Christmas is for Children

by Rosie Clarke

  He helped unload all the trees, paid the shilling and set off with his prize under his arm as the carol singers started to gather. He’d only spent a shilling of Granda’s money and that was a bargain.

  Mick saw Ben carrying the tiny Christmas tree. He envied his friend being able to celebrate Christmas at home with all the trimmings. Mick had had a home once, just a small terraced house up north and his mother had made presents and decorations to make the festive season special too. Taffy had seemed to be different then, saving his drinking sprees to Friday night and bringing his wages home, but after Mick’s mother died he’d starting drinking too much and lost his job.

  He hated being on the road, sleeping rough and never having a proper home or decent food unless it was a packet of chips or a pie and mash from the shop. Mick’s mum had made wonderful apple pie and he missed that most of all.

  Tagging along behind Ben, he saw him go into the terrace house next to the end of the small block of houses. He hadn’t gone home but to visit some old people who lived here. Mick’s hopes of being invited in for tea at Ben’s home faded. He turned towards the dilapidated tenements that were his home until they moved on; it would be cold and dark and he was frightened of Scrapper. It might be best if he found himself a shop doorway to sleep in tonight…

  11

  ‘It’s gone… the cash box and every penny that was in it,’ Nurse Mary said as John walked into the office that morning. ‘Someone must have taken it…’

  John walked over to the desk and saw that the top right-hand drawer had been broken open. The little black cash box that had held the money he’d saved so painstakingly for the Christmas treats had gone!

  ‘No! I don’t believe it – who would do such a thing to us?’

  ‘Who knew the money was there?’ Mary frowned in concentration. ‘Unless… I put another five shillings in yesterday and he was in here… the man you’ve got doing our repairs…’

  ‘Robbie wouldn’t do this,’ John said, shocked by the suggestion. ‘He was so pleased to be given this work… No, I can’t think it…’

  Robbie could be heard cheerfully whistling in the background, hammering away at something he was repairing. He’d looked so happy to be here, taking care and pride in his work. Surely he wouldn’t throw away his chance to get back into a proper job

  Twenty pounds and a few extra shillings could mean a lot to a man like Robbie, especially with Christmas so near – but if he took money meant to buy a Christmas dinner for people who had nothing… it was despicable.

  ‘You have to speak to him,’ Nurse Mary was saying. ‘You and I were the only ones who knew about that box and the Christmas fund – and him, because he came in while I was putting it away…’

  She clearly believed Robbie Graham had taken their money. John knew that he had to ask, even though he shrank from doing it.

  John nodded at her and went through to the other room, where Robbie was hammering a replacement floorboard into place. He stood watching for a moment, his heart heavy, but he knew Mary was right. Lots of people came and went every day, but the office was kept locked when no one was using it – and Robbie was the only other person at liberty to go in there…

  ‘Robbie…’ he spoke hesitantly. Robbie stopped hammering and looked up at him inquiringly. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about the drawer in my office?’

  Robbie got to his feet, a look of wary bewilderment in his eyes and John knew instinctively that he’d made a mistake. ‘What drawer?’

  ‘It was locked. We kept the Christmas fund money in a little cash box and it has been broken open…’

  Robbie went very still and the look of hurt and bewilderment in his eyes was awful to see. John wanted to take the words back, to unsay them, but it was too late. He knew that he’d been wrong to ask such a question of a proud man, but Mary’s conviction that he’d taken their money had forced his hand.

  ‘You think that I would take money from you – after you gave me the chance to work here?’ Robbie sounded stunned. ‘You really believe that I would steal from the man who helped me get money for my kids at Christmas?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ John said at once. ‘It was just that it has gone and you were there when Mary locked it away yesterday and…’

  ‘I know she thinks I’m not good enough to be here,’ Robbie said a little sadly. ‘I understand that she might think it was me – but I thought you were different…’ He looked back at the floorboard he was fixing. ‘I’ll make sure this is safe and then I’ll collect my things and go.’

