Christmas at the Star and Sixpence

by Holly Hepburn

  Of course he’d have mates at RAD, Sam thought, he’d been a good cellarman and she knew he was working in a pub over at Purdon now, so he was still in the trade. And the truth was that winning the award must have been in part down to Joss’s hard work; if he hadn’t looked after the beer so well, Connor would have had a much harder time picking up the reins after he’d left. The Real Ale Drinkers’ Association had visited anonymously in the summer and their judge had commented on everything from the friendliness of the bar staff to the thickness of the toilet paper and they’d had plenty to say about the quality of the beer, all of it good.

  ‘It’s the final in a couple of weeks. We’re all going to London,’ Sam said, knowing as she spoke that he’d probably be aware of that too.

  ‘I hope you win.’

  Sam laughed. ‘We won’t, but thanks anyway. Not unless you know something I don’t?’

  Joss held up his hands. ‘I don’t know anything. But you and Nessie have worked hard to make the Star and Sixpence what it is. You deserve some recognition for that.’

  He was making a genuine effort, Sam decided. She smiled. ‘Thank you. Get us, having an actual conversation like—’ She paused, realising she’d been about to say ‘grown ups’ and knowing Joss hated it when she suggested he was acting like anything other than an adult. ‘Like civilised people.’

  ‘I don’t know if we can ever be friends, Sam, but I’ve got no problem with civility,’ Joss said, meeting her gaze. ‘I genuinely hope you and Nessie win.’

  Sam tipped her head. ‘Thank you. I’m sure you’ll know if we do – you’ll probably hear the screams all the way from London.’

  Joss studied her. ‘I meant what I said earlier. I miss you. I miss working at the Star and Sixpence too.’

  She was filled with a sudden sadness at the way things had worked out. ‘I know things weren’t always great but we did make a good team. I wish you hadn’t left.’

  He squared his shoulders. ‘I couldn’t have stayed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret leaving. If you ever get stuck for staff, let me know. I wouldn’t mind helping out sometimes, even if it’s only serving up the Christmas beer at the Festive Fayre.’

  Now it was Sam’s turn to study him. ‘That’s very generous of you – thanks. Maybe there’s a chance we can be friends after all.’

  Joss smiled. ‘Maybe. Catch you later, Sam.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sam said as he began to walk away. ‘Catch you later.’

  That was part of her problem, Sam thought as she walked inside the pub, thinking of his summer-sky gaze and infectious grin: Joss had already caught her once and she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure she’d ever wriggled free.

  Chapter Three

  The stars were bright and clear on Sunday evening, and a thin crescent of silvery moon hung in the black satin sky as Nessie headed over to thank Ruby for her thoughtful gift.

  She found the older woman in a reminiscent mood.

  ‘Come in, darling. I was just sorting through some old photographs.’

  The kitchen table was awash with pictures, newspaper clippings and theatre programmes. The photographs were a mixture of professional shots from Ruby’s acting days – Nessie glimpsed a variety of dramatic costumes and poses as her gaze flickered over the colourful pile. The newspaper clippings were yellowed with age and the programmes bore the logos of many famous West End theatres alongside the names of well-known plays. Nessie picked up the nearest programme.

  ‘Blithe Spirit,’ she read, ‘a sparkling romantic comedy by Noel Coward.’

  Ruby nodded. ‘I did that one twice – once in ’82, when I played the ghost, Elvira, and once in 2004, when I played Madame Arcati, the medium.’ She sighed. ‘Glorious days.’

  Nessie’s eye was caught by another photo. ‘Is that you and . . . Elizabeth Taylor?’

  The older woman smiled. ‘Ah, darling Liz. We had many late-night conversations over a bottle or two, putting our love lives to rights.’

  ‘And this one?’

  ‘Me and Micky Holiday,’ Ruby admitted, glancing at the picture Nessie had picked up. ‘He was quite a looker back in the day.’

  ‘He still is,’ Nessie replied with a smile of her own. ‘Just ask Franny or Kathryn.’

  Ruby winked. ‘No need to ask Franny – she made her admiration very clear on Friday. I believe the phrase “silver fox” was used.’

