by Rosie Archer
‘Are you saying you’re not happy, Mum?’
‘Oh, Rainey, I’m happier than I’ve been in years.’ Her eyes misted. ‘I’m sorry to be such a misery. It’s lovely of Maud to ask us round to share their Christmas dinner. I’ve got a card for her – well, for the whole family, really.’ Normally Jo liked to send cards but that was another expense she’d had to forgo. She thought of the Christmas card at home in the sideboard drawer. Syd Kennedy had given it to her last night just before she’d left the shop, but of course she’d not sent him one.
Syd had left it on the counter and had been practically out of the shop before he called, ‘Christmas card for you, Jo, and have a good couple of days off.’
As the door banged behind him Jo had opened the envelope to find a card with a snow scene and the words, ‘Happy Christmas from Syd’. It had made her feel all fluttery inside. Then she chastised herself: he was only being friendly. It meant nothing more than that.
She knew the Harringtons wouldn’t expect her to buy them presents: during her and Mrs Harrington’s daily coffee chats Jo had let slip she was finding it difficult to manage. Their Christmas box to her was a card with a pound note inside and a thank-you note for being a willing worker. She was also to expect a small pay rise when she returned after the holiday. There were no newspapers published on Christmas Day and Boxing Day so Jo was looking forward to spending her time at home with Rainey.
‘Are you enjoying being in the choir, Mum?’ Rainey’s question surprised Jo.
‘Do you need to ask?’ To Jo it was the highlight of her week. An hour and a half on a Wednesday evening when she and Maud met on the corner near Forton Road and walked arm in arm to St John’s.
She was glad that Bea and Rainey were such firm friends, though she sometimes wondered if the difference in their ages was a good thing. Maud often told Jo of the lads who called for Bea to take her dancing at the Sloane Stanley Hall. As far as Jo knew, Rainey wasn’t bothered about boys, or dressing up and dancing. She was pleased that Rainey also spent time with Ivy. With both girls attending St John’s and singing in the choir, it was natural for them to be friends, but Jo was relieved that Ivy wasn’t as flamboyant as Della, her mother, who was hardly ever at home.
Jo’s heart swelled with pride when the three girls sang together. Each had an individual style but their voices complemented each other. All were of a similar build and height but each had individual appeal. Bea was always smiling, her blonde hair a frame for her natural prettiness, while Rainey was a bright Titian chrysanthemum next to Ivy’s Cleopatra-like sultriness.
Jo had fallen in love with the soulful words of ‘The Bluebird Song’. It was certainly nothing like the popular Christmas songs she and the other women had practised.
The Saturday before Christmas Mrs Wilkes had announced that she’d like as many as possible to turn up near the ticket office at six in the evening to sing for the customers taking ferries to Portsmouth. ‘Dress warmly,’ she had said. ‘It’s bound to be blowy near the sea. We’ll sing for about forty minutes and I’d like a couple of volunteers to take round baskets for contributions.’
Jo thought she could never ask people for money. Maud had put her hand up, as had another woman, Jean.
Yes, it had been cold, it had even begun to drizzle, but at the end of the singalong Mrs Wilkes had counted the money, thanked them for turning up and said, ‘We did well. Nearly ten pounds. I shall make it up to a nice round figure and we’ll present it to the Children’s Ward at the War Memorial Hospital when we visit them a few days before Christmas. All agreed?’ The resounding cheer that followed showed everyone was in agreement.
At first Jo hadn’t wanted to sing in a public place. Suppose someone recognized her singing her heart out? Suppose they told Alfie and he came after her?
She’d worn a headsquare and a woollen scarf that hid most of her face, and had tried to hide behind Maggie, a large lady. But Maggie had pushed her forward: ‘Get in the front, you’re smaller than me.’ Luckily Mrs Wilkes had a very dim lantern, and they had to obey the blackout, so even at the front she couldn’t easily be seen. Those who had learned their words were fine and able to sing out loudly, but those who hadn’t struggled to read in the near darkness. Due to the extreme cold passers-by didn’t stand and watch, but they dug in their purses and trouser pockets and put money in the baskets.
Jo now banged on Maud’s door.