  ‘No…’ John’s words wouldn’t come out right as he saw the scorn in Robbie’s eyes. ‘I didn’t mean… I know I should’ve trusted you…’

  ‘But you didn’t and so I can’t work here,’ Robbie said. ‘I hope you find your money and I’m sorry if it means you can’t give the old folk their Christmas dinner – but you owe me two pounds and you can keep that towards it…’ He turned his back on John and hammered away violently.

  John stood watching him for a moment and then returned to the office. Mary looked up as he entered, her brows arched.

  ‘He didn’t take it – and he’s leaving as soon as he’s finished that floorboard…’

  ‘You believe him?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ John asserted. ‘So, how did whoever it was get in here?’ He examined the window but the latch was secure. ‘Not through this anyway…’

  ‘The office door was locked when I came in earlier,’ Mary said. ‘Did you leave it unlocked at any time yesterday?’

  ‘No… I did leave my jacket hanging over a chair last evening when I was closing up and I left the room and the key was in the pocket. I may have forgotten to lock the door after you left, but I locked it before I went home…’ He hesitated, then, ‘I can’t be certain when the box was taken, because I didn’t come back in here before locking up… Someone could have sneaked in and taken it while I was checking the other doors and windows…’

  ‘So someone might have come in here late yesterday afternoon when you were checking round, making sure everything was shut for the night?’ Mary nodded her head.

  ‘It is possible…’ John looked at her in dismay. ‘I should never have asked Robbie. I should have known he wouldn’t take the money…’

  Robbie was collecting his tools. John went quickly to the office door.

  ‘Please stay,’ he begged. ‘I know I should’ve trusted you…’

  ‘Thanks for the opportunity. It reminded me of what I am,’ Robbie said. ‘Keep the money you owe me. I hope you get yours back for the old folk’s party…’

  Robbie walked to the door and disappeared through the opening, closing it behind him.

  John swore quietly. He’d intended to help Robbie and now all he’d done was hurt his pride and rob him of the last few days of work. He would have to take the money he owed him round to his house and put it through the door. It was unlikely Robbie would make that much up in time to buy his kids anything this Christmas.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nurse Mary apologised. ‘I was so sure it was him – would it make any difference if I went after him and explained?’

  ‘No, he’s angry and his pride is hurt. I’d hoped to help him into permanent work but even if…’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve made a mess of things.’

  ‘It was my fault,’ Mary looked upset. ‘If there is anything I can do?’

  ‘I’ll have to ask for donations for the Christmas fund… or fund it myself…’ John had very little personal money. He was forever putting his hand in his pocket for hard-luck cases, but perhaps he could sell something – the silver cigarette box and beautiful table lighter that had once belonged to his grandfather. The items had sentimental value for him, but he might raise enough to go ahead with the Christmas lunch for his regulars… But that didn’t solve the problem of what he’d done to Robbie Graham. John would feel terrible knowing that Ben and little Ruthie were likely to go without a proper dinner this year because of what he’d done…

 
*

  Robbie’s anger kept him walking for the first ten minutes or so and then it began to hit him. He had exactly six shillings in his pocket. He’d used his wages thus far to buy food and a couple of small things for the children for Christmas: a new pair of boots for Ben and a good second-hand dress off the market for Ruthie. He’d been going to buy the special food, sweets and other gifts he’d planned when he’d got the rest of his pay – but now he would find it difficult to pay for food on the table and a few bob for the gas meter…

  Robbie smashed his fist against the wall and gasped as he felt the sting of raw pain. He wished he’d taken the chance to hit John Hansen while he had it. Robbie might have had to stand in line for work and sometimes his kids were lucky to get a bit of bread and scrape for their tea, but he’d never stolen anything in his life and it humiliated him to know that John Hansen and that stuck-up Nurse Mary thought he would sink so low as to take the money they’d put aside for the destitute at Christmas.

  He was so angry that he felt sick with it, turning this way and that on the pavement as he fought the desire to go back there and wreck the place. When he thought of all the care and pride he’d taken in doing those repairs…

  Robbie’s gaze fell on the public house across the road. He needed a drink. He needed several drinks – and although the money he’d got in his pocket wasn’t enough to get him drunk, it would help.

