The Christmas Angel

by Marcia Willett

  Sister Ruth runs her duster once more over the wooden framed armchair. Of course, her own upbringing was a strict one; children were kept firmly under control. To be fair, Jakey is a good child but in some odd way she feels threatened by him. She fears that if he were to be disobedient or rude she might not have control over him, which frightens her. He is so quick and determined, unhampered as yet by social mores. The others love this childlike spontaneity and find it funny: only she finds it threatening. It’s always been the same: she needs to feel that she has control over events and people or she is overcome by panic and by fear.

  When it was suggested that she should be Sister Nichola’s ‘carer’ she’d been torn between pleasure – and surprise – that she’d been chosen and anxiety lest she should fail. Sometimes it seems that Sister Nichola is the one in control because the elderly nun’s calm sweet temper is like a balm on the fretted edges of her own nervousness, gently enabling and smoothing her into her carer’s role. She is grateful for it, encouraged by her ability to ‘manage’ Sister Nichola so successfully, proud of her special status, and the suggestion that this privilege of caring is now to be shared with Janna fills her with dismay and jealousy.

  Folding the tartan rug and placing it at the foot of the narrow bed, she is aware of a tensing of the muscles and a twisting of the stomach at the mere thought of Janna. Like Jakey, the girl is an unknown quantity. Neither of them is bound by the natural rules of a good upbringing and a formal education: Jakey because he is too young to have yet acquired them properly and Janna because she’s never been exposed to either. And now there is the daunting prospect of all this change: moving to the Coach House, and Chi-Meur becoming a retreat house. Panic flutters her heart and she sits down on the edge of the bed, pressing her hand to her breast. Perhaps it would be best simply to go to the Sisters at Hereford where she trained as a novice all those years ago. Even back then she’d been fearful; keeping herself to herself and suspicious of her fellow novices.

  ‘I expect we’d all prefer to have a relationship with God on our own terms,’ the Novice Mistress said to her once. ‘He requires us to mix with the oddest and most unsuitable people, doesn’t he?’

  She stands up and bends to smooth the duvet cover and pick up the duster and polish. With one last glance around the room she goes out onto the landing and down the stairs. There are several guests in the hall and she passes them quietly with a little nod and heads for the kitchen, where Janna is making lunch and looking after Sister Nichola. The old nun smiles with delight as she comes in and holds out a hand in her easy affectionate way and Sister Ruth takes it and holds it for a moment, smiling back at her.

  ‘She misses you,’ Janna says warmly, observing the little scene, and Sister Ruth mutters, ‘Nonsense,’ but she is pleased. Janna is wearing the T-shirt that has ‘Jesus loves you but I’m his favourite’ printed on it. Sister Ruth finds this almost offensive: we are all equal in the eyes of God. However, when Janna offers her some coffee she fights down all the usual antagonism and says that perhaps she would like just a small cup, thank you.

  * * *

  Later, Janna slips away. She crosses the courtyard to the Coach House where work is in progress to adjust it to the Sisters’ requirements. The kitchen needs modernizing, a stair-lift put in, and an interconnecting door to the chapel, as well as the spiral stairway in the end room. The bedrooms, with their small en-suites, are larger than the nuns are used to, a definite improvement. One of the sitting-rooms next to the kitchen will make a very satisfactory refectory and the other a good-sized library and parlour combined. This leaves two smaller rooms and Janna’s rooms at the end of the building.

  The workmen have gone home and she stands for a moment, simply listening and letting the atmosphere take hold of her. It is a happy place, she decides. The guests who have stayed here have left an impression of friendly goodwill and there is a homely feel. She goes swiftly along the hall and into the room that Clem showed her. To her surprise – and alarm – the spiral staircase has already been installed. She stands at the bottom, her hand on the wrought iron, staring upwards. She feels an uprush of anger; as if Clem has forestalled her by acting so swiftly though she knows that, if she were to leave, whoever has these rooms will need a certain amount of privacy and that the alterations would have been made anyway.

  Nevertheless, the changes unsettle her, and she climbs the staircase, almost reluctantly, rising into the bedroom above it, which is bright with the glow of the sunset. She goes straight across to the window, drawn as usual by the great expanses of cliffs and sea and sky, and stares westward. Immediately the peace and the sense of the infinite calms her, and she tries to imagine standing here with the Sisters in the house around her, working, reading, going to and fro to the chapel and to the house for meetings and courses.

