‘Don’t be daft.’ Jack laughed. ‘Go and enjoy yerselves. Make yer memories, you and Doug, now while you’re young. When you get to our age they’re the most precious things you can have, memories.’
Mary looked at her husband thoughtfully as Jacqueline ran out to the coach. ‘That was a lovely thing to say, Jack, about the memories.’
Jack coloured slightly. ‘Well it’s true, isn’t it? Don’t you ever look back – you know, when you’re sewing away all on yer own? I know I do. I might be sitting there hammering nails into someone’s old shoe, surrounded by the smell of leather, and all the time I’m miles away, barn dancing in the old school at Longfield or eating a picnic among the heather, with a freckle-faced auburn-haired beauty.’
Mary felt tears prickle her eyes. ‘Oh, Jack, I wonder where she’s gone, the girl of your memories.’
Jack grinned. ‘She’s still here, love, alongside a virile dark-haired youth. Though sometimes he’s hard to recognise these days.’
‘Oh, Jack, you’re still the same – still virile, if only I encouraged you more.’ Mary walked over to where her husband was sitting and perched on his knee. ‘It’s just that we seem to have lost sight of each other amongst all the turmoil of raising a family and running the shops, though I don’t think we’ve made too bad a job of it all, do you?’
‘We’ve made a damn good job of it when you look at the kids.’
‘There’s just one thing though, Jack – they aren’t kids any more. We need to let them go, and I’m finding that hard to come to terms with.’
Jack placed an arm round his wife and kissed her. ‘Aye, love, and another thing is it’s time we started making more memories.’
‘Come on, then, show me some of that virility you’ve been bragging about.’ Mary undid her blouse and slipped it off. ‘We paid good money for this sheepskin rug; what do you say we try it out for comfort?’ Jack joined her on the rug. They were in their prime, and it was indeed time to make more memories.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘It’s been a lovely party, as usual,’ Gladys remarked as she fastened her beaver lamb coat. ‘You must be exhausted, Mary, after all the catering and organising.’
‘I am, but it’s worth it for all the family to get together. After all, it’s only Christmas once a year.’
‘It looks like you’ll have to throw Rowland out, otherwise he’ll never go.’
‘There’s no need for you to go. You can have Alan’s bed. Jack’s mother is in Jacqueline’s bed and Doug won’t mind the settee.’
‘No, we wouldn’t think of imposing further. Besides, if you’re all coming to dinner tomorrow I’ll need to make an early start.’
‘Imposing? After you’ve been like parents to me for all those years? Look, I know I haven’t visited Newcastle as often as I should but I love my parents very much and I’m going to make up for that in the new year. But I love you just as much. We all do. The children have never considered you anything but their grandparents, so don’t ever mention imposing again. Besides, Jacqueline’s coming over with Doug in the morning. You must let her do the donkey work.’
‘I will. Don’t you worry about me, you know how I enjoy having you all.’ Gladys walked back into the sitting room where Rowland, Jack and Doug were sprawled out discussing the boring subject of taxes. Gladys sighed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still on about finances. Can’t you give it a rest, seeing as it’s Christmas?’
Rowland dragged himself reluctantly to his feet. ‘Looks like my wife’s all ready to go,’ he said. ‘Oh well, it’s been a lovely day, and that was an excellent brandy. We must continue where we left off tomorrow.’
Jack accompanied the departing guests to the door. ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘There may be some ground frost by the looks of it.’
‘We will, don’t worry. You know I never do more than thirty even in daylight.’
Jacqueline giggled. ‘Yes, we know. You’re nothing but an old slow coach. Did you know, Dad, Doug’s herd of cattle moves faster than Grandad’s car?’
‘And quite right too,’ Mary said. Rowland cleared the windows and started the engine amidst a good deal of jesting and much waving.
‘Gosh, it’s cold,’ Mary said, closing the door and locking up for the night. ‘I’m going to bed, I don’t know about anyone else.’
