“Mr. Snead?”
“’Ullo, there.”
“I’m Lucy Wesley. I’m staying at the Estate House. Mrs. Snead is a friend of mine.”
“Oh, yes. She told me about you.”
“If I ordered some special flowers for Elfrida, would you be able to deliver them on Christmas Eve?”
He looked a bit doubtful, pursing up his lips. “Christmas Eve’s a Sunday, darling.”
“Well, Saturday, then. Saturday would be better, actually, because they’re going to have a little party.”
“The truth is, darling, it’s dicey just now, with the snow. Nothing’s getting through from Inverness, and that’s where all my regular stuff comes from. What were you thinking of? Chrysanths? Carnations?”
Lucy screwed up her nose. “Not really.”
“I’ve got Stargazer lilies in the back. Delivered yesterday, when the roads were still open. But they’re pricey.”
“Stargazers?”
“Lovely tight buds, and in the cool. Should just be starting to open in a day or two.”
“Could I see one?”
“Course you can.”
He disappeared through a door at the back of his shop and reappeared holding a single stem of creamy, elliptical, tightly closed buds. They looked just the same as the ones Gran bought from the flower-seller on the street corner in Fulham, and they sometimes lasted as long as two weeks.
“How many have you got there?”
“I’ve got a dozen in there, but like I said, they’re pricey. Three pounds a stem.”
Three by six was eighteen. Eighteen pounds. But they would look so beautiful in Elfrida’s sitting-room. They would open slowly, spreading out into pale-pink petals, and fill the whole house with their heady fragrance. She said, “I’ll have six and pay you now, but would you keep them here until Saturday and then bring them over?”
“Course I will. And tell you what, I’ll wrap them in special paper and put a big pink bow on.”
“I’ve got a card. I bought it in the bookshop. If I write the card, you can put it in with the flowers.”
“I’ll do that very thing.”
He lent her a pen and she wrote the card. Elfrida, Happy Christmas and lots of love from Lucy.
She put it into its envelope and wrote Elfrida Phipps, licked it down, and gave it to Mr. Snead, and then handed over the eighteen pounds. A terrible lot to spend on flowers, but worth it.
Mr. Snead rang up his till.
“If you’re wanting mistletoe, let me know. I’ve got a branch or two, but it sells like hot cakes.”
Mistletoe was synonymous with kissing.
“I’ll see,” said Lucy cautiously.
She said goodbye and set off for home, laden with pur chases and feeling tremendously Christmassy. Once back, she would go straight upstairs to her bedroom, close the door, and settle down to wrapping all her presents in holly paper, tying them up in glittery string, and then hiding them in her bottom drawer. As she crossed the square, she saw the car parked outside Oscar’s house, an old estate car with its tailgate open, but thought nothing of it, because in Creagan people parked their cars all over the place, wherever they could find space. However, as she pushed the front door open, she heard voices from the kitchen and, investigating, there found Elfrida, stirring a pot on the cooker, and Rory Kennedy. On the kitchen table stood the television set, and a small black plastic trolley with wheels.
When she appeared in the open doorway, laden with shopping bags, they stopped talking, and turned to smile. Rory said, “Hi,” and he was wearing a grey fleecy jacket and rubber boots, and looked hugely masculine. Because his presence was so unexpected, Lucy was all at once lost for words, and yet delighted all at the same time.
“Hello. I… I thought you were coming later on. Like tea-time. I thought you’d be working.”
“Not much to do on the golf course in weather like this. The green keeper sent us all home. So I borrowed Dad’s car and brought the set down for you.”
Lucy looked at it. It seemed much more sophisticated than the one she had in London.
“I thought it would be old. It doesn’t look old at all.”
“It’s colour. Just that I got myself a bigger one. I brought the stand as well, in case you didn’t have anywhere to put it.”
Elfrida lifted her pot off the cooker and put it down on an iron trivet. She said, “I think it’s amazing. We’ll all be coming up to the attic to sit and goggle. Lucy, perhaps you’d better show Rory where it’s got to go in your bedroom.”