  The caravan has been her first real home; somewhere that is hers alone and where she can be truly independent. She’d had live-in jobs in pubs and hotels, and dossed on friends’ sofas and, for a while, she’d used Nat’s cottage as a bolt-hole when things were really tough; but the caravan was her first taste of privacy. It delights her to offer her own particular brand of hospitality and to come and go as she pleases. After having a beer with her friends in Padstow, or popping into the pubs to see old mates, it is good to come back to the isolation and peace of the caravan.

  She leans her forehead against the cold glass, wondering why the quietness of such an existence holds no terrors for her; why she isn’t worrying about missing out on the life her contemporaries are leading.

  ‘We’re alike,’ Clem said once. ‘Sometimes I get a bit frustrated but I don’t miss London or Oxford. I’m very happy here with Jakey and with lots of work to be done, especially now with the new challenge of the retreat house. It sounds as if the drink and drugs scene was never quite your thing any more than it was mine, and we’re a bit oddball but very content to be so. And what’s wrong with that? We see our friends; we can surf and swim and sail. Why not simply accept that we’re where we are supposed to be, if we’re content with it? What else would you be doing?’

  Janna straightens up: what indeed? She goes down again into the room below, which has a compact kitchen corner and a breakfast bar, a very small wood-burning stove and a French window that opens on to the courtyard. It is charming; hardly any bigger than the caravan but offering her a certain amount of independence. She could still welcome her friends and have Jakey to tea and, after all, where else would she go and what would she do?

  She knows that it is the prospect of responsibility that irks and frightens her, and something more: something that presses in, gently but firmly, demanding some kind of commitment that she can’t quite understand.

  The bell for Vespers is ringing and she has a sudden longing to be there, in her little corner in the chapel, absorbing the deep-down peace and listening to the quiet voices of the Sisters at prayer and worship. She goes out, shutting the door gently behind her, and hurries across the courtyard.

  Later again, after Vespers and supper, she is slipping down the drive to the Lodge, opening the door very quietly and calling out ‘Hi’ to Dossie, who is doing the early baby-sitting shift whilst Clem is at an evening training course.

  By now, Jakey has had his bath and is in bed, and Dossie is watching a cookery programme. She stands up and switches it off as Janna comes in and gives her a hug.

  ‘Eight o’clock and all’s well,’ she says. ‘He was fast off when I had a look just now.’

  ‘How are you?’ Janna looks at Dossie critically. Her face is strained, her eyes darkly shadowed. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Dossie answers sharply. She shakes her head, as if Janna doubts her. ‘Nothing,’ she repeats. ‘Why?’

  ‘You don’t look right,’ Janna says. ‘Come on. You can’t fool me.’

  Dossie takes a breath, looks around as if for guidance, and then shrugs. ‘It’s Pa’s birthday. I’d got it all planned and then Rupert tells me he can’t come after all
. He said he would be there and I’d told them and everything, and, well …’ She shrugs.

  ‘No! What? Why not?’ Janna cries indignantly – and immediately puts her hand to her lips and glances upwards. ‘What’s he saying, then?’

  She speaks more quietly and Dossie answers in the same way, both of them conscious of Jakey asleep in the room above.

  ‘He said that he hadn’t really taken the date on board when we made the arrangement and his mother’s planned a family event involving his sisters and their children. He says he simply can’t disappoint her and it’s been arranged for ages and he simply forgot. His mother isn’t terribly well and he feels there’s nothing he can do.’

  Janna looks sceptical and Dossie makes a face. ‘Well, I can see the problem,’ she says reluctantly, ‘and he was really sorry but … oh, I don’t know. I’m just really gutted about it and I don’t quite know why.’

  ‘’Tis a bit more than that, though, isn’t it?’ Janna asks shrewdly.

  Dossie looks so disconsolate that Janna’s heart is wrenched. ‘Bloody men,’ she says. ‘He’s still holding out on you, isn’t he?’

