Let it Shine

by Let it Shine (retail) (epub)

  The sound of his chuckling filled the kitchen. ‘I’ll tell you what, our Sylvia. If it tastes as good as it smells, I’ll not complain.’ The whole house was bathed in the succulent aroma of mince pies, freshly cooked meat, sausage rolls, and big bumpy scones oozing with raisins and browned with the white of egg.

  ‘That’s the last batch.’ Satisfied with her day’s work, for that was how long it had taken on and off, Sylvia placed the hot food on wire racks, before arranging the racks on top of the cupboard. ‘Out of reach of you two!’ she told the girls, who by now were hanging around the door licking their lips and hoping to cadge a morsel or two.

  ‘Oh, Mam! Can’t you even spare one mince pie?’ Betsy groaned.

  And back came the answer. ‘No. You’ll be having your Christmas dinner in no time. You don’t want to spoil it.’

  ‘Surely one mince pie won’t hurt.’ Her bottom lip was thrust out, always a sign that she was about to throw a tantrum.

  Ellie suggested a compromise. ‘What if we just have one between us?’ she asked. ‘That won’t spoil our dinner, will it?’

  ‘Mebbe not.’ Trust Ellie to make the peace, Sylvia thought fondly.

  So the twins sat at the table with one mince pie and two plates, and were satisfied.

  When they returned their plates to the kitchen, Sylvia told them to get washed at the sink, which they did. She then brought them towels and afterwards they ran upstairs to change for their Christmas dinner. ‘Quick as you can,’ she said. ‘I’ll need your help to get the table set.’

  ‘And what d’you want from me, lass? ’Jim asked jokingly. ‘A white shirt and black tie, and a look at my nails to mek sure they’re clean?’

  ‘Away upstairs with you!’ Flicking the tea towel round his ear, she suggested, ‘You might wake Larry and tell him dinner will be on the table in half an hour. He went up there ages since. “I’ll only be having forty winks,” he said, and he’s still out like a light.’

  ‘Aye well, the lad worked an extra shift yesterday, so he could have today off. It ain’t fair, you know, lass. Most folks have Christmas Day off without having to do extra hours in lieu.’

  ‘What would you do if I had today off?’

  ‘What?’ He was taken aback.

  ‘Don’t you think I should have today off? I worked yesterday, and I’m working even harder today, but I don’t expect I’ll be paid, will I?’ With Jim staring at her like she were gormless, it was all she could do to keep a straight face. When she could no longer pretend, she laughed out loud. ‘By! That made you think though, didn’t it?’

  Jim was not impressed. ‘Hmh! All it made me think was you’d lost your marbles. You like cooking and baking, and ironing and all that stuff. I’ve heard you say so yourself.’

  ‘Maybe I do. But I wouldn’t mind being paid for it.’

  He ran at her, making her squeal with delight. ‘You argumentative little bugger! Are you looking for a fight, or what?’ When, still giggling, she sought sanctuary in the kitchen, he ambled off upstairs to get cleaned up, though he mumbled and moaned the whole way. ‘What’s so different about Christmas dinner, eh? One dinner’s the same as the next. It all goes down the same hole, don’t it? Causes the same amount o’ washin’ up, an’ all. But I’ll not be dipping me elbows in no grease, ’cause I’ll be off down the pub, and Larry alongside me. Grandad Bertie too, if I know that old bugger. Anyway, she’s got the twins to help her. They better had an’ all, or they’ll feel the flat o’ my hand against their arses, so they will!’

  As he went upstairs, the girls came down. ‘Can we put the presents round the table now?’ That was Betsy, being impatient again.

  Sylvia poked her head round the door. ‘No. You know very well we get our presents after we’ve had our main meal of the day. It’s family tradition – allus has been.’

  ‘Oh, Mam!’

  Out came the bottom lip again, and this time it was Sylvia, not Ellie, who put a stop to the threatened tantrum. ‘If you’re going to keep moaning, mebbe you’d better go back upstairs and stay there.’

  It was only a quiet suggestion, but it did the trick. ‘Well, can we pile them all together, ready for afterwards?’

  ‘I thought that was what you were doing before?’

  ‘We were, only we smelled the mince pies.’

  ‘Go on then, and be careful with your Grandad’s. It’s breakable.’ As she turned back into the kitchen Sylvia warned, ‘You’d best be quick about it, because everything’s cooked and waiting to be strained. I’ll need you to help in five minutes.’

