The Sweetest Thing

by Susan Sallis

  It worked very well. Barbara and Denny were inclined to be over-helpful but by the end of the session they were very willing to ‘sit quietly’ and ‘just listen’. The pile of books they had accumulated for Ellie to read were all put back neatly, the biscuit crumbs swept up and thanks from the mothers accepted.

  ‘We done it back in Hayle,’ Denny said, nodding graciously.

  ‘How would you feel about having sessions twice a week?’ asked the librarian, watching one of the mothers hoist a child on to her left hip then another on to the right. ‘I think there’s quite a need for this during the Christmas period.’

  Barbara and Denny were all for it, Ellie doubtful. ‘Leaving Mum twice a week for a whole afternoon . . .’ Ellie was very protective of her mother; she imagined her own dear father rescuing Lucy and a five-year-old Egg from that house and that cellar and she wanted to do the same.

  Barbara interrupted. ‘Make her come, Ellie! She’s really good at cuddling.’

  Lucy had half planned to take the girls to the rectory for Christmas Day. She could cook a chicken and do vegetables. They might get there in time for the family service over in the church, and then after their meal they could walk across the towans and the girls could see Roach’s farm. She had told them about the collage work and knew they would be entranced with the umbrellas and the swags of nylon . . . It would give her a base for talking to them about the really old days when her mother had shown her what a wonderful thing the world was. She knew that Ellie had told them concisely about their grandfather. She needed to give them alternatives – to share some treasured memories to offset the nightmares.

  It was a surprise when the girls did not show much enthusiasm for her plans. Barbara said very practically, ‘It’s awful cold in the rectory, Mum. And I don’t want to see the farm.’

  ‘Not even when Harry is living there?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘P’raps. Don’t know.’

  ‘Can we come home for the carols in the k’feedral?’ Denny said from where she was squatting by Matthew’s saucer of milk, ‘helping’ him to drink.

  ‘She means the cathedral carols in the afternoon, Ma.’ Ellie lifted Mark to the other side of the saucer, leaving no room for Denny’s pudgy fingers. She led Denny to the sink for a wash. ‘You remember, we went last year just before teatime. It was lovely.’

  Lucy had thought last year was only slightly better than the two terrible years before; their first Christmas without Egg and then their first in Truro. Last year they still didn’t know many people in the city and the Trips of course had gone to America. But she had forced herself to wrap the girls up and take them to the cathedral service in a desperate attempt to find some kind of meaning before the day ended. She had thought it was a failure, yet here was Ellie telling her it had been lovely.

  She said, ‘Well, of course we will stay here if that is what you want. I thought you would so enjoy an afternoon walk on the towans.’

  Barbara said, ‘It will be windy. It’s always windy. And Daddy’s cottage has gone. Ellie told us.’

  ‘I want to stay with Matthew and Mark,’ Denny said firmly.

  Lucy laughed incredulously. ‘Home is best!’ She should be relieved – she was relieved – but wondered when Steep Street had become ‘home’ and the towans without Pardoe Cottage had become simply ‘windy’.

  Ellie put Denny on a chair and moved it close to the table. ‘We have to hurry. Ma, please come to the library with us. It’s really nice. Bigger than at Hayle, of course, but the children are just the same.’

  Lucy looked doubtful. ‘It’s not for adults, surely?’

  ‘Well, some mums go. And you could help . . . you know, the toilet and things.’

  Lucy grinned, accepting a role. She was proud of Ellie for seeing the librarian and offering to read stories through the Christmas holidays. She said, ‘OK, I’ll do that. And in return can we have the two rectory boys for Christmas dinner? Here?’

  The girls looked puzzled then Ellie laughed aloud. ‘I’ll tell them that. The rectory boys! They will love it!’

  On Christmas Eve the last bundle of cards arrived. There was a big white envelope from the States with a star sticker and the words ‘silent night’ written in silver across it. Lucy put it on the mantelpiece to be opened later; but she was certain that there would be no letter enclosed. She had written two weeks ago, the day after they had flown. It had been unwise, to say the least; she could not remember her exact words but she did remember feeling frantic.

