Cross Stitch

by Amanda James

  Keeping her voice light as she didn’t want to betray Lucy’s confidence regarding her concerns about her husband, Sarah said, ‘Yes. I think he seems really nice, and very good looking.’ She grinned at John’s affronted expression.

  ‘Oi, watch it, madam. Just because he’s tall, dark, handsome and French doesn’t mean that he’s more gorgeous than me. You have a prize guy right here beside you,’ John joked, but Sarah could tell he was perhaps a tiny bit jealous.

  ‘Oh, I know that, believe me. Nobody could hold a candle to you, my darling.’

  ‘And I am so glad he makes my sister happy. She looked on cloud nine, didn’t she?’

  ‘She did indeed,’ Sarah said. But a heavy feeling settled in her chest when she remembered Lucy’s tears and she worried about exactly what Corbin was up to when he went off ‘to think’.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Barringtons had more baby clothes than you could shake a stick at according to Ella. Why anyone would want to go into a department store armed with a stick and shake it at items of small people’s clothing was beyond Sarah, but she’d agreed to meet her sister there for coffee and a browse.

  Four days before Christmas and anyone would think it was the last few hours of Christmas Eve. The traffic leading to the shopping mall crawled along inch by inch and Sarah drummed her fingers on the wheel and looked at her watch for the third time. Twenty minutes to cover a mile. Why had she allowed Ella to persuade her to come? Instead of this madness she could be at home right now with her feet up watching It’s a Wonderful Life and stuffing her face with mince pies and perhaps even a teeny-weeny sherry.

  Throughout the pregnancy Sarah had craved her red wine, but had resisted valiantly. But a sherry wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Just a very miniscule one that you could hardly see with the naked eye? She decided that, yes, it would be fine and she’d have one as soon as she got back. Sarah rolled her eyes at the procession of cars in front. If she ever got back.

  If the traffic on the way to the mall had been bad, the traffic of bodies inside was even worse. Through fake snow, past giant Santas and Rudolphs festooned with a trillion fairy lights, people rushed hither and thither, misery hanging on some faces, anxiety on others, various packages shoved under arms, carrier bags clutched in death-grips. And all the while in the background, a continuous barrage of Christmas songs assaulted their ears and pummelled their brains into mush.

  ‘If I hear Andy Williams telling me “it’s the most wonderful time of the year” once more, I swear I’ll scream,’ Sarah hissed in Ella’s ear as they fought their way past elbows and harassed faces from the till past the end of the coffee queue and into the seating area.

  ‘Me, too,’ Ella groaned, sliding their tray onto the last available table in the place, jammed up against the wall. ‘Why does everyone look so bloody miserable?’

  ‘Because,’ Sarah shrugged her coat off and squeezed into a seat, ‘they have been stuck in traffic for three days to get to a place they don’t want to be, to buy stuff they can’t afford, have no idea if their purchases will fill their loved one’s hearts with delight or revulsion, and are all wishing they were at home with their damned feet up.’

  ‘Ooh, get you, Mrs Bah-Humbug.’ Ella pulled her tongue out at Sarah and took a sip of her cappuccino.

  ‘I am allowed to be bah-humbuggish. I’m pregnant, tired and hungry.’ Hot mince pie and cream steamed in the dish on the table and she attacked it with her spoon as if it had personally affronted her in some way. ‘Oh dats budder,’ she managed between mouthfuls.

  ‘Dad’s butter? What are you on about?’ Ella chortled and tucked into her own and a contented silence punctuated only by a few slurps and mms fell over the table for a few moments. ‘So did you get chance to find out more about the unfeasibly sexy Corbin when you chatted with Lucy the other day?’

  ‘Yep. I found out that he is unfeasibly sexy. He has to make love with Lucy four times a day or he gets grouchy.’ Sarah burped and took a swig of coffee. ‘She never says no because he’s such a good lover she can’t resist him, even when she’s knackered.’

  Ella’s eyes grew round and she practically dribbled onto the table. ‘Oh my God, really?’

  Sometimes Ella was so gullible. ‘No, you daft mare. The conversation didn’t include their sex life – strange that, considering I have known her for all of an hour or so.’

  ‘Oh, but he is SO hot. I would do it four times a day if I were his wife … five maybe,’ Ella mumbled into her cup.

