A Christmas Gift

by Ruby Jackson

  ‘Cocoa?’ he asked, but she shook her head. Whatever he had to say she wanted it all out in the open.

  He sat down across from her. ‘I told you I’ve been chatting with Millie in the last few weeks. You know that she lives in a small flat that she had been buying with her husband; his parents gave them the down payment as a wedding present. She’s finding the payments difficult – she’s not making a fortune as a member of ENSA – and can’t approach either set of parents as she feels that all four have been too good already.’

  So that was it. He wanted Millie to live with him; of course he did. Everyone could see what good friends they had become.

  I won’t cry. I’ll find somewhere else. And really it’s much better that I find another place.

  Sally felt as if a large block of ice had somehow reached the pit of her stomach and refused either to melt or to move. But she would not show him how hurt she was.

  ‘I can’t really see how it will help her financially, Sebastian, but of course I’ll leave. Max will contact the housing officer for me. There are other hostels in London and one of them will have a space, surely.’ She stood up, preparing to start packing but Sebastian had inserted himself between her seat and the door; she was hemmed in.

  ‘Good gracious, what are you talking about, Sally? What a girl for jumping to conclusions – always the wrong ones, incidentally. Who said anything about moving? I wanted to talk to you before I mentioned anything to Millie because, of course, what you want comes first. You are my number-one lodger. If you would kindly stop jumping ahead before you’ve heard a word of my extremely carefully thought-out plan and listen, we could discuss the problem the way old friends should.’

  She felt a tear escape and trickle down her cheek and brushed it away. ‘Sorry, please tell me your plan.’

  ‘It’s simple, as far as I see it. Millie’s had too many setbacks already, wouldn’t you agree?’ He took her agreement for granted and carried on. ‘She wants to keep her home but she can’t afford the payments. What if – and this is where I thought I’d been absolutely brilliant – she came to live with us? This is a large flat; we could work out sleeping and wardrobe arrangements. Millie could let her flat; oodles of people looking for accommodation in London. With the monthly rent, she should surely have enough to make her mortgage payment and pay me a little. I don’t need it but I’m sure she’s like you – annoyingly independent – and we three could carry on, the Three Musketeers. As landlord, I could throw my weight around and make sure you two do all the housework. What do you think?’

  ‘About your plans for the housework?’

  ‘No, about asking Millie to join us? Come on, Sally, I really didn’t set out to be a landlord – for one thing, Grandmamma would not approve – but surely your parents would be happier if there was another woman here.’

  Sally remained quiet. She had never known anyone like Sebastian before. What was he getting out of their arrangement? What would he get out of sharing his beautiful flat with not one stray but two? She knew, or thought she knew, how much she had disrupted his life and yet here he was, prepared to make even more changes. Unless of course, he was falling in love with Millie.

  ‘What is going through that beautiful little head of yours? I’ve told you before that one can hear the wheels grinding.’

  ‘I was wondering what your grandmother would think?’

  ‘Grandmamma? She would see countless opportunities for seduction and be furiously angry.’ He laughed. ‘Sally, there’s a war on. I have room and you need somewhere. And Millie? She’s a little wounded bird. I’d like to help her and that doesn’t involve, what shall we say, an intimate personal relationship. But I need your help too. If we ask her and she accepts, then you two might have to share a room. My bedroom is the largest room in the flat and so the ladies could share that and I’d move into the guest room, or, if you need separate bedrooms, I’m quite happy to doss down on a sofa in the living room.’

  ‘You’re too long.’

  ‘Bless you. I was hoping you’d say that but it really doesn’t matter, Sally; we spend so little time at home these days anyway; it’s not much more than a place to keep the clean underwear, and have the occasional nap. Look, let’s get off to bed. You think over what I’ve said and let me know in the morning.’ He stood up, bent over and kissed her forehead, then went out quietly. A moment later she heard his bedroom door closing.

