Just One More Day

by Susan Lewis

  Dad scoops him up and settles him in the saddle. ‘Gee up!’ he shouts, bouncing up and down. He spots a cowboy suit laid out on Mum’s chair and has to put it on straight away. There’s a hat too, and a gun in a holster. He goes back to his drums and starts to sing ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

  On my side of the room there’s a real table and chairs, made of wood, that’s big enough for Gary and me to sit at. Next to it is a twin doll’s pram with real sheets and blankets and lacy pillows. I’ve got a Tressie doll, whose hair grows, some coloured chalks for my blackboard, a hula hoop, a pair of jumping jacks that are like roller skates, but they have springs instead of wheels; lots of different books and games, a lovely white Bible, a doctor’s set and a tea set to use on my new table.

  I throw my arms round Mum, then Dad, give them a big kiss and go back to my table and sit on one of the chairs. It’s the best present I’ve ever had. ‘Can I eat my breakfast here?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, I think so,’ Mum answers. ‘What do you want? Cornflakes and toast?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Yes please,’ she corrects. ‘Gary? The same for you?’

  ‘Yes please. Can I sit at your table?’ he asks me.

  ‘Yes, but mind you don’t make a mess.’

  ‘Can we open our presents under the tree now?’ he asks Dad.

  ‘Go on then.’

  There are so many it takes ages to unwrap them all and there’s so much paper Dad can hardly pick it up before there’s more. Mum’s watching from the door, and keeping an eye on the toast. I have a silver bracelet with my name on, some record tokens, a compendium of games, a dressing-table set, some false nails, a pair of red and green stripey gloves with the fingers in, some pink flannelette pyjamas with flowers on, and lots and lots of other things. Gary has a bow and arrow, a fire engine with a driver and ladders, a pair of football boots and a football, a monster mask, a set of dominoes, and a transistor radio from Grampy and Aunty Beat that’s a bit broken, but Dad says he can probably get it going.

  This is turning into the best Christmas we’ve ever had . . .

  Eddress

  They have too much these kids. Spoiled rotten they are, when there’s so many children starving in the world. It’s not decent to see them with so much they don’t even know what to play with first, but it don’t half do your heart good to see their faces lighting up the way they do. We never had anything like it when we was kids. There was too many of us in our house to start with, and we was as poor as church mice. I’ll always remember our mam keeping the wrapping paper from one year to the next so she could iron it out and use it again. She thought we were a bit daft, I reckon, because she used to nick toys off one of us to wrap up and give to another, and hope we never noticed. She got a bit mixed up one year and gave our Tom one of our Phyllis’s cast-off blouses. Funniest part was, he liked it and wouldn’t stop wearing it. After that we all thought he was going to turn out queer when he grew up, but he didn’t.

  Watching my two now I can’t help thinking how lucky we are to have each other, and this house, and food on our table. I know we’re a bit broke, and we have to scrimp at the end of the week to get us through to Fridays, and we don’t always have everything we’d like, but thanks to the Co-op, and Green Shield stamps and the coupons from me fags, we have our little treats, and manage to get by a lot better than some. I mean, who else do you know’s roasting a goose for Christmas? Eddie managed to stuff the great thing in the oven last night (it’s out there cooking now, on a low light) – we never had anything like it when we was young, neither of us. Eddie’s mam never liked to talk about it, but I know, when they was down in Wales, they had to go to the soup kitchens sometimes, or they’d have nothing to eat. I’m not saying we didn’t, mind, because God knows, we had our share of handouts and the like, especially when the war was on. Bit of tripe or pork chitlings was about the best we got then. Chicken was a rare treat, but even if we managed to get one, scrawny bugger hardly had enough meat on it to go round three of us, never mind thirteen.

  ‘All right, Mum, we’ve finished our breakfast, so you’ve got to open yours now,’ Gary declares.

  They look so funny sitting there at Susan’s little table and chairs. Shame the camera doesn’t work in the house, it would be nice to have a picture. Susan’s busy clearing the dishes off her table and wiping it down. She’s as proud as Punch of it, and twice as pleased because when she saw it in the club book we told her it was too dear so she couldn’t have it.