  ‘Well, you aren’t his wife, you’re Jason’s. And behave!’ Sarah laughed.

  ‘A woman can dream, can’t she?’

  Pie finished, Sarah felt a small flutter of hello from one of the babies which reminded her of a few questions she’d been going to ask Ella. Last year when she’d gone back to 1874 Kansas she’d had to pretend that she knew all about childbirth because the 1874 Sarah had been a mother to Artie and was helping Martha, Sarah’s sister, to give birth without pain relief a month early on the dirt floor in the middle of nowhere. She had managed somehow, with help from her memory of a Casualty episode where a woman had given birth on a train after it had crashed, but it had been tough and Martha had really gone through it.

  How Martha’s mother had given birth to twelve in those conditions she’d never know. Tragically the woman had died giving birth to the twelfth, but Sarah imagined that if she’d had to do it, she’d have trouble having even one without the latest pain relief or medical help. Even with all the help and twenty-first century medical technology that would be available to her with the twins, she was secretly pooping her pants. Martha’s red-face streaked with dirt, eyes bright with pain and veins straining in her neck kept surfacing every time she thought of it, so she just pushed the whole idea out of her mind.

  ‘Penny for ’em?’ Ella had finished her pie too and was looking at her curiously.

  ‘Er … nothing really.’ Sarah thought that she’d sound like a wimp if she spoke her fears out loud. She had thought she’d just ask Ella a few questions about childbirth in a bright and breezy type of way, but was scared that panic in her voice would reveal her fears.

  ‘Come on, it’s me you’re talking to.’

  ‘Okay … I was just a bit curious about the actual birth thing. The ante-natal classes are helpful but I thought you might have a better idea having had Angelica not that long ago.’ Good. Her voice sounded normal.

  ‘You were wondering if it is hell on wheels and you’re pooping your pants, right?’

  Hmm, Ella saw straight through her. ‘Yeah. And about pooping … I knew a woman who …’ Then she stopped because she was scared that she was turning into Harry.

  Ella raised her hands and said in a New York accent. ‘That’s the least of your worries, hon. By the end of it you will be begging them to kill you.’ She laughed out loud at Sarah’s horrified expression. ‘Just joking, you’ll be fine. I had gas and air and pethidine. It hurt like hell at the time, fifteen hours in total, but my baby was so worth it. And it’s true what they say; you can’t remember it after a while.’

  Fifteen hours of pain isn’t what Sarah really wanted to hear but she was grateful her sister was being honest. And she was having twins, so it would be ‘no picnic’ as Gwen had said the other day.

  ‘Right … and the poo thing? It doesn’t bother me so much about the midwife seeing, it’s—’

  ‘John seeing? Yep, I can understand that. I was lucky enough to feel sick the whole day so didn’t eat much – no poo … unless Jason was just telling me what I wanted to hear. But if you do, you do. He’ll just have to be brave and look the other way.’ Ella grinned, an evil twinkle in her eye.

  After another struggle through the crowded mall they emerged into the car park with armfuls of packages, parcels and misery writ large on their faces.

  ‘Thank God that’s over. Why on earth did I let you persuade me to come out here today?’ Ella quipped and ducked Sarah’s scutch across the head. ‘At least I have all these gawgeo
us baby clothes to drool over when I get home. I think I might be getting a tad clucky.’

  ‘Just think about the fifteen hours,’ Sarah said in the New York accent. ‘That’ll cool your jets, honey-pie.’

  The two parted company and then Sarah sat in the snail race for another hour, a journey that normally would have taken half that. By the time she swung the car into her driveway she was contemplating a vat of sherry – only in her dreams, of course. Then she saw Lucy and Corbin’s car parked at the side of the cottage. Her heart sank. Of course she’d like to see more of them, but right now she just wanted to relax.

  Still, she thought as she stepped over the threshold, at least she might get to find out more about what made Corbin tick.

  ‘Oh, there you are!’ John said, throwing his hands up. ‘Lucy and Corbin are just off. I tried to ring you a few times but kept getting voicemail.’

  ‘Really?’ Sarah scrabbled around in her handbag for her mobile and found that she had somehow managed to switch the damned thing off. ‘Oh, what a shame to have missed you. Mind you, even if the phone had been on I couldn’t have just popped back home as the traffic is nightmarish.’