  Sally stayed on in the lovely drawing room for some time. She liked being alone there; its quiet elegance always made her feel happy. She knew how lucky she was to have Sebastian as a friend. In this room she had wondered once or twice about what marriage to him would be like, to be the mistress of this beautiful room with its piano that surely their children would learn to play, as Sebastian had done. They too would admire the paintings – watercolours, Sebastian called them – and she and Sebastian would encourage them, a boy and a girl, equally clever and enrolled in good schools, to read the special books in the bookcase and not merely look at them through the glass.

  That short-lived dream had died and for a brief multicoloured bubble of time Sebastian’s face had been replaced by that of Jon. The rapier-sharp blade that was never far away cut into her again and she curled up on the sofa and muffled her tears in a cushion. She had loved the yellow and pale green cushions from her first sight of them.

  ‘Regency stripes,’ Sebastian had told her. ‘Grandmamma loved everything to do with Regency furniture and soft furnishings. I think I’d prefer the room to be a tad more modern; it’s all a teeny bit shabby but I’m too lazy to do anything about it and there is a war on. Redecorating isn’t exactly top of my to-do list.’

  ‘I think it’s perfect,’ Sally said.

  ‘Bless you, my child. That was exactly the right thing to say.’

  She cowered closer to the cushion, remembering every word of the conversation and also the tiny dream she had had of sharing a beautiful room, not unlike this one, with Jon. But Jon was missing, presumed dead. She could see that written on every face that approached her, telling her not to give up hope. Rather than hope, perhaps in vain, would it not be better to fear the worst, to accept the pain? And who was she to grieve over another woman’s husband anyway? Millie accepted the loss of her darling Patrick for she knew only too well that there was no hope. Patrick was dead. Their dream was ended.

  But Sebastian wanted to help Millie and she could help too. Of course, Millie must move into the flat. Sharing Sebastian’s flat would help her continue to have part of their dream, hers and Patrick’s. She would keep their home.

  How long had she huddled there? She was cold and stiff. ‘Stupid Sally,’ she scolded herself, for if she caught a cold and could not perform, one of the qualified people on any one of the lists that Sybil and Lalita were making would take over from her. Her absence would never be noticed. The tiny place on the ENSA programmes that read ‘Sally Brewer’ would be erased and another name inserted.

  Sally forced herself to sit up and then to stand. The light was still on, but the blackout curtains would keep that a secret from ARP wardens or prowling German planes. She turned off the lamp, opened the door and crept out, closing it soundlessly behind her.

  She stood in darkness for a moment, trying to remember just how far down the corridor was that part of the ancient wooden floor that loved to give away secrets by groaning as if in pain. She misjudged it and the floor announced her presence. She stopped, hardly breathing, but heard nothing. Sebastian had to be asleep.

  Sebastian lay listening and wondering how he could comfort her. He had tried once but … the moment was lost and now their friendship was the most important thing to him.

  Sally reached her room, her special, precious private space. Soon it would be hers no longer. Could she sleep each night on Grandmamma’s Regency cushions? No, it would not be allowed.

  ‘Be more than grateful for all he has given you, Sally,’ she said and, opening the door as quietly as she could, she slipped inside and went to
bed where she lay sometimes sleeping but more often awake as the noise of exploding bombs, screaming wounded sailors and roaring waves invaded her dreams.

  ‘The bathroom’s all yours,’ Sebastian’s voice pulled her from her nightmares, ‘but drink this coffee first. Essence, I’m afraid, but the best the chef could do this morning.’

  ‘Sack him,’ she said, trying to pretend this was a usual morning. ‘Ten a penny down the Labour Exchange, guv.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes. Any longer and you can face Max on your own,’ he said, and was gone.

  They reached the theatre just in time for Sebastian to hold the door open for Sybil.

  ‘Good God, Sally, you look as if an entire army of brigands has had its wicked way with you. What has she been doing, Seb?’

  ‘I beat her twice in a row at Snakes and Ladders. Some people just don’t know how to lose gracefully.’

  ‘My dressing room now, Sally.’

  Sebastian shrugged and Sally grimaced but followed Sybil through the theatre to her dressing room.