  In fact it was ten minutes before she called them.

  Betsy insisted on putting the best tablecloth over the big old table. Ellie set out the knives and forks, while her sister arranged the spoons and condiments. ‘Don’t forget to put the block of wood in the centre of the table,’ their mother called out. ‘I think your dad said it was in the stairhole cupboard.’

  As always there followed a little argument about who should fetch it out and, as always, Betsy won the day. ‘It’s too heavy for you to carry,’ she told Ellie importantly. ‘You’re too skinny and you’ll only let it drop.’

  ‘Stop arguing, you two!’ Sylvia came in with the plates, and handed them out, three to Betsy and three to Ellie; the seventh one she set down in their father’s place at the head of the table. ‘Now, see if you can do that without arguing!’

  She did the same with the crackers, and the napkins – an old white towel cut into squares, each square sewn neatly round the edges.

  When Grandad Bertie arrived half an hour later, the meal was on the table. Taking off his coat he flung it on the nail behind the door, sniffing at the air like a dog after a bone. ‘By! I couldn’t have timed that better if I’d tried.’ Reaching over Ellie, he squeezed a small brussel sprout between his finger and thumb, and promptly popped it into his mouth. ‘Done to perfection,’ he told her with a wink. ‘Like everything else you turn your hand to.’

  Sylvia rapped him sharply on the knuckles with the serving spoon. ‘I’ll turn my hand to you if you don’t keep your fingers out of the food,’ she warned. ‘What’s the use of me telling the girls not to touch, if you go and do the very opposite?’

  Like a scalded boy, he went and sat by the fireside, making faces at the girls and causing them to laugh out loud. One severe glance from Sylvia soon put a stop to that. Larry showed his face, then Mick, and five minutes later, Jim came down from having a short nap. ‘Right, lass. Lead me to the cockerel.’

  The two of them went into the kitchen and a moment later they came out again: Jim in front carrying the cockerel, and Sylvia behind with the carving knife. Manoeuvring the block of wood so it was central enough to take the big plate, she reminded Jim, ‘Don’t forget last year, when the plate was lopsided and the chicken almost landed on the floor.’

  ‘By! That’s a real beauty.’ With eyes like saucers, Grandad Bertie was slavering at the mouth. Basted brown and dressed with bacon strips, the cockerel was big enough to feed an army on the march.

  Soon all seven were seated round the table. ‘I’ve not seen a spread like this since our Mam…’ Mick’s voice tailed off miserably. ‘All water under the bridge,’ he said with a brave smile. ‘You’re a good cook an’ no mistake, Mrs Bolton.’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ Sylvia glowed with pride, though her heart went out to him. Twenty years and more he might be, but he was obviously still missing his mam.

  ‘Don’t heap too much praise on her,’ Jim warned. ‘You haven’t tasted her cooking yet.’

  Sylvia gave him the ‘look’. ‘No – and neither will you if I get much more of your cheek!’

  Everybody laughed, and Jim set about carving the cockerel. ‘There’ll be no fighting over the legs,’ he announced. ‘Being as we’re the eldest, there’s one for me, and one for Bertie.’ Giving his father-in-law a cheeky wink, he added, ‘I’m sorry an’ all that, but I’ve yet to see a chicken wi’ four legs.’

  When the cockerel was sliced and the
meat dished out, it was time to send round the bowls of vegetables; all piping hot and steamed in their own juices. Next came the gravy, rich and brown. ‘I’m looking forward to this!’ Clapping his hands, Grandad Bertie would have tucked in there and then, until Sylvia discreetly reminded him. ‘We haven’t said grace yet, Dad.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Lowering his gaze, he joined his hands and closed one eye, while the other continued to stare appreciatively at the food on his plate.

  Jim didn’t have much to say, except, ‘Thank You, Lord, for what we’re about to receive.’ He glanced from one to the other. ‘Amen,’ he concluded, and no sooner had he finished, than Grandad Bertie was already cutting up his meat.

  The crackers were pulled and everyone put on their hats, and made short work of their meals. Sylvia was praised, and then the teasing started. ‘How come we only ever get napkins on a Christmas night? The rest of the time it’s the cuff of your sleeve.’ That was Jim, full of mischief and cockerel.