  Dossie nods reluctantly. ‘He is a bit. I still can’t quite get beyond first base. He’s sweet and kind and fun, but there’s some kind of invisible barrier that I never manage to cross.’

  Immediately Janna is reminded of Nat. ‘He’s not gay, is he?’

  Dossie stares at her in surprise. ‘No,’ she says at once. ‘No, he was married, I told you.’

  Janna grimaces. ‘So? Lots of married men are gay. No children?’

  ‘No, but that doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘Not necessarily, but it’s just interesting.’

  ‘Is it? Anyway, I’d be able to tell if he were gay.’

  ‘Would you? Nat’s mum never guessed. Most people didn’t. We made love, just once, and I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t known, if you see what I mean. He would’ve liked to have been straight if he could’ve. But he just couldn’t cross that barrier.’

  ‘No, no. That side of things is fine, really good, I promise you. It’s just he won’t commit in any way to a settled relationship. It’s like we’re stuck and I can’t see why. Look, I must be off. You’ll be OK?’

  ‘’Course I will. No problems.’

  Dossie goes out quietly and presently Janna hears the little car pull away. She sits down, heaving a frustrated sigh. She hates to see Dossie looking like that yet she has a horrid suspicion that something is wrong and the sooner Dossie knows what it is, the better it will be for her. She channel-hops for a while and then turns the television off, feeling restless. Clem has lit the fire and she gets up to put on another log from the basket beside the grate.

  She glances at the clock: Compline is over and the convent will be in silent mode with the nuns in their rooms, writing or reading or already getting ready for bed. Their day is a long and busy one, and their guests will have retired too, lights shining out from their bedroom windows. Clem’s little sitting-room reminds her of Father Pascal’s parlour: bookshelves lining the walls, a few paintings, the table beside the sofa overflowing with newspapers, more books – some of them Jakey’s – and a few magazines.

  Janna sits down again at the end of the sofa and picks up a couple of small books. Presently she is absorbed by Little Grey Rabbit, Squirrel and Hare. The charming Margaret Tempest illustrations fill her with delight: the indigo blue of the night sky with its brilliant stars; Fuzzypeg in his tattered smock with his hedgehog spikes sticking through; the cosy interiors. She’s read these stories many times to Jakey but she reads them again, almost able to taste on her tongue the delicious chill of sucking long icicles on a winter morning and experiencing the thrill of horror as the skating party return home to discover the terrible Rat asleep in Squirrel’s bed. Jakey especially enjoys that bit: ‘And he’s eaten up all their picnic supper!’ he cries, round-eyed with horrified delight, willing her to be properly shocked. The Alison Uttley stories have not been a part of her childhood and now she loves these books, which once belonged to Dossie, as much as Jakey does.

  She has no idea how long she’s been absorbed when she hears the patter of footsteps in the room above. She raises her head, listening. Jakey doesn’t call out; there is simply silence. She gets to her feet and swiftly climbs the stairs, all her senses alert. Gently she pushes his bedroom door more fully open and peers inside. He’s drawn back the curtains and she can see him on tiptoe at the window, outlined in the moonlight, looking out.

  ‘Jakey.’ She barely more than whispers his name, frightened of scaring him and wondering if he is sleepwalking. ‘Are you all right, my lover?’

  He turns towards her quite naturally, fully awake, pleased to see her.

  ‘Has Dossie gone?’ he asks.

  She nods. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed in the warm?’

  ‘It’s Auntie Gabriel,’ he says, gesturing towards the window. ‘She often comes when the moon shines. I knew she’d be here tonight.’

  Janna moves quickly to the window, slipping an arm around him, looking out but keeping in the shadows. She can see the figure, pale and rather bulky amongst the silvery trunks of the trees.

  ‘She never waves because she’s holding her heart. See?’ He waves but the figure doesn’t move, simply an inclination of the head, which reminds Janna of something. Her own heart beats fast and she wonders what she should do: she mustn’t frighten Jakey.

  ‘I want her to come in so that I can talk to her and see her ploperly,’ he is saying. ‘Will you go and ask her to come in, Janna?’

  ‘No, no, my lover,’ she says quickly. ‘You can’t treat angels like ordinary people. ’Twouldn’t do at all. She’d simply disappear. She’s just come to make sure you’re all right and to wish you sweet dreams. Now give her another wave and get back into bed. You’ll get cold.’