“It’s four flights of stairs,” Lucy told Rory.
He grinned.
“I think I could just about manage.”
She led the way, her carrier-bags bumping against her legs.
“You been shopping?” Rory asked, from behind her. She thought that only he would be able to carry something very heavy up so many stairs and still have breath left over for conversation.
“Yes. Christmas presents. I didn’t have time in London.”
The top landing and the door that led into her room. She went through and dumped the carrier-bags on her bed, and Rory followed her and put the television set carefully down on the floor. Straightening, he looked appreciatively about him.
“Hey, this is a cool room. And lots of space. Do you always keep it as tidy as this?”
“Sort of,” Lucy told him casually, not wanting him to think her pernickety.
“Clodagh’s room’s a perpetual tip. Ma’s always getting at her to put her things away. I’ll nip down and get the table and then we’ll get it set up.”
When he had gone, pounding down the stairs again, she quickly bundled all the carrier-bags in the empty bottom drawer and shut it firmly. It would be a shame if he guessed about the Badedas.
In a moment he was back with the little trolley. They found a suitable power socket, and Rory put the set on the table and plugged it in. There was no aerial point, but the set had its own aerial, and Rory switched it on and then riddled with the aerial until the picture stopped being fuzzy and became quite clear.
“It’s really good,” Lucy marvelled.
“I can get it better.” He was sitting cross-legged on the rug, intent on what he was doing. He punched knobs, switched channels.
“Superman” was on for children, and then an old black-and-white film. Then a lady showing them how to make Christmas cards decorated with cut-outs from a seed catalogue. Rory checked the sound, gave the internal aerial another tweak. Lucy settled herself on the floor beside him.
“… and then you finish it off with a little bow of pretty ribbon. Like this. I think you’ll agree any person would be delighted to receive such a personal card….”
Rory said, “Not me,” and punched another button. A broadly Scottish announcer was telling them about the weather, which, in the foreseeable future, was not conducive to hill-walking or climbing.
“Do you want me to leave it on?” Rory asked.
“No. I know how to work it now.”
He switched it off.
“Just don’t touch the aerial. I think I’ve got it as good as it gets….”
“It’s really kind of you to let me borrow it, and to bring it.”
“No problem. Finishes everything off.” He looked about him once more in admiring fashion.
“Is this all the stuff my mother helped buy? It’s great. She loves going to the Buddy market more than anything; she always comes back with some bargain. A tatty old linen pillowcase, or a china fairing, or something useless. Our house is full of junk, but there always seems to be room for more. At home, in London, do you have a room like this?”
“No. It’s not nearly so big. And it hasn’t any sort of lookout from the window. But it’s pretty. And at least I don’t have to share it with anybody. I’ve got my books there, and my computer. My things.”
“What’s it like, living in a city?”
“It’s all right.”
“Must be great, all those museums and exhibitions and concerts a
nd plays. I’ve only been once. My dad took me when he had to attend some conference, and we stayed in an hotel, and went to a theatre every night. It was hot weather, and we used to have our meals in pubs, sitting out on the pavement, and watching all the weirdos wandering past. It was good. More exciting than Creagan.”
“It’s different if you live there all the time.”
“Suppose so.”
“It can be quite nice if you’ve got a proper house with a garden. When I was little we had a house in Kensington with a proper garden, and that didn’t feel like living in a city because there was always a bit of green grass, trees, flowers, and things. But then my parents divorced and now we live in a flat, me and my mother and my grandmother. It’s near the river and it’s got a balcony and a nice view, but there’s nowhere to be. To go and lie on a bit of lawn and read a ” boric. My friend Emma… she’s at school with me … she fives in a proper house and sometimes we have a barbecue in the garden.”
She couldn’t think of anything else to tell him, and was painfully aware that it all sounded very dull.
After a bit he asked, “Are you homesick?”
She looked at him in astonishment.
“Homesick?”