  ‘And why isn’t there a bowl of fruit on the table, like they have in the big houses?’ Larry asked, tongue in cheek.

  The bantering went on with young Ellie enjoying every minute, though Betsy got annoyed when her cracker fell into the gravy. ‘I don’t want it now!’ she whined, quickly smiling through her tears when Sylvia gave her the one remaining.

  Next came the brandy pudding and custard, and, when that was eaten, the girls gave out the presents, which were torn open to cries of delight. ‘Just what I wanted!’ Larry received the same tie as last year but was too polite to say so.

  Jim was given a box of men’s hankies with the initial ‘J’ from the girls and a smart cravat from Sylvia. ‘It’s grand, love,’ he said. ‘I’ll wear it every chance I get.’ As good as his word, he promptly put it on.

  Sylvia was given a cameo brooch in return. ‘It’s not a real one,’ Jim apologised. ‘Mebbe next year, eh?’

  His wife gave him a fond kiss. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and meant it.

  Larry and the girls had clubbed together to get her a beautiful vase, which she adored. Grandad Bertie gave her a scarf and socks. ‘They’ll keep you warm on a cold night,’ he said gruffly. ‘If you don’t like ’em, the shopkeeper said you could tek ’em back and choose summat different.’

  Sylvia put a smile on his face when she protested, ‘I wouldn’t dream of changing them, Dad! They’re lovely.’ The brown clay pipe she had bought for him was accepted with a cry of, ‘Oh, lass! It’s just what I want. The old one’s cracked wide open, as you know. By! That must have cost you a pretty penny!’

  Turning it over and over in his hands, he admired the short stubby bowl with its fancy carvings and long flat stem. ‘By ’eck, lass!’ he kept saying. ‘By ’eck!’ And he gave her a big sloppy kiss that left her with a face full of spittle.

  ‘I wasn’t really sure what to get you.’ Mick handed her a small, square box. ‘My mam used to like this kinda thing, so I thought it might suit.’

  Opening the parcel, Sylvia found the prettiest table decoration. With a base of polished wood and a cloth robin perched on a branch, it brought a gasp of wonder from the girls. ‘Oh Mam, it’s so bonny!’ Ellie held out her hands. ‘Can I hold it, Mam? Please?’ Though, when Sylvia passed the bird carefully from one girl to the other, they were too excited about their own presents to hold it for more than a minute.

  They had a thick roll-necked sweater each from Sylvia and their dad. To Sylvia’s relief, Betsy seemed delighted with hers; red and wide-ribbed, it suited her colouring a treat. Ellie’s was blue; her favourite colour. The girls also received a game of Snakes and Ladders from Larry and Mick, and a pack of Snap cards from Grandad Bertie. ‘I bet I can beat you at Snap!’ Betsy could never accept being a loser, even to the point of being the occasional cheat.

  ‘Come on then!’ Ellie never shrank from a challenge.

  While the girls enjoyed their Christmas presents, the young men cleared the table. Sylvia went into the front parlour, where she got out the glasses and a bottle of mulberry wine that was left over from Jim’s birthday a month back. Placing that on the mantelpiece, she then collected a big, brown earthenware jug from the cupboard. Giving it a wipe with the tail end of her apron, she made certain there was no dust inside. That done, she made her way back.

  Awaiting the final Christmas-night treat, Jim and his old father-in-law retired to the armchairs on either side of the fire. ‘The lass allus does us proud,’ Bertie sighed, patting his over-full stomach. ‘I’m not even sure I’ve got room for the wine.’

  ‘Get away with you!’ Jim replied. ‘It’ll be a sorry day when a man can’t find room for a drop o’ the good stuff.’ With Bertie agreeing, the talk moved on to pubs and darts.

  When Sylvia returned, Jim gave up his chair and drew another from the table. ‘Get in here, you two!’ he called out to Mick and Larry. ‘We’re about to warm the wine.’

  ‘Can’t miss that, can we, Mick?’ Larry emerged from the kitchen with Mick in tow, each of them tugging on the same tea towel with which to wipe their hands.

  When everyone was seated, and the two girls watching as always, Jim thrust the poker into the fire. When it was red-hot, he plunged the poker-end into the heart of the wine, making it sizzle and dance. Before it went cool he quickly filled everyone’s glass. They raised a toast and drank it down; then another, and another until it was all gone – except for the small measure Sylvia saved so the girls could have a taste each.

