and the hospice’s patron, an ennobled lady athlete, and referred them all to their programmes – people had brought small torches. There would be no breaks, the items would run continuously for about three quarters of an hour, after which there would be some carols for everyone to join in with, and a few words from the chaplain.
Felicity had already done her reading, and the choral group were just about to start their set, when she spotted Cissy. She was being carried at shoulder height quite near the front, so it was easy to see her funny Laplander hat with the tassels, and her blonde curls escaping from underneath. She was waving, vigorously, it was all Felicity could do not to wave back. Then, as they started to sing she saw the boys, too – people were kind, and made space for the children at the front. Noah and Rollo were straightfaced, paying attention, she hoped not too mortified. So Robin must have made it after all … She looked for him, and that was when she saw that the person carrying Cissy was Bruno.
Her voice wobbled slightly but she got through the songs, even ‘The Apple Tree’ without making a fool of herself. When it came to the joining-in carols the boys mumbled dutifully into their song sheets but Cissy was tiring, she flung an arm round Bruno’s neck and turned her face into his shoulder. Felicity felt in her jacket pocket but her tissues were in her handbag indoors. Fortunately the kindly tenor offered her his hankie – she would rather he hadn’t noticed at all, but it was better than having a runny nose and eyes in front of everyone.
The chaplain was a practised hand, and kept it short. Bruno lowered Cissy to the ground (he’d done well, Felicity knew how heavy she became after a while), and now he did wave, and nudged the boys to do the same. Felicity made a circling gesture to indicate she’d see them round at the front.
As they turned to go back in the tenor said, ‘There’s something about Christmas carols isn’t there? Gets me every time.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she agreed – useless to deny it after the hankie incident. ‘And I suddenly saw my children down there.’
‘Really? That’s very nice. Here with their dad?’
‘No, he couldn’t come this time. They’re with my younger brother.’ She felt a certain pride in saying this, and the tenor picked up on it.
‘Uncle to the rescue, splendid.’
The first person she saw in the covered walkway near the entrance was Robin. He came straight to her, very bright eyed and with a smile that was both rueful and warm, she could smell the post-lunch chasers on his breath. But there was no doubting the strength of his embrace.
‘My darling … I just missed it. How did it go?’
She began to answer, but he kissed her, a vodka-flavoured kiss on the mouth, right there and then with all the visitors milling round them.
He released her. ‘Sorry, couldn’t help myself. So?’
‘It went really well.’
‘Do you know if Bruno got here, with the kids?’
‘He did, yes. I saw them. They were near the front.’
‘Good man!’ He looked around. ‘Where is he?’
‘Bringing them round now.’
‘You didn’t mind my asking him? I just couldn’t guarantee to be away in time, and Ellie was off meeting her cousin …’
She shook her head. ‘He did really well. It was lovely to see them all together.’
Just then the rest of them came round the corner. ‘Daddee!’
‘Cissy! Come here … Boys – all three of you – what a pleasure …’
Felicity watched her family unite around her.
‘There’s tea and cake,’ she said. ‘Shall we—?’
Felicity’s car was in the car park, but they couldn’t all fit in that, so Bruno opted to go home separately. He still had the taxi money from Robin which Robin urged him to use.
In the event, he didn’t. Once he’d waved them off – and given Cissy the kiss she demanded – he set off in the direction of the tube, with the pleasant and unusual sensation of spare cash in his pocket. He could get some weed off Sean, or at the very least go down to the pub with whoever was going later on.
In the end he hadn’t minded taking the kids to Fliss’s do. They hadn’t given him any trouble and the concert hadn’t been too embarrassing, he could tell they were glad to be there. For his part, he’d only gone as a favour to Robin, but it wasn’t half as bad as he expected. There was something to be said for doing the right thing, at this time of year especially. Sitting on the tube, and even more on the walk back to the flat, he missed … he wasn’t sure what. The kids? The feeling? Being part of something?
The other two weren’t in, and the flat was dark as well as cheerless. He couldn’t bring himself to sit down on the sofa where he’d have to spend all the hours between now and tomorrow. The TSs had asked if he’d like to go over on Sunday, but he’d said no, because then he’d have to go through this all over again. Christmas was on the horizon, and after that he hoped to be able to move to a better flat. It must be true that absence made the heart grow fonder, because he was looking forward to seeing his parents.
Rebuking himself for being pathetic, he left the flat and headed for the British Queen.
Fliss let the children watch TV when they got in – something suitable for Cissy, but which the boys tolerated well enough, Felicity suspected Rollo of rather enjoying the babyish programmes and Noah sat on the floor with a superior expression fiddling with a Rubik’s Cube, only glancing up occasionally. Cissy, wearing the Santa hat Ellie had bought her, perched transfixed on the pouffe like a seasonal gnome.
Felicity and Robin opened a bottle of fizz and sat in the drawing room, looking out over t
he sparkling, endless expanse of London. Soon it would be the party, and then Christmas itself, with the parents arriving. There was a lot to do, but with the aid of excellent local shops and services Felicity had done most of it. The freezer was full, the tree had arrived, and the decorations would go up at the weekend.
She said, ‘I’ve asked Bruno to spend a couple of nights when he comes. We don’t want him tooling back across London.’
‘Of course he must stay.’ Robin sipped, smiled to himself. ‘He rose to the occasion heroically today.’
‘They’re not that bad!’
‘You know what I mean.’
A silence, not fraught but gently complicit, drifted between them. Felicity said, ‘One of the patients died yesterday.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Must be ghastly, I couldn’t do it, but …’
‘You’re thinking it goes with the territory.’
‘That is what I was thinking, yes.’
‘You’re right of course. And we get all the training and supervision and so on … I think what shocked me was that I bumped into his son not long afterwards and he was quite, sort of, bitter about his father.’
‘Bitter?’
‘I made some remark about how charming and funny he’d always been and the son pretty much told me he’d been a philanderer. He was divorced, so … I don’t know, maybe their mother had been treated badly. They loved their father, you could tell, but they haven’t forgiven him.’
‘You don’t know, my darling,’ said Robin. ‘And you never will.’
After they’d put the children to bed Felicity stood on the landing, the pale glow of Cissy’s nightlight seeping round her feet and thought that in due course, in the new year, she might have a change of direction. Concentrate her efforts on the hospice, maybe do some additional training, but anyway order her life in such a way that she had a little more time at home.
By the time she reached the foot of the stairs this thought had been transferred to the back burner. Ellie had just come in, and was unzipping her Puffa jacket in the hall, her face pink and elated.
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