  ‘Sit down in front of the mirrors and don’t look at yourself. You’re liable to have a heart attack.’

  Sally said nothing but did as she was bid, apart from not looking in the mirrors – she had seen her face already and knew the worst.

  Sybil came and stood behind her, examining the face in the mirror very thoroughly. ‘I won’t ask anything, Sally, but we all know that you have had major bad news. It’s only our business if it affects your abilities.’ She bent down and thumped a heavy bag onto the table. ‘This is, I suppose, damage limitation. Had you gone all the way through theatre school, make-up lessons would have been part of your curriculum. The secret of perfect maquillage, make-up, for day wear, is to apply it so well that it hides evidence of life’s blows and so cleverly that everyone looking at you wonders whether or not you’re wearing any at all.’

  Twenty-five minutes later Sally stood up and smiled at the vision revealed in the mirrors.

  ‘Unfortunately the young, happy Sally will be washed off at bedtime,’ said Sybil. ‘Try to sleep, Sally. That really is the best medicine. Have some cocoa, or Ovaltine, even a cup of China’s blessed tea, but no alcohol. Makes you sleep, certainly, but you’ll look hellish in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sally said quietly, and walked to the door.

  Sybil held her arm as she passed. ‘Remember, Lalita and I are here and we’ve heard everything and been through most if not all of it. Another day I’ll really do those eyes of yours. You’ll be amazing on film; the camera will adore you. Now go.’

  Sally went.

  TEN

  Dmitri, Russian prince or accountant or night watchman – whatever he was – discovered that the large bed in the flat’s main bedroom was, in fact, two single beds put together, and he and Sebastian spent a happy afternoon taking them apart.

  ‘Voilà,’ announced Sebastian to his new flatmate, ‘all modern conveniences.’

  Millie had been thrilled by the invitation to share expenses at Sebastian’s flat but had felt the need to put up some token resistance. ‘It’s not fair disturbing you both like this. I’ll manage something.’

  ‘Thanks to the multitalented Dmitri, you’re not dis-turbing anyone. We have a bed each; Sebastian won’t ruin his back curling up on the sofa, and his wardrobe is far bigger than the one in the guest room so there’s plenty of room for our clothes. I hope I don’t snore.’

  ‘No problem; I’ll put a pillow over your head. But I have to admit that Patrick said I sounded just like one of my grandfather’s pigs.’

  Sally managed a slight laugh as it was obvious that Millie was trying hard to sound light-hearted in a vain attempt to show them how well she was handling the loss of her own place. ‘I’ll leave you to unpack. I’ll be in the kitchen. We usually listen to The Kitchen Front while we’re preparing supper; so far we haven’t tried anything that’s been suggested but we do like Freddie Grisewood.’

  Millie assured her that she would join them as soon as she had put away her clothes and toiletries. ‘I’m a hopeless cook, Sally, but quite good at washing dishes and general tidying.’

  ‘Afraid I’m not much good either, but don’t worry. We’ll manage. Sebastian isn’t creative but for basics he’s really quite good.’

  Sebastian was in the kitchen fiddling with the radio knobs. He continued until the announcer’s voice sounded clearly. ‘Good. Millie settling in? You’re sure you don’t mind sharing, Sal?’

  ‘Of course not. I used to envy my friends, the twins I’ve told you about. Must be nice to have someone to talk to.’

  ‘I thoroughly enjoyed being a spoiled only child. The entire world revolved around little me. Probably that’s why I became an actor; couldn’t bear the adulation to dry up.’

  ‘You do talk nonsense.’

  ‘I know, my darling, but it beats trying not to talk about the things we have on our minds.’

  She sat down heavily, the words ‘he can read me like a book’ chasing through her head. ‘It’s the not knowing for sure if he’s dead. If only he had been rescued I wouldn’t care how badly he was injured. I keep in mind what you said once about looking straight at the wounded men. We’ve had lots of practice, haven’t we?’

  ‘Ssh.’ Sebastian had heard Millie coming along the corridor.