  Nessie nodded. ‘But he only had eyes for you. I take it you used to be an item?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Ruby said, her eyes twinkling. ‘We were quite the power couple, until he broke my heart. Or did I break his? Do you know, I can’t remember.’

  ‘He certainly seems to still carry a torch for you,’ Nessie said. ‘When are you seeing him again?’

  Ruby laughed. ‘Are you playing matchmaker, Nessie?’

  ‘No!’ Nessie said, feeling herself blush. ‘Okay, maybe a little bit.’

  ‘He mentioned going out for dinner in the New Year, for old times’ sake. I said I’d think about it.’ She gazed at the picture for a few seconds. ‘It doesn’t hurt to play hard to get sometimes, especially with a man like Micky.’

  Nessie couldn’t help comparing her own situation to Ruby’s. ‘How do you know all this stuff? I’m terrible at playing games.’

  ‘You are,’ Ruby agreed, casting a knowing look at Nessie. ‘But Owen is equally bad, which is why the pair of you should just be honest with each other.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ Nessie said ruefully.

  There was a smaller pile of photographs at the edge of the table. These ones were clearly family snaps, featuring Ruby and her son, Cal, when he was a child. Nessie let her gaze skitter over those; she knew they held bittersweet memories for Ruby. And next to that pile was an even smaller one: Ruby with Andrew Chapman, Sam and Nessie’s father.

  It was always a jolt to see him as he was in his later years. Nessie remembered him through the long lens of childhood; in her mind, he was young and handsome, the way he had been just before he’d left them. Drink hadn’t affected his looks much then; his face wasn’t ruddy and doughy, his nose wasn’t pitted and bulbous like it was in the photos with Ruby. He was recognisably her father and a stranger all at the same time.

  Nessie gave herself a mental shake. ‘I came to thank you for the lovely present,’ she said, touching the silver star dangling around her neck. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘The pleasure is entirely mine, darling,’ Ruby said. ‘You girls are the closest thing to a family I have.’

  Her eyes travelled briefly to the photographs of her and her son, causing Nessie to ache for her. ‘I know we’ve talked about this before but do you think it’s time we tried to find Cal for you?’

  Ruby looked hesitant. ‘I don’t know . . . he wasn’t very receptive last time we spoke. In fact, I seem to remember he told me never to contact him again.’

  Nessie knew the story: Ruby’s career on the stage had meant she was often away from home, and her relationship with both her husband and her son had suffered. By the time Cal was old enough to understand his mother’s absence, alcohol had clouded their relationship still further and he’d eventually cut all ties with her.

  ‘How many years ago was that?’ Nessie asked.

  ‘Seven,’ Ruby replied. ‘No, eight. It was just after his twenty-first birthday party. I’m afraid I got rather drunk.’

  Nessie gave her an encouraging look. ‘A lot can change in eight years. You’ve changed.’

  Ruby let out a short laugh. ‘I’ve stopped drinking, you mean? Yes, I suppose that’s something. But I worry that it’s too late for Cal and me. I’ll always be the mother who wasn’t there for him and nothing I can do will change that.’

  Her tone was brisk but Nessie wasn’t fooled. It didn’t matter how good an actress Ruby was; she couldn’t hide her sadness.

  ‘You’ll never know unless you try,’ Nessie urged. She glanced sideways at the photograph of her father. ‘If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not having
the chance to talk to Dad before he died – missing out on the opportunity to hear his side of the story. I know you’ve given Sam and me the letters he wrote to us when we were children but I would have liked to have had that conversation in person.’

  ‘And I know he would have given anything to see you and Sam again one last time,’ Ruby said, sighing. She closed her eyes. ‘Okay. I can give you Cal’s last known address and his date of birth, if that helps?’

  Nessie smiled. ‘I’m sure it will. And who knows, maybe we’ll find him in time for Christmas.’

  She waited while Ruby went to find her address book, flicking through the old theatre programmes and marvelling at the sheer number of roles she had played; everything from Lady Macbeth to Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard. Nessie had known Ruby’s career had been long and rich but she’d never grasped quite how talented and versatile the other woman was. She sifted through some of the newspaper clippings – glowing reviews of Ruby’s many performances mingled with write-ups of star-studded celebrity parties. And then she found an article that made her jaw drop.