  There was a reproduction of an old Giles cartoon in aid of the lifeboats, which she knew would be from Josh. No message, just the signature. There was a Victorian scene from Harry and a photograph of the church from Matthew, both saying they were looking forward to seeing all of them on Christmas Day. And Dr Carthew had sent a printed card. The last one was from Chippy Penberthy with a scrawled message to say he was very well but his poor wife was failing and soon he would be ‘free’. Lucy stared at it in disbelief and then threw it on the back of the fire in disgust.

  The day itself went very quickly. The rectory boys arrived at one o’clock, the back of Matthew’s car full of presents. The meal was completely traditional but the table decorations were different. Ellie had wedged a tall red candle in a large bowl and surrounded it with everything she could think of: silver balls, fir cones, a few fallen twigs from the Christmas tree and her old hair ribbons. Barbara and Denny had cut pictures from magazines and propped them against water glasses and under cutlery. They wore some of their presents, a tiara each and a jangling collection of wire bracelets from the market.

  Matthew gave them each a Book of Common Prayer bound in white leather. They handled them with awe. ‘Everything you need for a church service is in there,’ he told them, trying to look suitably solemn. ‘The liturgy, hymns, psalms, funeral services . . . weddings.’ He remembered jocular uncles from the past. ‘You will need to know about weddings, that’s for sure.’

  Barbara and Denny giggled and clutched their beautiful books to them. Matthew looked at Ellie and thought what a wonderful wife she would make for a parish priest. He was surprised to see a momentary look of distaste cross her perfect heart-shaped face. But then she said, ‘We have already needed the funeral service twice – that’s for sure.’ And he thought he understood.

  Harry gave them what he called a ‘family present’. On his walks along the towans before and after his ‘accident’, he had gathered the many dead palm leaves littering the dunes and dried them in the cluttered kitchen of the rectory. He had enlisted the help of the therapist who had been making visits that winter and produced a large basket.

  ‘I have varnished it but I doubt it is fully waterproof so it won’t last long outdoors.’

  They were all delighted with it. Lucy tucked it in under the tree almost reverently and turned to Harry. ‘It is completely beautiful,’ she said. ‘A piece of the towans for all of us.’ The girls agreed vociferously and hugged him and, after a moment’s hesitation, so did Lucy. Harry held himself very still and looked as if he might cry and it could have become embarrassing but the cats, prowling curiously through wrapping paper and string, found the basket and settled into it with loud purrs. And everyone laughed.

  The cathedral service was well attended, mostly by families with small children who brought their gifts to ‘show Jesus’. The lights were extinguished and candles lit and handed out for the pilgrimage around the crib. In the melee afterwards the girls saw schoolfriends and grinned widely. Ellie introduced her history teacher and Harry shook her hand and listened to her eulogy on Ellie’s ‘sense of time’. Matthew talked to one of the clergy. A young man put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder and said, ‘You don’t recognize me. I gave you lilacs last spring.’

  Lucy looked at a very ordinary young man, conventional enough in an enormous oiled wool sweater and jeans. She glanced at his feet and saw comfortable-looking desert boots. ‘So you did. They were lovely but . . .’

  He took her up. ‘They didn’t last. Th
at was part of the message. Happiness, like beauty, is ephemeral.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ She looked towards the crib where children were gathered more informally now, listening to the story the bishop was telling them. ‘So . . . we have to make up our minds to put up with human misery?’ She smiled. She knew suddenly that in spite of everything she had a sort of content.

  ‘No. That is ephemeral too. But there is something else.’ He grinned even as he began to move away. ‘We’re looking for it.’

  Denny said, ‘Who was that, Mummy?’

  ‘That was the lilac man, my maid.’

  ‘What is he looking for?’

  ‘He doesn’t know yet.’

  They were swept towards the west doors, where various clerics were shaking hands and wishing happiness right, left and centre. Outside, across the big apron towards the little shops, the lanterns and fairy lights flickered through the trees in the gusts of wind. Denny clasped her hands. ‘It’s magic!’ she said.