‘Oh aye, I expect I shall have a pair of cold feet to contend with,’ Jack remarked, and they went upstairs, leaving the young couple to their privacy.
‘I thought they’d never go,’ Doug sighed, taking Jacqueline into his arms.
‘Me too.’
He undid the buttons of her silk blouse and slid his hand inside her bra, feeling her nipple harden. When her hand unzipped his trousers he was immediately erect and ready to make love, but he undressed her slowly, running his lips over her body until she was almost crying out for him to enter her. Still he caressed her, sensuously, almost driving her mad with desire. Only then did he take her by the hand and lead her silently up the stairs and into Alan’s room, where they finally came together, locked in a powerful and exquisite climax.
‘I don’t want to leave you,’ she whispered.
‘Then stay,’ he said. Then he changed his mind. ‘Except that we don’t want your mother having kittens, especially on Boxing Day.’
Jacqueline giggled and slid out of bed, crept quietly out of the room and slipped into bed beside Grandma Holmes. She lay awake for some time wondering what the year ahead would bring, and decided that if nothing turned up she would consent to live at the farm. If it was the only way to be with Doug she really had no option; their love was too powerful a force to be denied. She couldn’t help comparing the tender lovemaking she had just enjoyed with Doug to the clumsy grappling of Barney Ross. What a lucky escape she had had.
Suddenly Jacqueline sat bolt upright in bed. She was drenched in perspiration despite the coldness of the room. She wondered if it had been a dream, yet knew deep down that she had been awake, that the vision had been perceived whilst she was in the hazy, half-awake state. She had witnessed it perfectly clearly, like a scene from a play, only the setting had been Moorland House and the characters had been Grandma and Grandad Roberts standing on the steps to the front door. They had waved and smiled, then disappeared in a haze. Jacqueline felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she remembered the visitation of Grandad Holmes on the night he died.
She wanted to confide her fears, to seek reassurance, but knew she mustn’t wake the family so early in the morning. Besides, they would scoff at her fears – except for her mother. Jacqueline slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the landing to her parents’ room, where they were sleeping like a pair of spoons, one in the other.
She shook her mother gently and Mary unlocked herself from Jack’s embrace.
‘What is it?’ she whispered, following her daughter from the room. Jacqueline was trembling and Mary led her downstairs to the fire.
‘What is it, love? Are you ill?’ Mary prodded the fire with the poker, inciting a blaze, then filled the kettle before sitting beside her daughter.
‘I’m frightened, Mam.’ Jacqueline shivered.
‘Frightened? Of what?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve had another queer vision, like the one of Grandad Holmes, only this time it was Grandma and Grandad Roberts!’
Mary felt a shiver run down her spine. ‘You were probably dreaming. Or maybe it was the wine – you did drink quite a bit.’
‘Oh, I do hope so, Mam. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them.’
‘I’m sure it won’t, but you know, love, they aren’t getting any younger. We all have to go sooner or later.’
‘I know, and I’m not afraid of death, I know there’s a far better life beyond this one, but I’d miss them so much.’ Jacqueline wiped the tears from her cheeks but her eyes continued to stream.
‘Come on, love, you’ll make yourself ill. I know how much you love them, so do I, but I’m sure you’ve no cause to w
orry. I’m sure it was just a dream.’ Mary made the tea and poured two cups. ‘Just you see, they’ll be waiting for you to help with the dinner as usual in the morning.’
Jacqueline managed a smile. ‘It’s morning already. I’m sorry to have woken you so early.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t asleep anyway,’ Mary fibbed. ‘Come on, let’s go back to bed. It isn’t often we get a chance to lie in.’
They did have a lie-in, but at ten o’clock the knock on the shop door sent a shiver of fear down Jacqueline’s spine. It was Jack who opened the door, expecting Alan and his family. He went cold at the sight of a policeman in uniform and another in plain clothes.
‘I’m sorry to have to bother you, and on a Boxing Day too, but I’ve been given your name in connection with Dr Rowland Roberts and his wife Gladys. Is it correct that they were friends of yours?’