‘Use the key!’ Maud’s voice came loud and clear so Rainey slipped her fingers through the letterbox, pulled out the key on the string and they went into the warm.
‘Welcome,’ shouted Maud, from the scullery. She poked her head around the door, her cheeks rosy with heat from the stove. ‘I’m seeing to the dinner. Make yourselves comfortable.’
Jo and Rainey had already shed their coats and scarves on the hooks at the front door. Bea called downstairs, ‘Come up here, Rainey. Merry Christmas, Jo.’ Then she disappeared back into her bedroom where music spilled from the gramophone.
The two men were sitting at either side of the fire, Solomon with his eyes closed but wearing a home-made paper hat that had slipped rakishly over one ear. Eddie put down his book, got up and welcomed them, a big smile on his handsome face. Jo set down her Christmas offerings on the shiny wooden sideboard with a crocheted runner on the top. A pudding dish full of assorted nuts with a nutcracker sat in the middle between a box of dates and a bowl of shiny red apples. She removed the cardboard lid from the crackers but left her clean tea-towel covering the food.
Rainey wished everyone a happy Christmas, then escaped upstairs. Jo saw the wooden kitchen table had had its leaves extended and was set for six, with four kitchen chairs and two wooden orange boxes with cushions. The room was decorated with paper chains that must have taken ages to lick and stick together. Bits of holly peeped from behind the frames of The Laughing Cavalier and The Blue Boy hanging on the walls. Eddie gave Jo a peck on the cheek, which made him blush. ‘Happy Christmas, Jo,’ he said. The smell of cooking made her feel hungry.
Eddie was wearing a faded pair of corduroy trousers and a warm grey flannel collarless shirt. Jo saw he had new slippers. ‘A present?’ she asked softly, not wanting to disturb the old man.
Eddie nodded. Again Jo felt agitated that she’d not been able to bring gifts for everyone.
‘There’s a cuppa out here with your name on it,’ called Maud. Jo stepped down into the whitewashed scullery, where a stone sink was full of dirty pots and pans. Shelves filled with crockery lined the walls, a gas copper sat in the corner and Maud was stirring a saucepan on the gas stove. ‘We’ve got a chicken,’ Maud said. ‘Eddie always brings home the Christmas dinner. A customer of his has a farm and sets aside something for him as a way of showing his appreciation.’
‘I’m only sorry I haven’t brought much, but I left crackers on the sideboard along with some potato shortbread and a flan. I hope that’s all right?’
‘All right? That’s wonderful. They’ll be lovely at teatime.’ Maud went on with her stirring. ‘Dinner’s nearly ready. Drink your tea, and then if you’d call them two girls we can sit down and eat.’
The dinner was a pleasant affair with everyone chatting and laughing, except Solomon, who was finding it difficult to stay awake.
With the fire glowing, the meal cooked to perfection and the large bottle of sherry that Maud produced from the cupboard, Jo didn’t know when she had last felt so content. She had spotted Maud frowning at the level before pouring the drink into glasses.
When she’d filled them for the second time, she stood up and said, ‘A toast to all who can’t be with us.’
They clinked glasses. Jo thought of Alfie and was glad he wasn’t there. She looked nervously at Rainey who had cleared her plate, drunk her first small sherry and was about to start on the second. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks glowing. Jo didn’t think Rainey had tasted sherry before. It was sweet, flavoursome and sticky.
‘Now, Mum,’ said Bea, ‘don’t get maudlin about Dad.
’
‘Our father never really recovered from the Great War,’ supplied Eddie. He was sitting next to Maud and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘His injuries shortened his life. But he was a brave man.’
‘You’re right, son,’ said Maud, smiling at him. She pushed her plate away and stood up. ‘Christmas pudding, anyone?’
‘Maybe later for me,’ said Bea. ‘I’m full.’ She looked at Rainey, then at Eddie, and said, ‘If everyone else is, why don’t we three clear the table and wash up while the rest of you have a sit-down? Then we can all play a game. What about whist?’
‘Too many for whist,’ said Eddie, ‘and I can’t see Granddad doing anything except looking at the insides of his shut eyes!’
‘Don’t be horrible,’ snapped Bea.