  I think funny thoughts sometimes, when I look at her. I wonder who she is inside, and what she’s really thinking. She’s such a mix of me and Eddie, it’s hard to say who she’s like most. I think she’s got the bad bits of me and the good bits of him. She’s got a strong will, I know that, and a stubborn streak the like of which isn’t going to do her any good if we don’t tame it. Our mam and Eddie are always going on at me that I’m too hard on her, but it’s the only way she’s ever going to learn. I want her to make something of herself, to have a good education and find herself a good job.

  Of course I want her to get married too, but times are changing, women are becoming more independent these days, and if you ask me, it’s no bad thing. Gary’ll be all right, men always are. It’s harder for a girl, no matter what she wants to be. In our Susan’s case, I don’t think it’s going to be a ballerina, which is a shame, because that would have been nice. She’s not exactly shining at the piano either, but we’re going to keep it up. Ballet she can leave after Christmas. The elocution lessons didn’t come to anything – the teacher gave up because there weren’t enough people to make it worthwhile. Still, if we can get her into Red Maids School, over on the Downs, when she’s eleven, she’ll have all the elocution and piano she’ll ever need, not to mention deportment, Latin, Greek and God knows what else. Next thing you know she’ll be up at university, mixing with debutantes and the like, and flying off round the world. Won’t want to know her common old mum and dad then. (She’ll get the back of my hand if she ever gets too big for her boots with us, I’m telling you that now, I don’t care how posh and successful she is.)

  ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ I call back, as they all start singing ‘Why are we waiting’.

  The fire’s roaring up the chimney when I go into the room, the guard’s around it but Gary’s sitting too close. I make him move away, then go to sit in my chair where all my presents are lined up along the arms. We’re all still in our dressing gowns, no-one’s opened the curtains yet, and there are some Christmas carols on the telly. We’re so lucky to have a telly. Not many round here do.

  First I open a blue and yellow check headscarf from our mam (the one I gave her last year). Then there’s a box of Dairy Milk from our Gord and his family; a fancy packet of shortbread biscuits from our Tom and his family; a tin of lily of the valley talcum powder from Eddie’s sister Nance, some lavender bath salts from his other sister, Doreen; a nice pair of leather gloves from our Phil who’s got more money than the rest of us, and a little clipboard to rest my bingo card on from Betty and her family next door. She’ll laugh when she opens hers, because I’ve bought her the same thing.

  ‘Open mine now,’ Gary insists, pushing it at me. ‘It’s a surprise.’

  It is too, because I’ve got no idea what he’s been spending his little bit of pocket money on.

  His eyes don’t leave my fingers as I tear open the wrapping that he must have done himself, because the sticky tape’s all twisted and not where it should be. It’s a bar of Cadum soap. ‘Oh look!’ I cry, holding it up so they can all see. ‘It’s exactly what I want. Thank you my love,’ and for once he doesn’t pull a face as I give him a smackeroo on the cheek.

  ‘Mine now,’ Susan says. ‘I wrapped it myself, and I made the bow.’

  ‘You’ve done it beautiful,’ I tell her. And she has.

  ‘Oooh, some Parma violet scent,’ I declare, holding it up so I can smell it. Can’t stand the stuff, but for some reason she seems to think I like it. ‘I’ll put s
ome on now,’ I say, and dab a drop on my neck. Lucky I haven’t had a wash yet, it’ll come off then. ‘Thank you my love,’ I say, and give her a great big smackeroo too.

  ‘I wrapped this one too,’ she informs me as she passes me another. ‘It’s from Dad.’

  I’ve got no idea what this is going to be either; he wouldn’t tell me what he was getting, and the shape and size of it isn’t giving anything away. ‘Do you know what it is?’ I ask Susan.

  ‘No. It’s in a box and Dad wouldn’t let me have a look in case I couldn’t keep a secret – which I can,’ she added, giving him a nudge.

  It’s a small flat white box with nothing written on the outside. I glance up at Eddie, who’s smiling away, and looking as mysterious as . . . whoever he says, I’ve forgotten her name now. I open the top, lift it up, then pull back the tissue. ‘Oh, Eddie,’ I say, hardly able to believe me eyes. ‘Oh, you daft thing. You shouldn’t have spent all that money. Oh, look at it. It’s lovely.’

  ‘What is it Mum?’ Susan cries. ‘Can I see?’