  He crossed the road, shoving the door back aggressively and walking up to the bar. Robbie was about to order a pint when a hand slapped him on the back and he turned to see one of the men he’d stood in line with on the docks. He hadn’t seen Josh since that day and would have been glad to see him had he not been so wretched.

  ‘Well met,’ Josh greeted him warmly. ‘Have a drink on me, Robbie. I’ve ’ad a bit o’ luck – won a fortune on the ’orses…’ He grinned, clearly well ahead of Robbie and half-drunk already. ‘Two double whiskies, mate – and keep ’em comin…’ he told the bartender.

  Robbie accepted the drink, tossing it straight down. He couldn’t afford to buy the same but offered a pint. Josh pushed the offer aside and two more whiskies appeared on the bar. Robbie downed his and turned to leave, his head already beginning to feel a bit fuzzy.

  ‘Yer bought me half a pint when I were down and brung me luck,’ Josh told Robbie with a grin. ‘I got a job the next day – just a bit of sweeping up at the cigarette factory like, but I put five bob on the horses at 500 ter one – and the bleeder only come in first… a hundred and twenty-five quid… that’s a bleedin’ fortune.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Robbie said and grinned at him. He’d never in his life managed to accumulate that much. ‘But you want ter hang on to some of yer winnings, mate. Yer won’t always be lucky. Save a bit fer when yer need it.’ He got up to leave because two glasses of whisky were already affecting his balance.

  ‘You can’t leave me yet,’ Josh insisted, pushing a third double at him. Robbie drank it and hesitated as a fourth was pushed his way, then he shook his head. The other man snorted with laughter and downed both of them and then sank to the floor in a stupor. Robbie tried to lift Josh but succeeded only in dragging him over to a bench and setting him up. His own head was spinning as he left the man there and walked out, forgetting his tool bag, which he’d dumped on the floor of the pub. He wasn’t used to whisky and was already wishing he’d stuck to a pint or two of bitter.

  It seemed a long way home and he attempted the stairs but found it impossible to climb them, so he went through to the kitchen and collapsed on the sagging sofa at the far side, his eyes closing. He wasn’t sure what had happened to his tools; he’d had them when he went into the pub, but somehow he seemed to have lost them along the way… A thought came into his head that without his tools he wouldn’t be able to find work as a carpenter. He would go back in the morning and ask…

  *

  Ben finished his jobs for Granda and then told Ruthie to stay there while he went to the newsagent to see if Arnie had anything for him. She pulled a face at him, because Ben was leaving her here too much recently and she wanted to go home.

  Ben ignored her sulky look. He’d been to the bookie for Arnie several times over the past couple of days and been paid five shillings in all, which was safely put aside at home. He knew that his dad wouldn’t like him running bets, particularly as there were some nasty types hanging around. He thought that after Christmas he would tell Arnie he wouldn’t do it any more, but he wanted enough money to buy his dad a gift too and so he needed to earn more than the pennies he got from doing errands for his neighbours.

  Arnie gave him a list to take and some money in an envelope. ‘Stick it inside yer shirt, lad,’ he told Ben. ‘If there’s any bugger watchin’ yer and thinks he’ll have it orf yer, run like ’ell. That money belongs to me punters and I’m responsible fer it getting’ ter Finney…’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ Ben agreed and set off at a smart pace. The sooner he placed the bets with Finney and got his money from Arnie, the better. He would much rather be with his sister eating the bag of chips he was going to buy for their tea than running errands on this cold and foggy night.

  When he got to Finney’s premises, he saw a man leaving and something made him hesitate for a moment. The man looked unkempt and had long hair with grey streaks and a thick beard. As he walked up the street, he dumped something in a dustbin outside the grocer’s shop and glanced furtively over his shoulder.

  Ben waited until the man had disappeared round the corner and then went to the bin and looked inside; there, on top, was a small black metal cash box. Ben picked it up and turned it over. He could see that the lock had been forced, mangled and broken so that it was no longer any use, but he could add it to his collection and Sid Foster would buy it from him as scrap metal. For a moment, he stood there uncertainly, because instinct told him that this box had been stolen. He had no idea where it came from or who it belonged to, but he knew it didn’t belong to the man who had put it there.

