Christina looked into her mother’s eyes, her own shining with joy. ‘I painted it specially for your birthday, Mam, and Dad took it to Mr Cox’s shop in Town Street and had it framed. That’s why it’s from the two of us…’cos Daddy paid for the frame.’
Giving her husband a radiant smile, Audra said, ‘Thank you… it’s the best present you could have given me, really it is. I shall treasure it always.’ Her bright blue eyes held his with keenness. ‘And it was worth framing, Vincent, wasn’t it?’
‘Aye, it was that. I recognized the beauty of it the minute our Christina showed it to me.’ There was a proud expression on his face as he added, ‘You’re a right clever little lass, love.’
Christina looked pleased, wrinkled her nose at him, then she turned to her mother, asked, ‘Where shall you put it, Mummy?’
‘Well, let’s see… I know one thing, it’s going to take pride of place in this house,’ Audra declared. ‘What about here, on the mantelpiece? For the moment, anyway.’
Audra rose as she spoke, crossed to the fireplace and propped the painting on the shelf in the midst of the birthday cards.
Turning, she asked her daughter, ‘And whose garden is it? Where did you go to paint it?’
‘Calpher House… I went up to see Mrs Bell to ask her if I could… and I went all by myself. And she said yes I could paint her garden for you, and so I picked that sweet little corner near her roses… she kept coming out to see how I was doing. She was ever so interested. It was last week that I did it, Mam, and she made me come inside when it rained and she gave me a glass of milk and a Cadbury’s chocolate finger, no two, and after it stopped raining I went out and I started all over again. I liked the garden better then… it sort of glistened after the rain.’
Audra nodded. ‘You certainly captured that feeling beautifully, Christina. It’s the best work you’ve done so far… you’ve made leaps and bounds.’
The child glowed.
Vincent said to his daughter, ‘Now, Christie love, what about the tea party then? Isn’t it about time.’
‘Oh yes! Mam, come on, and you too, Dad!’
CHAPTER 27
It was the most splendid tea party.
Audra was not allowed to do anything.
And so she sat at the table in the parlour-kitchen, watching her husband and her child bustle around, getting everything ready. She had noticed earlier how they had both dressed up; they had turned her birthday into a truly special occasion, one of importance, and she could not help but feel happy and flattered. She just wished she had had time to change out of the cotton frock she had worn to work that day, to put on something more attractive herself, but Christina had not given her the chance.
How handsome Vincent looks, Audra thought, watching her husband as he moved around the parlour-kitchen. He wore a dazzling white shirt, a burgundy tie and dark grey slacks, and he had obviously rushed home from work to shave again and to change his clothes for the tea party. She could see that he was freshly barbered and his black hair, brushed sleekly back to reveal his widow’s peak, was still damp with water.
As for Christina, she looks adorable, Audra thought. Yes, she’s the prettiest thing imaginable today.
Her little daughter had donned her best party frock of pale-blue silk trimmed with narrow bands of white lace down the bodice and on the skirt. She had put on clean white ankle socks and her Sunday-best shoes with ankle straps, made of shiny black patent leather. A blue silk ribbon was tied around her head and finished in a bow on her crown. Audra smiled to herself. Vincent had done quite a decent job of fixing the bow.
Audra sat back in her chair, now eyeing the table with interest. It was covered with their good linen cloth and set with their best china, which only came out for visitors. She saw that a linen serviette had been placed on each plate and there was a posy of yellow roses from the garden in a glass vase in the centre. Again she smiled. She fancied these were her daughter’s touches.
Vincent went to the set-pot and turned off the kettle, which was whistling on the gas ring. He made a big pot of tea in the silver pot from High Cleugh; Christina brought out plates of food from the pantry.
She explained, in her piping child’s voice, ‘The teeny-tweeny sandwiches are made the way you like them, Mam, and they’re all your favourites… potted-meat spread, tomato and cucumber and Dad bought a tin of salmon at the Co-op and we made lots of sandwiches with it.’