  ‘I think it must be,’ Lucy agreed.

  They waited for the others and struggled back up Steep Street for tea and ginger beer and then sang carols and told stories until supper. And all the time the cats slumbered and woke in Harry’s basket and accepted titbits from eager hands like Roman emperors.

  When it was time for bed, Matthew kissed Barbara and Denny and took Ellie’s extended hand in one of his and Lucy’s in the other. He said, ‘It’s been a very special time. Thank you.’ Harry smiled and nodded and waited until the younger girls jumped up at him for a kiss. Then he opened the door and went outside to Matthew’s car without a word.

  Lucy closed the door, turned, and held out her arms. The three girls stood within them. No one spoke for a few seconds, then Denny, unable to stay still any longer, jumped up and down and said, ‘Can we do this every year till we die, Mum?’

  Lucy saved her letter from Margaret until Boxing Day. Since her marriage to Daniel the day after Christmas had been probably her favourite day of the year. Meals were all ready, every leftover vegetable was fried in her biggest iron pan, cut into crisp slices and topped with cold poultry and stuffing. This year she had agreed to have a picnic in front of the television to watch the Snow White cartoon. She spread a sheet on the floor instead of a tablecloth and pulled the sofa round to enclose both fire and television set. After she had cleared the plates she put out dishes of mince pies and jelly and settled herself in a corner of the sofa with the precious card. The girls sat on the floor and leaned against her legs. She smiled; for two pins she could have put her head down and had an afternoon sleep. She slid out the card and tucked inside was a letter. The letter. The dwarves were singing as they marched to work in the mine . . . Doc’s glasses were slipping down his button nose, Sneezy was sneezing prolifically . . . and she read,

  My most precious friend, there is only one way to end this and that is quickly. A knife cut. A knife that hurts terribly and then heals fast. I think you knew – just at the last you knew. I could not believe – before then – that you did not understand my love for you. I thought you were acting up, like Denny, like you did with the lilac man – that you were trying to make me jealous. A couple of times you hugged me like you really cared and then you would get on with seeing to Harry as if you really were in love with him! And the bloody car. I was the one who talked you into learning to drive a car – dammit, Luce, I taught you how to do it! And then off you go. You called it your key to freedom – what did that mean? Freedom from me? And then, when we said goodbye, I saw that you had not understood anything. You’ve gone through what you’ve gone through, Luce, and you didn’t see – understand – my love for you. You read it in my face then, didn’t you, my dearest? And you tried to hold me, tried to keep me from leaving. And then, like me, you knew you couldn’t. We’re ashamed, Luce. Ashamed of our love. It’s unnatural, against nature, against the law. It’s illegal for men so it must be for women. But for us it’s worse than that, isn’t it? Because of Marvin, because of Gus, I can never live with you. And because of Harry and your three lovely girls you could never live with me . . .

  Lucy had read so far in leaps, certain she was still misunderstanding, certain this was one of Margaret’s crazy jokes. But at that point she knew this was no joke. She put her hand palm down over the page and took a deep breath that was almost a gasp.

  Ellie looked up, ‘You OK, Mum?’

  Lucy cleared her throat. ‘Bit of mince pie went the wrong way.’

  Denny started to sing with the dwarves as they marched off to work. Ellie laughed, still looking at her mother. Lucy joggled her knees in time to the song and Denny pretended to collapse. They all went back to the film.

  Lucy stayed very still, laughing when they laughed, ruffling Barbara’s hair, rubbing her own throat as if it were sore. After a long time she looked again at the letter. This was from Margaret. Her friend, Margaret. In a strangely numb way she began to read again.

  Here comes the knife, Luce. You are so sensible that you will know instantly it is the only way. Marvin has taken a job with General Motors. Detroit, in other words. He has been so kind. He could have been disgusted and chucked me out, I guess. But he just held me when I cried, which was a lot and often. He talked about love being love and that nothing could alter that. But he thinks we can go back to being how we were before you and I met. Maybe we can. One thing is certain, we have to try.