‘Were?’ Behind Jack Mary uttered the word in a whisper, her heart thumping in her chest.
‘I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been an accident. Their car swerved off the road between Cowholes and Lower Longfield and careered down the bank towards the river. I’m afraid they were killed instantly. Mrs Roberts was thrown from the car when it hit a boulder, and the doctor died from head injuries whilst still in the car. We think he might have had a heart attack initially.’
Jacqueline began to cry and Mary tried to comfort her, even through her own pain. Jack, white-faced, asked the necessary questions as though in a daze, and Doug, who had only just come downstairs, feared for the man who was not yet completely recovered from nervous illness.
‘Sit down, Jack,’ he ordered, and went for the brandy bottle, still on the table from last night’s celebrations. ‘Here, get this down you.’ He gave a glass to Jack and a smaller one each to Mary and Jacqueline. The policemen refused, wanting to complete the nasty business as quickly as possible.
‘Are you related to the deceased?’
‘No. Oh, no, just friends, very close friends,’ Jack said.
‘Do you happen to know of any relatives we could contact, who might handle the arrangements?’
‘There is a nephew ... my wife will probably know his whereabouts.’
Mary managed to take in what the policeman was saying. ‘There is a nephew but they haven’t been in contact for years.’ Then she remembered. ‘Gladys left some instructions in an envelope in a cash box.’ Her voice broke.
‘Take it easy, love,’ Jack said.
‘She told me once, showed me where to find it if anything happened. I think there’s a copy of the will in there too. She wanted me to carry out the instructions in the letter.’ Mary sobbed. ‘I made a joke at the time, told her she was good for another forty years.’
‘Ah well, so can we leave the arrangements in your hands? Of course there’ll have to be a post-mortem. We’ll be in touch with you later.’
‘Where are they?’ Jacqueline whispered. ‘The bodies.’
‘At the infirmary. We may require you to identify them later, though the doctors on duty at the time of admission have already done that informally. Seems they were colleagues of the doctor and almost as upset as you are.’
‘At least he’s been taken to a place he loved. It was his life, or an important part of it until he retired,’ Mary said.
‘If you can spare the time we’d appreciate it if you’d come to the house with us, to get the envelope you mentioned. We need to see that any arrangements are approved by their solicitor.’
‘Of course. We’ll come now.’
‘There won’t be much we can do today, being a holiday, but we need to make sure the house is made secure again, you understand.’
‘I’ll get our coats.’ Mary followed Jack and the policemen to the car.
‘We’d better go and break the news to Alan,’ Jacqueline said.
‘Yes.’
‘What about Grandma Holmes? It’ll be a shock to her too.’
‘I’d wait until we get back, if I were you. She’ll need someone with her in case of shock at her age. I can hear her still pattering about in the bathroom.’
The couple went out with heavy hearts, Boxing Day celebrations forgotten. Jacqueline tried to revive the picture in her mind of the smiling couple waving from the steps of their beloved Moorland House. ‘You know something,’ she said, after the news had been broken to a sorrowful Alan and Avril, ‘I’m so pleased they went together. I don’t think either one could have survived without the other.’
‘You’re right,’ Alan agreed. ‘I’ve never known a couple so in love. They were like’ – he searched for the right description – ‘like a pair of shoes, one no good without the other.’
‘Oh, I’m going to miss them so much.’ Jacqueline broke into a fresh bout of weeping, and this time it was Alan whose arms enfolded her, but for once he wasn’t strong: he cried just like his sister, his tears damping her dark curls. And they knew that without Grandad and Grandma Roberts life would never be quite the same again.
Despite the overwhelming heat of the car the hand clasped in Jack’s was cold and lifeless. In other circumstances the low smooth hum of the engine might have lulled them into drowsiness. Through the mirror other cars could be seen following, like a trail of black shiny snails.
In the village Christmas trees twinkled in the windows of cottages, and a string of lights hung across Mrs Poppleton’s shop.
Gladys would have enjoyed the glitter.