‘They all look delicious,’ Audra said, ‘you have been working hard, haven’t you?’
‘Dad helped,’ Christina said and made several more trips to the pantry, returning with chocolate biscuits, currant buns with white, icing-sugar tops, scones and raspberry jam. ‘Grandma made the buns and the scones for me,’ she explained to Audra, and ran back to the pantry one more time. ‘Strawberries, Mam!’ she announced depositing the dish in front of her mother. ‘Oh, and the cream! I forgot the cream!’
‘Come on, Christina love, sit yourself down now,’ Vincent called, bringing the teapot to the table, pouring for the three of them. ‘I don’t know about my two girls, but I’m famished.’
During tea, Audra and Vincent chatted happily.
She spoke of her busy day at St Mary’s Hospital, where she was now a sister and in charge of the two children’s wards as well as the maternity ward.
He spoke about the temporary job he and Fred Varley had, building stables onto the Pinfold mansion in Old Farnley. They were doing it together, working side by side, since Fred Varley had not been able to open up again after his bankruptcy, at least not in a big way. Varley took on small building jobs, when he could get them, and usually it was Vincent he employed to help him.
‘But he’ll open up shop again soon, and permanently,’ Vincent said, ‘he will that, never fear.’ And Audra nodded her head, and crossed her fingers under the table, praying that this was true. Vincent loved his work and things were a lot easier between them when he had a job and was earning money and supporting them himself. She had slowly come to understand that it was his frustration and resentment when he was out of work that caused some of their greatest problems.
Vincent started to talk about his brother Frank, who was in the Ninth Lancers—a cavalry regiment—and with the British Army in India. He was coming home on leave and Vincent had decided that the entire Crowther clan should give a party for Frank’s homecoming: this was now the chief topic of conversation.
Christina kept her ears cocked as she always did when she was with her parents, looking from one to the other, her large grey eyes wider than ever, interested, missing nothing.
She was attentive to their every word as she munched on her sandwiches. Occasionally she made a remark of her own, but mostly she listened. They were both so clever, her mam and her dad. She loved to hear them talk. Her mam had such a lovely voice, so soft and musical.
She always enjoyed times like this when they were so friendly with each other and her mother smiled a lot and her eyes got very, very blue and very bright; she didn’t like it when they squabbled. Then her father went out, banging the door behind him with a crash and didn’t come home until ever so late at night when they were fast asleep. Her mother was always cross with him for days after and looked at him in a queer way through the corner of her eye and tightened her lips.
Once, last year when she had been little and not grown up like now, her mam had waited up for her dad to come home after a row. They had shouted at each other and her mam had screamed, ‘If that’s the way you feel about it, then go back to your fancy woman.’ She had heard it all, because she had been so surprised to hear her mam shouting that she had crept out of her room, had hung over the banisters to listen.
And for days afterwards she had worried that her dad was going to go away and live with the woman who was fancy. She had wondered if they weren’t fancy enough for him. Perhaps if they made themselves fancy he would stay, she had thought, but she hadn’t been sure how to do this.
Finally she had asked her grandma what a
fancy woman looked like. Her grandma had sucked in her breath, had stared hard at her, had asked where she had heard something like that, and she had fibbed, had said, ‘at school’. She didn’t know, even now, why she had fibbed to Grandma, except that somehow she knew she should not talk about things that happened at home. Her mam never did when she went to Grandma’s. She hardly said anything at all, and she wasn’t a bit like her mam when she was at Grandma’s house. She was different, somehow.
But in the end they hadn’t had to get themselves all fancy, because her dad had not gone away. A short while after the terrible quarrel her mam and her dad had been all smiles again, and loving, and forever kissing each other on the cheek and hugging. It was always like that with them.
Her father’s sudden laughter brought Christina out of her reverie.
She looked at him alertly.
His expression was merry and his green eyes were all sparkly like the necklace Auntie Gwen wore when they went to tea at her house in Headingley, except that they didn’t go to Auntie Gwen’s any more. And her mother was laughing too; her eyes danced and danced with blue lights and she knew her mother was happy today.