‘I wasn’t. Anyway, you only need four for whist, and if Granddad sleeps and I read my book, which, by the way, everyone, my lovely sister bought me . . .’ He nodded towards the armchair where Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None lay face down ‘. . . that’ll take us up to teatime when we can eat cake and try some of Jo’s flan and shortbread.’
‘Agreed! Everyone?’ Bea was obviously pleased by his idea. She’d already started picking up the condiments and sherry bottle ready to take into the scullery. Rainey jumped up and helped.
‘Sounds good,’ said Jo, ‘but I ought to help with the washing-up and clearing away.’
‘No, you sit an’ talk to me,’ said Maud.
Jo looked at Maud in her floral wraparound pinafore. She still had a headscarf tied turban-wise around her hair with three curlers poking out at the front. She had been so intent on preparing dinner for them she’d not thought about prettying herself. Jo thought how lucky she was to have such a good friend.
‘It’s not Christmas every day,’ Maud added. Then she frowned. ‘I heard on the wireless that men are being called up left, right and centre.’
Jo was watching Eddie, who was stacking dirty plates on top of each other. ‘You’ll miss Eddie when he goes,’ she said, as he carried the plates into the scullery.
‘Don’t upset him,’ Maud said, as though Eddie was still in earshot. ‘He wanted to go into the air force but he failed the medical. Rheumatic fever as a kid left him with a heart murmur. Fair cut up about it he was and still is.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Jo, softly. She could imagine the tall, good-looking young man in an air-force-blue uniform. She could almost feel his distress at not being able to fight for his country.
Maud was foraging in a drawer and pulled out a pack of well-used playing cards. Then she stepped over Solomon’s outstretched legs. ‘Why don’t you sit back near the fire,’ she said kindly, helping him up and settling him in the comfortable armchair. ‘He’ll soon doze off again,’ she said to Jo. She then plumped up the cushion on the other armchair ready for Eddie. She busied herself setting the four kitchen chairs around the table and putting the orange boxes in the corner. From the scullery came the sounds of great hilarity, followed by Eddie saying sharply, ‘No!’
Maud listened, shrugged, then continued tidying.
The three voices were high, the girls giggling every so often and clattering dishes.
Jo smiled at Maud. ‘That was a lovely dinner,’ she said.
‘My pleasure. After a good game of cards we’ll start on the tea,’ Maud said. She was now at the sideboard and picking out six crackers, which she set to one side. ‘Thanks for these. We’ll pull them at teatime, when everyone’s slept off the meal.’ She nodded towards Solomon. ‘There’s a few left in the box still.’ Suddenly she frowned. ‘Where’s that bottle of sherry?’ Then she answered her own question: ‘The little blighters! They’ve taken it into the scullery. No wonder they all sound so happy doing the washing-up.’
Jo didn’t know what to say so she kept quiet. She’d never known Rainey touch strong drink before. She’d been the first to turn up her nose at the smell of it on Alfie when he’d come home from the pub. But hadn’t she seen Rainey drink the small glass at the dinner table, then accept a second?
Just then Eddie stepped back into the kitchen. ‘All done,’ he said brightly. He made his way around the table to the armchair and sat down opposite his sleeping grandfather. He picked up his book and began to read. Maud was staring intently at her son.
He must have felt her gaze for he looked up. ‘All right, Mum?’ Jo decided he hadn’t touched any of the missing sherry. Or, if he had, he was hiding it well.
Next to come into the kitchen was Rainey, who still carried a tea-towel and looked as if she had no idea where to put it. She gave a giggle and left the damp cloth on the polished wooden surface of the sideboard near the box of crackers.
Jo’s heart fell. She knew immediately that Rainey had been drinking the sherry. Her coordination was shot to pieces as she retrieved the tea-towel and dropped it again, saying, with another giggle, ‘Whoops!’
Jo’s eyes flew to Maud, who was staring at Rainey as if she had never seen her before in her life. Another giggle and a push from Bea made Rainey stumble. She held on to the sideboard for support.
Bea said, moving past her, ‘Oh, goody, crackers.’
Jo saw Eddie shake his head as he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ at Maud, shrugging as he added, ‘I couldn’t stop Bea. You know what she’s like.’
Bea, in a heightened mood of joy, grabbed two crackers and, with one in each fist, turned to Rainey. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘A double pull, one in each hand.’