Occasionally an elderly person would stand cap in hand, paying their last respects to a well-loved lady and gentleman. Mary looked at the car in front, and another in front of that, the long wooden caskets, the rich autumn hues of chrysanthemums, cream, bronze, purple and gold. That’s how she would remember them, knee deep in chrysanthemums, carrying in bunches from the garden, and other more magnificent blooms, filling the glass lean-to with their overpowering perfume.
She heard Richard in the seat in front comment on the size of the cortege and responded automatically. ‘It’s probably the largest funeral ever to take place at Longfield Church,’ she said, and all the time she was thinking that if Rowland was there he would be chatting, cheering her up, joking her out of her misery. But he wasn’t there, and neither was Gladys; they were gone, extinguished like a light, no bother to anyone, just the way they had always wanted to go.
‘Life is for the living,’ Rowland used to say. ‘No use worrying about the dead.’
Mary supposed he was right, but even so there would always be an empty place in her heart for the dearest friends she had ever known.
The church was full to overflowing, people from the surrounding villages and nuns from the convent mingling with doctors, nurses and professors of the highest standing. Father Flynn had made the long exhausting journey from Newcastle, and Rowland’s choir was already assembled in the choir stalls, numbed by the loss of their beloved conductor.
Richard and Ruth had arrived in the morning, more for the purpose of finding the name of their uncle’s solicitor than to mourn their dead. They were given front seats in the car as chief mourners. Dressed completely in black and putting on a pious look for the benefit of the undertaker who was unaware that the pair hadn’t found time to visit their aunt and uncle for more years than anyone could remember, they looked at Mary with disdain.
‘To them I’m just an ex-housemaid,’ Mary whispered.
‘You’re probably richer than they’ll ever be,’ Jack replied. ‘And richer certainly when it comes to peace of mind.’
Mary had left the choice of hymns to the choir, and they had chosen Rowland’s favourite ‘Abide With Me’, and ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd’ for Gladys. There were few dry eyes in the centuries-old church.
Afterwards, as they stood at the graveside, the words of Tom Downing came back to Mary: ‘Doesn’t the church stand well?’ Thinking of Tom it would have been easy to blame the Christmas sin for this further tragedy, but remembering Jacqueline’s experience at the Spiritual Church she wisely dismissed the thought from her
mind. She looked across the valley to where the tall rooftops of Moorland House rose proudly among the trees. It was fitting that her friends should be laid to rest within view of the house.
At the request of Richard the reading of the wills took place immediately after the funeral tea, on account of his having business to attend to and being in a hurry to leave.
Rowland’s dear friend Ernest Sessions had been appointed executor and Mary would have given anything to spare the poor old man the pain of having to be here so soon after the burial of his friend.
The shock of the solicitor’s reading was almost as traumatic as the news of the accident had been. In the first place only a small monetary bequest had been made to Richard and Ruth, on the grounds that they had been so busy succeeding in then chosen professions over the past ten years that a larger legacy would be unnecessary.
Jack almost smiled as the solicitor read the words. They were so clearly Rowland’s own words, and he could almost imagine the doctor’s hearty guffaw, booming round the room. Mary, however, felt sorry for the couple, whose crestfallen faces proved they had expected the bulk of the estate.
Gladys’s jewellery and some other mementos had been left to Mary, and Rowland had left any car which he might own, his gold pocket watch and some other pieces to Jack. Fortunately, Jack valued the personal items far more than the car, which had been written off in the accident.
A bequest had also been made to the infirmary. But the shock came with the further announcement that all stocks, shares and money remaining after the funeral expenses and taxes had been paid was bequeathed to Alan, who couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Jacqueline was so pleased for her brother she almost missed the last and most important part of the legacies: I devise my freehold property known as Moorland House situated in Longfield in the County of York to Jacqueline Mary Holmes.
Halfway through January Mary announced she had decided to go to Newcastle. Jack, who had been worried about his wife, who looked decidedly run down and pale a reaction from the shock of the accident pronounced the trip an excellent idea.
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