Christina did not understand why her parents were laughing in this way; she had missed what her mother had just said. But she began to laugh too, wanting to be part of it, part of them, part of their happiness and gaiety.
Vincent, still chuckling, said, ‘Oh and by the way, Audra, Mike’s bought tickets for the Grand Theatre on Saturday… it’s Noel Coward’s Cavalcade. He’s invited us, so that’s another nice birthday treat for you, love.’
‘How sweet he is, so thoughtful.’
Christina asked, ‘Will Auntie Maggie be looking after me when you go out on Saturday night?’
‘She will that, love.’
‘Oh goody, Dad. We have such fun and she always lets me stay up late.’
‘She does!’ Audra exclaimed.
‘It’s time for the strawberries, Mam, I’ll serve,’ Christina cried, jumping down off her chair. ‘And you get to get the most, ’cos it’s your birthday.’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ Audra demurred, ‘we’ll all have exactly the same amount, it’s share and share alike in this family.’
‘No, you have to have the most,’ Christina insisted as she carefully spooned the fruit into the small glass dishes she had brought from the sideboard.
They had not had strawberries for a long time, because they were so expensive and such a special treat. And so none of them spoke as they ate them slowly, savouring every bite, but their eyes shone and they smiled at each other with their eyes. And when they had finished they all three agreed that these were the best strawberries they had ever eaten… sweet, succulent and juicy.
But the highlight of the tea party was the birthday cake.
Christina and Vincent fussed over it in the pantry, before the child walked out, slowly, sedately, carrying it high in front of her.
And father and daughter cried in unison, ‘Happy birthday! Happy birthday!’
Drawing to a standstill in front of her mother, Christina said, ‘I’m sorry there’s only one candle, Mam, but that’s all that was left from my birthday cake. The others were ever so burned down.’
‘I don’t mind, Christie, one candle is certainly better than none.’
‘That’s what I told her,’ Vincent remarked, sitting down opposite Audra. ‘And I also said you’d probably prefer one candle to thirty.’
Audra gave him a small, rueful smile. ‘I can’t believe that I’m actually thirty years old today. Vincent… where have all the years gone?’
Vincent shook his head, smiled faintly. ‘Don’t ask me, lass. I’ve no idea. And I’ll be thirty-four in nine days… or had you forgotten?’
Before Audra had a chance to answer, Christina cried, ‘We have to have a party for you too, Dad!’
***
Christina knelt to say her prayers.
Audra sat in the rocking chair and listened.
Once she had finished the long ritual of blessing her uncles in Australia and every member of the Crowther clan, Christina clambered up onto her bed and slid down between the sheets.
Rising, Audra went over to her, tucked in the covers and straightened the quilt, then sat on the edge of the bed. She smoothed her hand along her child’s innocent cheek and smiled at her. ‘It was a lovely birthday party, Christie, thank you.’
Christina smiled back. Then she asked anxiously, ‘We can have a party for Daddy, can’t we?’
‘Of course we can. It wouldn’t be fair if we didn’t… you had yours last month and there was mine today—so it’s his turn next.’ Audra leaned forward, kissed her daughter.
Plump little arms reached out and went around Audra’s neck. Christina nuzzled against her mother, filling with pleasure at the familiar smell of her cool fresh skin and the scent of Gardenia Flower Essence behind her ears. She whispered, ‘I love you, Mam.’
‘Oh darling, I love you, too. So very much. Come on, curl up and go to sleep. It’s very late now. Sweet dreams, honeybunch.’
‘Yes, Mam. ’Night, Mam.’
Christina did not fall asleep immediately.
She lay in bed watching the sky through the window. They had let her stay up way past her bedtime tonight since it was a special occasion, and now it was very dark outside.
The sky was inky black and filled with glittering stars oh so far away and the moon was as round as a silver half crown and just as shiny. A full moon, her father had said, just before she had been packed off to bed.