  Afterwards, they sat round and listened while the twins gave their usual Christmas treat. Betsy recited a poem she’d learned at school. When she’d finished, everyone clapped and so did she. ‘That were lovely, lass, ’Jim told her, and the others all said the same.

  When it was Ellie’s turn, she bowed like a princess and looked like one as well. Her long fair hair hung over her shoulders like sunshine in motion, and her dark blue eyes shone with excitement. There was a pause, when everyone settled again, while Betsy came to sit at her mother’s feet.

  When Ellie began to sing, the room was hushed, all eyes and ears on her. The voice was magical, a plaintive, haunting voice that tugged at their heartstrings:

  ‘Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…’

  When the last note of the beautiful Irish ballad died away, the silence was thick with emotion. The young men were quiet, heads bowed, while Sylvia and Jim glanced at each other, amazed at the child they had raised.

  Grandad Bertie wiped away a tear. ‘Aw, lass, that were beautiful. It don’t matter how many times you sing it, you mek me cry.’ Taking out his hankie, he blew his nose and woke everybody up.

  The girls were hugged and praised and the furniture put back where it belonged. ‘I’ve never heard anyone sing so lovely.’ Mick was deeply moved.

  ‘She gets it off her grandma,’ Bertie murmured, then, when everyone’s eyes were on him, he looked away. ‘By! I’m a lucky man, with two such bonny grandchildren.’ Discreetly changing the subject, he took them one in each arm. ‘I’m proud o’ the pair of youse.’ He gave them each a kiss and sent them back to their games.

  Aware that her father had come close to mentioning her mother, Sylvia watched him for a moment, but he never once glanced her way, and she knew the moment had passed.

  Her mind still singing with Ellie, she went to the kitchen where she made a start on washing up the rest of the dinner things, while the girls could be heard laughing and arguing from the other end of the parlour.

  The young men sat at the table, making plans for the evening. The older men lounged by the fire, talking and laughing, with Bertie puffing at his old pipe and filling the room with smoke.

  To Sylvia it was a wonderful scene; the cheery fire in the grate, and everyone so content. It seemed too good to last, she mused. No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than she felt the same disturbing sense of danger that she had experienced before. ‘Take a hold of yourself, Sylvia,’ she said bossily. ‘You’ve had too much wine. It’s got you imagining things.’
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  Jim’s voice sailed through to her. ‘Talking to yourself now, is it?’ he chuckled. ‘I can see I’ll have to fetch the men in white coats.’

  A moment later, her dad came into the kitchen. ‘All right, are you, lass?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ And, after Jim’s light-hearted comment, so she was.

  Dipping his finger into the custard pan, Bertie licked it clean though at the same time keeping a wary eye on her. ‘You’re not still worried about that Peeping Tom, are you?’

  ‘No, Dad.’ Wiping her hands, she filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

  ‘Will it be all right if I stay here tonight?’ he went on.

  Sylvia smiled at him. ‘You feel the need to protect me, do you?’

  Bertie didn’t answer. Instead, he told her, ‘I’ll have to go back and fetch the old dog, if that’s all right. He’s never been left on his own at night afore.’

  ‘’Course it’s all right, Dad,’ Sylvia told him. ‘Besides, it will be nice to have you stay over. Larry won’t mind sharing with you.’

  Bertie shook his head. ‘No, love, I won’t disturb the lad. I’ll be happy enough bedding down on the sofa.’

  Jim was consulted, and the arrangement was quickly made. ‘I’ll be going to the pub in a while,’ he told Bertie. ‘The landlord’s son’s got himself a little car; it spits and bangs and frightens the life outta the cats, but it goes forrard and backarrd and that’s all as matters. Show him a bob or two, an’ he’ll have you out to your place and back again afore you can say “How’s yer father”.’

  Having got ready to go out, Larry suggested, ‘If you like, I’ll ask him. Me and Mick are off there now.’

  Getting out of the chair, Jim gave a long, noisy stretch. ‘Aye, go on then, son. Tell him me and your grandad are on our way, an’ he’ll be needing to leave in the next hour.’

  Sylvia was astonished. ‘What’s all this?’ Looking from one to the other she asked, ‘Since when has the landlord opened his pub of a Christmas night?’