  ‘No need to treat me like porcelain. I think I’ve proved I won’t break.’ Millie joined them at the table. ‘I wanted to ask you if you’ll be here at Christmas, Seb, both of you or either?’

  Sebastian looked up at the calendar on the kitchen wall. It showed a picture of Notre-Dame Cathedral in Paris and under the picture was the French word, Mars. ‘Golly, shame on you, Sally, not noticing that it’s November.’

  ‘I thought you liked the picture and I know it’s November of 1941. You’re more than a year out of date.’

  He took down the calendar and made as if to throw it into the rubbish bin. Both girls jumped up. ‘Seb, we’re asked to save all paper for the war effort.’

  ‘I will be here for Christmas,’ said Sebastian as if nothing had happened. ‘Probably we will all be here.’ He opened the pantry door, showing Millie a box with the words ‘PAPER’ written across it and deposited the calendar inside. ‘I shall miss that view of Notre-Dame,’ he said sadly as he sat down again. ‘One does get used to things and, by the way, since you are both paying me hefty rent, you shall each have your own key, if there’s enough metal lying around for new keys to be cut, and then you may come and go as you please. Sorry, Sally, I should have thought of that before. I do have at least one spare key; it will be in my cufflinks box.’

  ‘Where are your cufflinks?’ Millie was fascinated.

  ‘In the shirt drawer, of course. Where else would they be? Now let’s listen to old Freddie and then, omelettes, do you think?’

  Sally put out her hand and grasped Millie’s slender wrist. ‘They’re from powdered eggs; completely tasteless.’

  ‘There’s a war on, ladies, and with another resident we will now be entitled to nine pints of milk a week – lots of cocoa, yum yum. As we are also entitled to one packet of powdered eggs each every four weeks that’s the bountiful total of three delicious packets a month. Omelettes or scrambled eggs, ladies? Choose.’

  ‘Tasteless omelette, or tasteless scrambled eggs,’ said Millie. ‘Come on, Sally, pretend we’re lucky to have such a varied choice.’

  ‘It’s going to be all right having Millie here,’ Sally decided as, later that evening, she took her turn to have a hot bath and hair wash. Yes, it was going to be all right.

  When she was finished in the bathroom, she returned to the large bedroom she was sharing with Millie. ‘I need to write a letter to my parents,’ she said. ‘I’ll go into the living room so as not to disturb you.’

  But Millie assured her that she herself had to write to her own family and to Patrick’s parents to let them know of her possible plans for Christmas. ‘Quite frankly,I don’t think I could bear to go to either set of pa
rents this year, Sally. Mine try too hard to be casual and Patrick’s parents are just so devastated by his loss, they’re barely functioning. It’s left me feeling I’m lacking somehow; I’m not nearly enough to help them. I’m just Millie and I took Patrick away from them. Poor darlings, watched me like a hawk for weeks after … after, hoping I was preggers, I suppose. A baby might have been some consolation. I’m going to ask Max to send me somewhere. What about you?’

  ‘I’ll go out to events if Max needs me but I’d like to go home; perhaps my chums will have leave and we always have such lovely fun. You could come with me; you’d be made very welcome.’

  ‘Not this year, Sally, but thank you. Now let’s get our letters written.’

  They piled the pillows behind their backs and sat up, their writing pads on their thighs and began to write. Sally wrote a short note to Daisy asking if it could really be true that she was learning to fly. The sheer wonderment of such an achievement filled her with happiness for her friend. But she did not ask Daisy if her father had a customer called Galbraith or Hedges. She remembered picking strawberries at Old Manor Farm, and hearing that a real lord owned that farm and others in the area, but she could not remember his name – if she had ever heard it. She could no longer put off giving her parents her address.

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  ‘I’m sitting up in bed writing letters. Millie Burgess, who’s a war widow, is doing the same in the bed next to mine. It’s rather like Daisy’s room, twin beds, little rugs and, in this room, two comfy chairs. The flat is owned by Sebastian Brady; you remember the actor who kindly drove me home from London and who has helped me get into ENSA. He has very kindly taken Millie and me as his lodgers.