Oh how she loved her dad. And her mam. She liked it the best when it was just the three of them… her mam and her dad and her. Her dad had invited Auntie Laurette and Uncle Mike to the tea party. She was ever so glad they hadn’t been able to come. It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. She did. She loved all of her aunts and uncles and her grandma. And Grandpa. Especially Grandpa. She liked the way he smelled of leather and Gentleman’s Hair Pommade and eucalyptus pastilles that he sometimes gave to her, secretly when no one was looking, and he took her up on his knee and told her stories of many wondrous things. She didn’t mind that his big white curly moustache tickled her when he kissed her, or that he puffed away on a pipe that filled Grandma’s parlour-kitchen with smoke and made her eyes water. He called it ‘My fine Calabash’, and he wouldn’t let anybody touch that pipe of his, not even Auntie Maggie, who he thought the world of, so her dad said.
But she loved her mam and her dad the most. More than the whole world put together. They belonged to her. And she belonged to them. She wouldn’t want any other mam and dad. Hers were special. She just knew they were.
She snuggled down in the bed and closed her eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep. She could hear the murmur of their voices floating up the staircase… soft, warm, loving voices… she always felt so safe when she heard their voices…
***
‘She’s a very special child, Vincent,’ Audra said, settling back against the sofa in the sitting room.
‘Yes, she’s clever.’
‘What she has is more than cleverness, more than talent even… she’s gifted, Vincent, exceptionally gifted.’ Audra let her eyes rest on the mantelpiece where the painting stood, propped up in the middle of the birthday cards. ‘Before tea, you said you were struck by the watercolour, so much so you decided to have it framed.’
‘Aye, no two ways about it, I was impressed.’ Vincent glanced at the painting Audra had done years before of The Memory Place, then let his eyes wander to the back wall where a landscape by Adrian Kenton hung. ‘Our Christina gets it from you and your father, Audra, her artistic talent, I mean.’
‘Yes, she does. But she’s going to be a much better artist than I am when she grows up… and she’ll probably be better than my father too. The indications are already there.’
‘There shouldn’t be any doubt in your mind any more about who your father really was, Audra.’ He gave her a slow smile.
‘Oh, there isn’t, and
I don’t suppose there ever was actually. I knew my mother would never do anything to hurt my father whilst he was alive. It was not in her nature to do anything shoddy. I think I’ve always known, deep down, that she and Uncle Peter only ever became involved later, much later, after she was widowed.’
Vincent nodded and reached for his glass of beer. He was glad that they had laid that old ghost finally.
They were both silent for a while, lost in their own thoughts.
The June evening had turned coolish and Vincent had put a match to the fire whilst Audra had been putting Christina to bed. Now she sat staring into the flames, thinking of the child who lay asleep upstairs. The gifted child, the child she had always known was going to have a glittering future.
Suddenly, Audra leaned forward, startling Vincent as she exclaimed, ‘Yes, we must do it!’
‘Do what?’ he asked, looking at her curiously.
She did not answer this question directly; instead she said, ‘I’ve been teaching her art for the last couple of years, and I’ll continue to do so, but there’s only so much knowledge I can impart.’
‘Yes,’ he said, crinkling his eyes, staring harder.
‘She’ll go to art school—’
‘When?’ he interrupted.
‘When she’s sixteen. They won’t accept her at Leeds College of Art before then. Later she’ll have to go to London. To study at the Slade, no, better still, at the Royal College of Art.’
‘How are we going to pay for all this?’ he demanded, his voice rising sharply. ‘We’ll never be able to afford an education like that for her, not even if the Depression ends and I get a permanent job. It’ll cost thousands.’
‘Yes, I know, but we’ll do it,’ she replied, very firmly. ‘We must, Vincent, we must!’ There was an eagerness in her voice, an excitement he had not heard for a long time. ‘Christina must be given every chance, every opportunity,’ Audra rushed on, ‘I won’t have her cheated just because of a lack of money. She has a gift… it must be trained. She’s going to be a brilliant painter, a great artist, Vincent.’
Act of Will Page 26