“Well, you know … missing your mother. Your things. Everything. Clodagh’s hopeless. She won’t even go away for a night, bawls like a baby.”
“No,” Lucy heard her own voice, all at once surprisingly sharp and strong.
“No, I’m not homesick. I’m not even thinking about going back to London. I’m simply putting it out of my mind.”
“But…”
“You don’t understand. It’s not like here. It’s not like this house. Like your house. Full of people and friends your own age coming and going. It’s my grandmother’s flat, and she doesn’t want my friends around the place. She gets headaches, she says. Sometimes Emma comes, but Gran doesn’t really like her much, and so it’s always a bit tense, and we spend most of the time in my room. Once she came, and both Mummy and Gran were out, so we spent the whole afternoon in the bath, washing our hair and putting on scent and painting our toenails with silver polish. When I’m in Emma’s house, it doesn’t seem to matter what we do. Her mother’s out most of the time, working. She edits a magazine. And the au pair is usually quite fun and lets us cook and make disgusting puddings.”
She stopped, giving Rory an opportunity to comment in some way on this flood of confidence, but he said nothing. After a bit, Lucy went on.
“It’s so different here. You can do anything, and if there’s nothing to do, you can go out and shop and walk about, or go to the beach, or exploring, or out at night and nobody stops you. And here, they all call me duck, or darling, but at the same time they treat me like a grownup. As though I were a person, not a child. Gran and Mummy call me Lucy. Just that. But I never feel I’m a proper person. I’m fourteen now, and sometimes I feel I’ve done nothing except go to school. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had a brother or a sister.
“Specially a brother. Because just being with women all the time can be dreadfully lowering. They talk about such unimportant things. Like clothes, or restaurants, or other people….”
“Where do you go to school?”
“It’s called Stanbrook. Quite near where we live. I get the tube, two stops. I really like it, and the teachers, the head; and I met Emma there. We do things like go to concerts and art exhibitions, and we go swimming and do games in the park. But it’s all-girls, and sometimes I think it would be really fun to go to a comprehensive. You’d meet so many different people.”
Rory said, “How about your father?”
“I don’t see him much, because Mummy doesn’t like me seeing him; and anyway he’s got a new wife, and she doesn’t want me around much either. I’ve got a grandfather, called Jeffrey Sutton. He’s Carrie’s father. But he lives in Cornwall with a new young wife and two little new children.”
“Can’t you go and stay there?”
“Yes, I could, but Gran’s bitter about him, and unforgiving, and his name is scarcely ever mentioned. One day I’ll really be brave and strong and say I want to go and stay. But I suppose I’ll have to wait until I’m a bit older to do that.”
“You don’t have to wait. You have to do it now”
“I think,” said Lucy sadly, “I haven’t the nerve. I simply hate rows and asserting myself. I did have one row with Mummy and Gran about having my ears pierced. Everyone at school has got pierced ears, but they wouldn’t let me. It’s such a little thing, but the row went on for days, and I couldn’t bear it, so I just caved in. I’m dreadfully feeble about things like that.”
Rory said, “I think you’d look good with pierced ears. You could have gold rings.” He grinned.
“Like me.”
“I wouldn’t just have one. I’d have two.”
“Get them done here. There’s a jeweller in Kingsferry.”
“My mother would die.”
“Your mother’s in America?”
“How did you know that?”
“Elfrida told Ma and she told me.”
“She’s got a boyfriend, Randall Fischer. She’s in Florida with him. She went for Christmas. That’s why I came here with Carrie. I was asked, too, but I didn’t want to go. I’d just have been in the way. Besides,” she added, “I don’t really like him much.”
He said nothing to this, and it occurred to Lucy that he was very good at listening. She wondered if this gift came naturally to him, or whether his father had taught him the importance of silence at the appropriate time. And she remembered that day in London when Carrie had suddenly appeared, just when Lucy was yearning for a confidante. She had thought that she could talk to Carrie, could open her heart to her, but Carrie, returning from Austria, was obscurely different, and clearly in no mood for confidences. Withdrawn, perhaps, was the word, as though some part of her had stayed in another place. But Rory Kennedy was different. Rory had time to listen, and was clearly sympathetic. Lucy found herself filled with grateful affection.