  Making a sudden decision, Ben tucked the box inside his jacket pocket. Maybe he shouldn’t, but instinct had told him to do it. He turned back and went to Finney’s door, knocking twice.

  Finney opened the door himself and pulled him inside. ‘What yer got fer me, lad?’

  Ben handed over the envelope and the list and Finney’s foxy face lit up with a grin. ‘There’s a good lad.’ He counted the money and then put his hand in his pocket and gave Ben sixpence. ‘If yer ever need a proper job, come to me, lad. I’ll see yer earn good money…’

  ‘Will yer tell me somethin’?’ Ben asked. ‘I saw a bloke leavin’ here a minute ago – big bloke, bushy beard…’

  ‘Don’t ask me no questions about that one,’ Finney warned. ‘He ain’t a regular. Don’t know where he got my name, but I don’t like him – took his money, ten quid he put on the bloody favourite to win in the Christmas Stakes at Cheltenham termorrow. I hope the bleedin’ thing loses… I dare say he pinched the ten quid anyway.’

  ‘I think he stole somethin’,’ Ben said and showed him the mangled money box. ‘He put this in someone’s bin… so that might be where he got the money for his bet…’

  ‘Yeah, his sort nick everythin’ they get a chance of,’ Finney said. ‘Don’t mess wiv ’im, lad. He’d as soon slit yer throat as not…’

  Ben put the box away inside his jacket. He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, because the right thing to do would be to take it to the police, but he wasn’t sure they would believe him. They might think he’d taken it…

  ‘Get orf back to Arnie and tell ’im I said ’e’s on fer termorrow…’

  ‘Yeah, all right. Thanks, Finney.’

  ‘Don’t forget what I said about workin’ fer me when yer ready,’ Finney told him. ‘I’ve got loads more punters besides Arnie. I could do wiv a lad like you runnin’ fer me…’

  Ben thanked him and pocketed his sixpence. Finney hadn’t taken any notice of the cash box, just warned him against messing with the man who
’d dumped it in the bin. Ben knew he was right to think there was more than just a bit of betting on the horses or the greyhounds going on. Was Finney a fence? Ben had heard the word used in connection with stolen goods and Finney’s acceptance that the bet he’d taken was probably with stolen money made Ben realise that he was getting mixed up in bad things.

  Ben decided that perhaps he’d got enough to buy his dad something good for Christmas, or he would have by the time Arnie paid him. He didn’t want to be sent away for being involved with thieves and that was what might happen if he got caught. Ben had thought it harmless to take a few bets to the shop for Arnie, even though he knew it was not lawful for the newsagent to take bets. He’d seen that whisky in Arnie’s storeroom and now he suspected that Finney was a fence as well as a bookie – and that was too much.

  This was the last time he was going to take Arnie’s bets. He would tell him after he got his sixpence and he would have to look elsewhere to earn a few bob in future. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter so much now his dad had a proper job…

  12

  Honour looked at herself in the dressing table mirror and didn’t like what she saw. Her hair was messed up and her face looked flushed, her mouth a little swollen from Roy’s kisses. She looked like a woman who had been making love and that was just what she’d done with Roy in the back seat of the car he’d borrowed. He’d taken her for a ride to a secluded pub by the river; they’d had a couple of drinks and then returned to the car. When Roy suggested climbing in the back seat so they could kiss properly, Honour had been eager and willing, excited by the car and the alcohol as well as his sweet words. Of course she hadn’t meant to let him do all the things he’d done, but his touch had inflamed her senses and she’d been swept along by her love and a new-found desire – and it had been lovely. She couldn’t understand why people said it was wrong, because it had felt so right.

  Honour didn’t regret giving herself to the man she loved, but she knew that if her sister saw her now she would know what she’d done – and the last thing Honour wanted was to hurt or upset her. She was well aware that Flo had given up a lot for her, doing all the things her mother would have done if she’d lived –and even when their mother was alive, it was Flo who had kissed her when she fell and scrapped knees and hands, and Flo who told her stories to help her sleep.