  ‘Ruby, did you win a BAFTA?’ she asked, when the older woman came back into the kitchen.

  ‘Ah, I see you’ve uncovered my short-lived film career,’ Ruby said, her eyes twinkling. ‘The BAFTA was for Best Supporting Actress, in a weepy starring me and a terribly ill Laurence Olivier in ’83. Of course, he still acted me off the screen, in spite of his failing health.’

  Nessie stared at her. ‘But they gave you the BAFTA.’

  Ruby smiled. ‘No, darling, Larry gave me the BAFTA. His talent was so great that I was able to borrow a little and deliver a performance that caught the Academy’s eye.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Nessie said. ‘I’m sure you were brilliant in your own right.’

  ‘Well, perhaps just a little bit,’ Ruby allowed. ‘And who knows what might have followed if I hadn’t discovered I was pregnant?’

  Understanding dawned on Nessie. ‘With Cal.’

  Ruby nodded. ‘I auditioned for more films but it wasn’t like it is nowadays; no one wanted a pregnant leading lady back then, not when there were plenty of other eager young things ready to take her place. So once Cal was born, I took refuge in the theatre.’ She paused and managed a wistful smile. ‘I think that’s when my drinking began.’

  Nessie looked at her with mute sympathy. Ruby had always painted her career as a glittering success, one she’d sacrificed everything for; she’d never once hinted that perhaps it hadn’t been as fulfilling as she might have hoped.

  ‘But it’s all ancient history now, anyway,’ Ruby said, giving herself a brisk shake. ‘I’ve had more than my fair share of good fortune over the years.’

  ‘What did you do with the BAFTA?’ Nessie asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

  ‘It’s gathering dust under the bed. I could never bear to look at it, you see.’ She held out a sheet of paper covered in curly copperplate handwriting. ‘Cal’s details.’

  Nessie took it, glancing briefly at the Somerset address.

  ‘And I found this too,’ Ruby went on, lifting up an envelope that bore Nessie and Sam’s names in spidery handwriting. ‘I’ve kept it back, wondering when to give it to you.’

  ‘Kept it back?’ Nessie repeated. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s the last one,’ Ruby said, passing the letter to Nessie. ‘He wrote it when he knew he didn’t have long left. And I think, given what you’ve said this evening, that maybe it’s time to give it to you.’

  Nessie stared down at it for a moment, and then swallowed, the last one . . . ‘Thank you. I’ll read it with Sam later.’ She held up the paper with Cal’s address. ‘And we’ll get to work on this right away.’

  Ruby sighed. ‘I don’t hold out much hope.’

  Nessie stood up and squeezed her hand. ‘Who knows – maybe Cal has changed too.’

  Sam held the envelope Nessie had given her for a long time without speaking.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m ready for this,’ she said eventually, shifting on the living room sofa so that she was facing Nessie. ‘I mean, I’ve forgiven him a lot since we discovered Mum lied about him not keeping in touch, but this feels . . . very final.’

  Nessie nodded – she felt exactly the same way, as though they were somehow saying goodbye to a father they’d come to understand so much better in the last year. ‘Ruby didn’t say as much but she dropped some pretty broad hints that it’s not an easy read.’

  Sam sucked in a deep breath and puffed it out fast. ‘At the same time, I don’t want to put it off. If Ruby thinks we’re ready then maybe we are.’

  ‘Okay,’ Nessie replied. ‘I’ll get us a drink.’

  It was a little Sunday evening ritual they’d adopted, before they’d run out of letters; sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, reading their father’s words from decades earlier. Nessie felt it was extra poignant tonight.

  Sam waited until Nessie was seated beside her, then passed her the letter. ‘You open it. You were his favourite, after all.’

  Nessie laughed. ‘No I wasn’t. You should have seen how he doted on you when you were a baby.’

  ‘You’re the oldest, then,’ Sam insisted. ‘So you should open it.’