Rainey’s fingers tightened round the ends and Jo watched as the girls pulled the crackers that exploded with two sharp bangs, one after the other. Rainey squealed and fell to her knees, looking for the cracker’s contents, but Jo’s attention was quickly drawn to Granddad Solomon who, eyes open wide with fear, had slid down onto the mat and tried to crawl beneath the table. Fat tears fell from his eyes as he began shaking and putting his hands over his ears while he rocked backwards and forwards, keening.
‘Stop it, you two, this instant!’ Maud yelled at Rainey and Bea. Then she dropped to her knees, put her arms around Solomon and tried to soothe him.
Eddie was also on the floor, his arms around Solomon. He looked up at Jo. ‘Those loud bangs have reminded him of the exploding shells from the trenches during the war. He can’t get over it.’ He glared at Bea. ‘I told you two simpletons to leave the damn drink alone.’ Rainey and Bea were looking sorry for themselves.
‘What can I do?’ Jo asked. ‘I’m so sorry – I don’t know what’s got into Rainey.’ She glared at her daughter. ‘Shall we go home, Maud?’
‘Make a fresh pot of tea,’ said Eddie. ‘Me and Mum’ll get Granddad to bed in the front room.’
Jo knew she must have looked worried, for Maud said, ‘Kids take a drop of drink and don’t think about the consequences. There was a good half a bottle left. They should never have been so thoughtless. Maybe it’s my own fault for not putting that sherry away sooner. Bea’s been getting quite a taste for the hard stuff lately. It’s not your Rainey’s fault. You just make a nice pot of tea, love.’ To Bea, in a very sharp voice, she said, ‘You go to your room, take Rainey with you, and I don’t want to hear a peep out of either of you. If you dare to play that blasted gramophone I’ll come up there and break every record you’ve got.’
The two girls shuffled off upstairs.
Granddad was sobbing as Eddie and Maud managed to haul him along to the front room.
Jo busied herself making tea. After a little while Eddie came back and stood in the scullery doorway. ‘Sorry you had to witness that,’ he said. ‘He can’t escape the horrors of war and, as a rule, Bea knows better.’
‘It wasn’t only Bea. Rainey must share the blame,’ she said. ‘When I get her home, I’ll talk to her. I don’t keep drink indoors – it’s too expensive for one thing, and both she and I have seen what it can do . . .’ She paused. She didn’t want to tell him about Alfie and how he grew nastier the more he had to drink.
Eddie pulled out a tray and set it o
n the wooden draining-board. ‘Bea quite often goes out with her mates from work and doesn’t know or want to know when to stop swilling it back.’
Jo didn’t want to hear him blaming his sister so she changed the subject. ‘Solomon must have had a hard time of it during the Great War.’
‘He won’t talk about it,’ said Eddie, putting cups and saucers on the tray. ‘Never has. Some days you wouldn’t think there’s anything wrong.’ He began pouring milk into a jug. ‘Granddad can be chatty and he plays a good game of draughts, but the next day the tiniest thing, a noise, a newspaper picture, a song, can set him off. It’s like living with two different people.’
‘Surely the doctors have an opinion.’
‘They know exactly what’s wrong with him. Shell shock, it’s called. They kept him in a special hospital for a long time, and when he came home they said he needed care and a stable environment. He used to sit alone for hours in a shed in the garden, Mum said. Apparently it was a leaky old thing but he wouldn’t budge from it.
‘You see, he’d been gassed in Ypres. He wouldn’t talk about what had happened . . .’
‘Telling my friend all the family secrets, Eddie?’ Maud had returned from the front room. ‘He’s asleep now. I gave him one of his tablets.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll be happier when Solomon can move into Lavinia House.’ Jo must have looked confused. Maud continued, ‘It’s a big old house at Bridgemary. A fully trained nurse owns it. She lives there on call twenty-four hours a day. There’s a cook and a cleaner. The lodgers are all elderly. It will be warmer for him than this draughty house and I could do with a rest.’ Maud drew a hand across her forehead. ‘I don’t want him to leave us but I can visit practically every day.’
Eddie took up the tale. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if we could move to a bigger house but the council give priority to families with young children, as they should.’