  ‘Go careful now,’ I say, leaning down for her to have a look. ‘It’s a gold compact for my powder with my initials engraved on the front, see?’

  ‘E.L.,’ she reads. ‘Eddress Lewis.’

  I look up at Eddie who’s grinning like the Cheshire cat now, and I wonder who’s the most pleased, me or him. ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I still say you shouldn’t have, but it’s very nice.’

  ‘Now you Dad!’ Gary shouts. ‘It’s your turn. Open mine first.’

  ‘What about all the others?’ I remind him. ‘From Aunty Nance, and Aunty Doreen . . .’

  ‘But they’ll only be socks and hankies,’ Susan pipes up. ‘Can you open them last Dad, and open ours first?’

  ‘As you like,’ he laughs. ‘Oh my goodness, what’s this?’ he cries as he pulls a massive copy of War and Peace out of its wrapping. ‘How did you know I wanted this? Look, Mum. Look what they bought me. Isn’t that perfect? War and Peace. I’ll be able to read it to you both at bedtime.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Gary groans.

  ‘He’s teasing, silly,’ Susan says. ‘We got you something else as well,’ she tells Eddie, which is a surprise to me, because I only got the book for them to give. ‘Well, it was for Mum,’ she explains, ‘but she already had two presents, so we’re giving this other one to you instead. I made it.’

  ‘And me,’ Gary says. ‘I put the coat . . .’

  Susan’s hand goes over his mouth. ‘Don’t give it away, stupid.’

  ‘All right, that’s enough of that now,’ I tell her.

  ‘So what can this be?’ Eddie says, peeling back the edges of the wrapping. He takes something out and holds it up. ‘That is . . . It’s smashing,’ he says. ‘Isn’t that smashing, Mum? It’s, it’s . . .’ He’s turning it round in his hand, trying to work it out, and I want to laugh.

  ‘It’s the best peg bag in the world,’ I declare, deciding to give him some help.

  ‘And I made it,’ Susan reminds us. ‘I did it in needlework, and I embroidered the word PEGS on the front, only the “E” ended up looking a bit like an “I”, but you can see it’s an “E” really.’

  ‘And I put the coat hanger in,’ Gary chips in.

  ‘It’s the best present ever,’ Eddie informs them, scooping them onto his lap for a kiss. ‘I’ll always keep my pegs in it.’

  I’m trying not to laugh again. He might drive me mad at times, but there aren’t many who can make me laugh the way he does.

  ‘Now you’ve got to open the one from Mum,’ Gary reminds him. ‘I know what it is.’

  ‘Don’t tell him,’ Susan snaps.

  Eddie starts feeling it. ‘It’s a tie?’ he guesses.

  ‘No. It’s too big to be a tie,’ Gary scoffs. ‘Shall I open it for you?’

  ‘Here you are then.’

  Gary tears at the paper, tosses it over his shoulder and hands his father the book. ‘See, I told you, it’s a book,’ he declares.

  ‘The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists,’ Eddie reads aloud. He couldn’t look more delighted if he tried.

  ‘Thought you might like it,’ I say. He lent his other copy to someone months ago who never gave it back, the robbing scoundrel – everyone knows how much he loves that book.

  ‘Oh, I like it all right,’ he says. ‘It’s just what I wanted.’

  I wish I’d spent a bit more on him now he’s got me the compact, but I didn’t know he was going to do that, and it’s all his money anyway, so I don’t suppose it makes that much difference. It would have been nice if I had though. Still, he’s got his birthday presents to come tomorrow, that’ll help make up a bit.

  ‘All right,’ I say, getting up, ‘time to get dressed. Is it light out yet?’

  Susan drags back the curtains. ‘Just,’ she answers. ‘And it’s raining. We wanted snow.’

  Rain or snow, it’s still Christmas Day and there’s a lot to do. After we’re all washed and dressed and have tidied around a bit, Eddie goes up to fetch our mam who brings down more presents, then gives me a hand with the dinner, while Eddie plays with the kids and their toys. They don’t half make a noise, the three of them in there, and our Susan doesn’t sound a bit ladylike screaming out for someone to bash his stupid head in, but it’s Christmas so I decide to turn a deaf ear for today.

  ‘So how are you feeling now?’ our mam says, as I turn down the gas under the cabbage.