  Nessie slipped her finger under the flap on the envelope, feeling the glue crackle and give. She slid the letter out, noticing instantly how different the handwriting was: old and frail, in spite of the fact that Andrew had only been in his mid-sixties when he’d died. Sam took one side, Nessie held the other and started to read.

  Star and Sixpence,

  Sixpence Lane,

  Little Monkham,

  Shropshire,

  SY6 2XY

  13th July 2015

  Dear Vanessa and Samantha

  It has been many years since my last letter to you. I don’t know if you ever knew that I wrote – I like to think that you didn’t but perhaps I am just a foolish old man. Perhaps your mother showed you the envelopes and you chose not to open them. I suppose it doesn’t really matter now – what’s done is done.

  If you are reading this then I assume you have met Ruby. She is very different to your mother but I think you will like her. She has been the light that has kept me going for many years and I thank the blessed star that brought her to me, almost as much as I thank the one that gave me the two of you, my darling daughters. You have always been in my heart, even though you were sadly not in my life.

  Ruby is making me write this early in the morning, when I am not at my best but my thoughts are a little sharper, although my head thumps and my hand shakes. So you will have to forgive my terrible handwriting. She tells me I must write it now so that there’s a better chance I will remember everything I need to say – unfortunately, I think it is far too late for that. I do want you to know that losing you both has been the deepest regret of my life. I am sorry that I was not there to see you grow into the accomplished young women I know you must be, and I’m sorry that I will not be there to see everything you will achieve in the future. But most of all, I am sorry for every moment of pain or sadness I caused you – the two of you are the best of me and I have loved you from the second you were born.

  You will know by now that I have left you the Star and Sixpence. She is a grand old lady who has looked after me well all these years – I hope she will do the same for you. But perhaps you won’t want to live here, in which case I give you my blessing to do whatever you see fit with the building, although you may encounter some opposition from Franny Forster. She’s a good woman too, if you look past the prickliness. Anyway, I once wrote that I thought you would like Little Monkham – and whether your time here is long or short, I hope I was right. This place and the people who live here have given me a lot.

  I am certain that your memories of me are of a ham-fisted giant who broke your toys and abandoned you. I wish I’d had the opportunity to change that. All I can do is leave you my home and hope it is enough to show you that I loved you, in spite of how it
looked.

  Be happy, my darling daughters,

  Love, Dad xx

  Neither sister spoke for a few seconds, then Nessie took a deep, unsteady breath and reached for her wine. Tears spilled down both cheeks as she turned to Sam and raised her glass to chink it against her sister’s. ‘To Dad. I wish we’d known him better.’

  Sam’s cheeks were wet too. ‘Yeah,’ she said, managing a watery smile of her own. ‘To Dad.’

  ‘Do you think this sounds okay?’

  It was almost eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning and Nessie had been at the kitchen table since before six trying to compose a letter to Ruby’s son. A quick check of the electoral roll had told her and Sam that Cal no longer lived at the address Ruby had given them, but they’d managed to track him down to a small town on the outskirts of Oxford. And now it came down to it, Nessie wasn’t sure she knew what to say to him.

  ‘Dear Cal,’ she read, trying to inject some confidence into her voice. ‘I’m writing on behalf of your mother, Ruby Cabernet, who is a close family friend. I know that you have not seen each other for many years, and that she regrets this, so I wonder if perhaps you might consider meeting her for a coffee and a chat some time.’

  Sam leaned back against the kitchen counter and pursed her lips. ‘It’s a bit formal.’

  ‘That’s because I don’t know him,’ Nessie said. ‘And actually, I’m sticking my nose right into his business – I think I should be a bit formal, don’t you?’

  ‘True,’ Sam conceded. ‘You probably need to get across that Ruby has stopped drinking, though. Without actually saying so, obviously.’

  Nessie groaned and tossed her pen onto the table. ‘Why am I doing this when you’re the PR girl? You know how to spin things so that they sound better and appealing.’

  Sam shook her head. ‘You can do it. Just mention that Ruby has changed and suggest that she deserves a second chance – if he’s half as smart as his mother then he’ll read between the lines.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t?’ Nessie said, anxiety bubbling up inside her. ‘What if I mess this up and Ruby never sees him again? Come on, Sam, this is important.’