She said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all this. It’s just that it’s all been so much fun. Being with Elfrida and Oscar, and learning to do reels, and all the other people of my own age. And thinking that Christmas this year is going to be a real one, and not just eating roast pheasant with Mummy and Gran, or even going out to some boring restaurant because they can’t be bothered to cook. And the snow and everything. And the church. And the fairy lights going up….”
Her voice trailed away. She was finished. There was nothing more to say. She thought of the flat and London, and then stuffed the image away at the back of her mind and slammed down an imaginary lid. There was no point remembering. No point thinking about having to return. No point in spoiling this moment, this hour, this day. Now.
He was watching her. She met his eyes, and smiled. He said, “Do you want to come sledging this afternoon?”
“Are you going?”
“Why not? I’ll ring up some of the others. We’ll go to the golf course… there are some really good slopes.” He glanced at his watch.
“It’s nearly twelve. We’ll need to get off early, before it gets dark. How about you come back home with me now and we’ll get my ma to give us some food, and get hold of the others?”
Lucy said, “I haven’t got a sledge.”
“We’ve got three or four in the garage. You can borrow one of those.” He pulled himself to his feet.
“Come on.”
“But won’t your mother… ?”
“We, she won’t mind. She won’t complain, and there’ll be enough food to feed an army. There always is.” He reached down and took her arm and hauled Lucy to her feet.
“Stop being so worried,” he told her.
“Stop putting difficulties in your own way.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Not any more.”
ELFRIDA
The Kingsferry shopping expedition had been highly successful. Not only had Sam an
d Came brought back with them a load of cardboard boxes stuffed with food, vegetables, cereals, fruit, and Christmas goodies, but boxes of wine, crates of beer, mixers, Coke, and six bottles of Grouse whisky. Moreover, they had managed to run down the whereabouts of the Gent’s Outfitters, where Sam had kit ted himself out with a wardrobe of country clothes-corduroy trousers, warm shirts, a thick ribbed sweater, a pair of Timberland boots, and a Barbour jacket.
Sam put his new clothes on for lunch, and they all admired his suave and casual appearance. After lunch, he shrugged himself into his Barbour, and he and Oscar set off to walk to the Golf Club, where Sam had made an appointment with the secretary, because he wished to talk about the possibility of becoming a member. Elfrida, watching them go as they strode side by side down the snowy pavement, thought that they looked companionable. It was good for Oscar to have a bit of masculine company.
So she and Carrie were left to prepare for the arrival, at four o’clock, of Sir James Erskine-Earle. The first thing to decide was where they should give him his tea. Elfrida thought the kitchen … no point in standing on ceremony. But Carrie said that was all right for someone you knew, but perhaps Sir James would be a bit put out if asked to put his knees under the kitchen table and drink his tea from a mug.
Elfrida saw her point.
“Then we’ll have it in the sitting-room.”
“What, all perched around the fireside?”
“Why not?”
“Men hate perching. Unless they’re trained to it, like vicars. They can’t manage cups, saucers, and fairy cakes all at the same time.
Let’s have it on the table in the bay window … all laid out and proper, like Mother used to do.”
“I shall have to find a dainty tea cloth “Bet there’s one lurking in Mrs. Snead’s cupboard. Shall I make some scones?”
Elfrida was impressed.
“Can you?”
“Of course. And you can go and buy iced fancies from the baker.”
Elfrida put on her blanket coat and went. The baker didn’t sell iced fancies, but had ginger breads instead, so she bought one, and a jar of home-made bramble jelly.
“Are you having a party, Mrs. Phipps?” asked the girl, giving Elfrida her change. And Elfrida said, no, not exactly, just somebody coming for afternoon tea.
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