  He waves obediently but rather sadly, and pulls the curtains together. ‘I wish she would, though,’ he says. ‘She’ll be cold out there and we could make her some tea.’

  She tucks his quilt round him. ‘She wouldn’t want any tea. Angels are funny like that. Can you go to sleep?’

  He nods, pulling Stripey Bunny close, putting his thumb in, whilst she crouches beside him and smooths the pale blond hair. Presently his eyelids droop and his breathing grows slower and more regular. Janna stands up and takes a few steps away from the bed, still watching him. He doesn’t stir and very gently she lifts the corner of the curtain: the figure is still there.

  Janna goes swiftly downstairs, into the kitchen and out by the back door. She passes noiselessly around the corner of the house, crosses the drive in the shadows by the gate and approaches the figure from the side. Gently she takes Sister Nichola by the arm, embracing her and murmuring to her, and the old nun looks surprised and pleased to see her, though she still holds her stick firmly between her two hands, leaning on it and gazing at the Lodge.

  ‘Come,’ murmurs Janna, glancing anxiously at Jakey’s window. ‘Come with me, Sister. You know me, don’t you? ’Tis Janna. Come on now, but very quiet.’

  Sister Nichola seems reluctant to approach the cottage but Janna persuades her, talking gently, helping her along, until she is safely in the kitchen.

  ‘There now,’ she says, weak with relief, praying that Jakey won’t come downstairs. ‘There, Sister. That’s better, isn’t it? I’m going to make you a cup of tea. How about that? We need one, don’t we, after standing about in the cold?’

  Sister Nichola draws Janna’s shawl more closely around her and smiles vaguely. She seems puzzled but content. Janna makes the tea and they sit at the table, clasping their mugs, with the teapot between them. They are still sitting there together when Clem arrives home.

  ‘Hi, Phil. Hang on, mate.’ Mr Caine leaves the bar and goes to stand outside in the darkness. ‘Sorry. In the pub. Thanks for getting back to me. The good news is that the dear old Rev Mum has come up with the goodies with that letter. The bad news is that the boyfriend is now bottling out an
d wondering whether it’ll stand up in court, after all. Seems he’s taken advice and the fact that the nuns are still there and operating, as it were, means it could be a long-drawn-out expensive business … Hang on. Someone coming out … Yeah, so that’s how it stands. Legally, he reckons he can use the terms of the old will to get them out but it might take time and money … I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes if he succeeds, mind. He won’t be popular round here, I can tell you that. Hello? You’re breaking up … Lost you. If you can hear me, I’ll try again later.’

  He puts his mobile in his pocket. Beside the wall a shadow seems to swell and shrink again and he peers into the darkness. He’s holding his breath. Is there someone there? He feels oppressed, fearful. Suddenly a car pulls up and there are footsteps and voices out in the road, and he breathes again. Christ, he’ll be glad when he’s out of this place for good. He goes back into the brightness and warmth of the pub.

  ‘I simply don’t know what we can do,’ says Sister Ruth despairingly for the third time. ‘Several times she’s appeared at Compline and we’ve agreed that we cannot lock her in her room. But to think that she’s been going out at night …’

  She picks up her mug of camomile tea and sets it down again, her expression anguished.

  Janna looks at her with compassion, the shock at finding Sister Ruth standing at the bottom of the caravan steps subsiding a little.

  ‘It was good of you,’ Sister Ruth says, ‘to come to find me last night instead of going to Mother Magda. Not that it should be a secret, of course.’

  ‘Why not?’ asks Janna. ‘Nobody need know except you and me and Clem. Jakey will continue to think it was Auntie Gabriel, like I told you, and the others don’t have to know what happened.’

  Sister Ruth is silent. She picks up her mug and sips a little of the tea. She was almost indignant to find Janna knocking softly at her door last evening but, before she could demand a reason, Janna drew her along to Sister Nichola’s room and explained privately what had happened. Her relief that nobody else knows is just as great as her horror that the elderly nun has been roaming the grounds at night, and this knowledge makes her feel ashamed. And that it should be Janna who found Sister Nichola simply heaps coals of fire upon her shame.