  ‘Me?’ I say. ‘I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘I was just wondering, that’s all. No need to bite me head off.’

  ‘I’m not. I just don’t know why you’re asking. Don’t I look all right?’

  ‘Course you do. I was just meaning . . . You know . . .’ She nods towards my chest.

  ‘Well it ain’t grown back, if that’s what you mean,’ I tell her, and picking up a tea towel I open the oven door to check on the roasters. Fancy bringing that up now. I see her every bloody day and she never mentions it, but she has to go and bring it up right in the middle of cooking Christmas dinner.

  ‘I’ll go and lay the table,’ she says.

  ‘Use the best cutlery, in the sideboard,’ I tell her, ‘and you can get the best plates out too.’

  The kitchen’s all steamed up, so I open the back door to let some of it out, then get on with making the gravy. Eddie likes Bisto, Gary likes Oxo, so I make two, seeing as it’s Christmas. Getting Susan to eat her carrots and greens isn’t going to be easy, but she won’t be leaving the table until she does, Christmas or not. Maybe I just won’t give her as many today.

  Eddie carves the goose and we start serving up. There’s some church service going on on the telly now, and the room’s got so warm we open a window to let in some air. There are toys everywhere, you can hardly move. I’ve made sure my compact is put away safe, though, it’s upstairs in my handbag along with my lipstick and a couple of spare packets of fags. Which reminds me . . .

  ‘How many coupons have you got now, Mam?’ I ask her. ‘I’ve got some left over, so I reckon between us we might have enough to get you a new kettle.’

  ‘I don’t know. Our Gord and our Tom bring ’em in. You’ll have to count them when you come up.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Susan offers.

  ‘And me,’ Gary chimes in. ‘I’m a really fast counter.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ I say. ‘That’s enough, let’s start our dinner now.’

  Eddie says grace, and is the first, when he starts eating, to say, ‘Delicious.’

  ‘It’s a bit tough,’ I say.

  ‘Tasty though,’ Mam decides. ‘I’ve never had goose before. Where did you get this’n from?’

  ‘The farm, up Siston. They was only ten bob dearer than the turkeys, so I thought we’d splash out and give it a try. Not bad I s’pose. Don’t know if I’d get one again.’

  ‘It made a right mess of the shed,’ Susan tells her. ‘There are feathers everywhere. We’re going to collect them and make a pillow for you, Gran.’
<
br />   ‘That’ll be nice. They’re expensive, goose feathers. It’s what all the rich people do have in their pillows.’

  There’s Christmas pudding, Christmas cake, Christ mas log or mince pies for afters, but everyone’s too full to have any straight away, so we clear the table and sit in front of the fire to let it all go down. Susan and Gary play tiddlywinks from her compendium, while Eddie has a leaf through his books and I have a fag. Our mam’s already dozing, but we wake her up when it’s time for the Queen’s speech – she wouldn’t want to miss that.

  The Queen talks about all the important things that happened through the year, our new Labour government under Harold Wilson, and the first London elect ions, that Labour won too. She tells us how concerned she is by what’s going on in Rhodesia, and Cyprus and various other parts of the world, and asks God to bless all the poor people who are suffering at this time. Then she mentions the two new additions to her family, her son Edward, and Princess Margaret’s girl, Sarah. I wonder what sort of Christmas they’re having, up there in Buck House, or wherever they are, with all those servants and nothing more to worry about than whether or not they’ll catch the fox on their hunt tomorrow.

  ‘Notice she didn’t say anything about Brezhnev, or what’s happening in the Soviet Union,’ Eddie comments as the picture fades.

  ‘What’s that got to do with us or the Commonwealth?’ I say, but before he can answer I add, ‘No, don’t let’s get into your politics now. I’m going to get our mam’s coat to give it a warm by the fire before you take her up our Gord’s.’

  ‘You still getting the Soviet Weekly?’ our mam asks him.

  ‘Yes. Do you want to take one with you, when you go?’

  ‘Not me. I’m a Tory, me. Terrible, what they’ve done to Churchill. I can’t get over that, voting him out, after all he did for this country.’

  ‘The war ended nearly twenty years ago,’ he reminds her. ‘He was good then, but him and his party haven’t done anything for us common people since. You wait and see, things’ll start improving no end now the Social ists are in.’