  That’s it, my dearest. That’s the knife done with. Forgive me, Luce.

  One last thing. I wanted to do something splendid for you. Something that would make you love me as I loved you. Marvin found your Bertie McKinley’s parents. They live in Florida. I phoned them and they told me to give you their address and then leave it to you. I didn’t do that, Luce. I pretended, even to myself, that I had not traced them. I did not want you to go to America and find someone else and leave me behind . . . I will print the address on a separate page and you will do what you have to do. I’m sorry, Luce. I’m really sorry. What we had was so sweet and I wanted more. I still want more. Or nothing.

  She put her hand over the page again and squashed it into her palm. Ellie looked up and said again, ‘OK, Mum?’

  ‘Yes. A lovely card from Margaret and Gus and Marvin. Look.’ She slid the card away from her hand and Ellie took it. On the screen Snow White sang that one day her prince would come. Lucy put the two sheets of crumpled paper into her sleeve with one of her new handkerchiefs. Barbara was weeping sentimental tears and she picked her up and held her beneath her own chin and stared at the cartoon and said steadily, ‘Daddy told me that the artists had to draw hundreds of pictures just to make Snow White lift her arm like that.’

  Ellie looked up and smiled. ‘There’s a book about it at the library – they call it a flicker book. I’ll show you when we go next.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll put Margaret’s card on the tree, shall I?’

  The snow came with the new year. The news programmes had been showing ‘snow chaos’ for three days up-country and the locals had looked smug and said such weather never reached Cornwall. But l963 was to prove them wrong. During the first week Matthew telephoned to say that ‘that idiot’ had moved into the farm and was now cut off and had got no phone and probably no food.

  ‘The people at Home Farm will take him some groceries,’ Lucy tried to reassure him.

  ‘They don’t know he’s there. And he’s not strong – still has to use his stick some days.’

  Lucy knew he had not used his stick at Christmas and though he was as skinny as a bean pole, she thought he was probably fitter than the reverend.

  She cut to the chase. ‘How are you managing without him?’

  ‘Mrs Penberthy has been bringing me the occasional meal. She’s no cook but it keeps body and soul together.’

  Lucy grinned; so Mrs Penberthy was not failing after all. ‘I bet she charges highly for doing that.’

  ‘She certainly does. She has blackmailed me into including the three grandkids in the Confirmation classes. They’re much too young of
course but I moved the goalposts slightly – the bishop was surprisingly co-operative.’

  Lucy stifled her laughter. She said, ‘Don’t worry about Harry, he’s not alone out there.’

  There was a pause while Matthew worked that out, then he said, ‘You are surprisingly open-minded about Harry and those damned Flower People.’

  ‘I want him to be happy. I know it’s ephem . . . ephem . . . I know it won’t last but he needs something, someone. Avis is . . . like a viper. It must have been awful. And the sooner he is settled the sooner he can send for the girls.’

  Matthew said, ‘You really did go through that notebook, Lucy.’

  ‘I suppose I did.’ If only Margaret had kept a similar notebook. Lucy handed the telephone to Ellie, who wanted the name of an author he had been recommending. They were all going to the library for one of Ellie’s readings and Barbara and Denny looked marvellous in fur-trimmed caps and mittens. They crowded to the door and waited impatiently while Ellie wrote down something laboriously letter by letter, then they squashed through the door as quickly as possible so that Lucy could close it against the cold.

  The snow was piled from pavements to road but across the wide expanse of the quay it was smooth and almost unsullied. Even Lucy enjoyed the complicated footprint game which involved them walking in line and backtracking now and then so that looking back they could convince themselves a wild animal was on the prowl in Truro. ‘The yeti,’ Ellie shouted and clasped her chest in pretended terror. ‘Half a dozen whatever-you-said,’ her mother commented drily. They were convulsed the next day when a picture of the snow prints was on the front page of the local paper and the headline asked, ‘A visitor from the Himalayas?’