  ‘Not to worry, love,’ Lucy said, stepping forward and giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘We just dropped by unannounced to ask if you had any idea about what Gwen would like for Christmas. We don’t know her well enough to just have a stab.’

  ‘A stab? How very violent. You English are so, how you say, “eccentrict” about the terms you use.’ Corbin grinned and flashed his dimply stubble at Sarah.

  ‘I guess it is. I’d never thought about it before and it’s eccentric – no T.’ Sarah smiled back, thinking that Ella would have probably melted into a puddle by now if she was here.

  ‘We had thought some nice perfume, but of course we don’t know her favourite and Dad is hopeless at that kind of thing.’

  Lucy slipped her arm around Corbin as he leaned up against the kitchen sink and he looked down at her adoringly. Sarah could see it was genuine and most of the rest of the fifteen minutes or so they were all chatting together, he rarely looked at anyone else.

  Just as they were about to go, John drew Lucy to one side and said in a stage whisper, ‘I need to borrow you a minute, top secret Christmas stuff.’ He winked at Sarah and ushered his sister into the living room.

  ‘Alone at last,’ Corbin said and chuckled to himself. Although he was obviously joking, Sarah gave her nervous laugh, felt a flush creeping up her neck and pretended to pick something off her fluffy pink jumper … now in serious competition with her face. Not the fluffy bit, well at least she hoped not. It was her own fault she was embarrassed, saying those daft things about him to Ella.

  ‘So, let’s get to know each other a little, Sarah. Tell me, do you like your job?’ Corbin stroked his chin, his bright blue eyes searching hers. It was a perfectly reasonable opener if a little stilted, but somehow there seemed to be an underlying question that made her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I do, yes. I’m glad I reduced my hours though, it can be very stressful.’ She shifted in her seat and for some reason best known to her jumpy fingers flicked the edge of a Christmas card on the table. It collapsed and would have skittered onto the floor if Corbin hadn’t shot out a strong capable hand to catch it.

  ‘Stressful? Yes, I can definitely relate to that. But, oh so rewarding too.’ He nodded and gave her a wide smile. Then he leaned forward and frowned slightly. ‘You seem a little stressed now, no? A good job I was here to, er, save your lovely card.’

  Save the card, an odd word to use. It would hardly have shattered into a million pieces would it, for goodness sake?

  ‘I’m not stressed, Corbin, just a bit tired.’ Sarah cringed at the high-pitched tone of denial someone had obviously slipped into her voice when she wasn’t looking.

  He looked less than convinced and remained silent. He then continued to remain silent and just stare at her across the table as if he was having some telepathic connection with her brain. If he was, she knew nothing about the conversation. What the hell was wrong with him? After a few more moments of the silent treatment, the tick of the kitchen clock became deafening and she could stand it no longer. Either she excused herself and scuttled off, or she grew some balls.

  ‘You said you can relate to the stresses and rewards of teaching, Corbin. Do you have experience of it?’ She levelled a calm look somewhere over his left shoulder – looking into his eyes was very disconcerting, he seemed to have this knack of making her feel as if he knew something she didn’t. She sniffed and leaned back in her chair.

  A slow smile curled his lips and her eyes were pulled back to his. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise as he leaned forward again and said in a near whisper, ‘Teaching, Sarah? I didn’t think—’

  ‘Righty-ho, let’s leave these two folk to the rest of their afternoon, Corby.’ Lucy breezed in and patted her husband on the shoulder.

  He pushed his chair back and raised a hand in farewell to John and Sarah.

  Damn it. Why had Lucy picked that moment? Sarah would never know what he’d been about to say now.

  ‘See you both soon. Have a lovely rest, Sarah. Don’t get stressed about the job.’

  John frowned at her and put his head on one side. Sarah dismissed his concern with a quick shake of her own. ‘I’m not stressed at the moment. Corbin must have missed something in translation.’

  Corbin ignored that and followed his wife out of the door. He stopped halfway down the path, pulled a rolled up newspaper from his back pocket, ran back and placed it in Sarah’s hand. ‘Sorry, I was flicking through your paper earlier and stuffed it in my jeans by mistake. Lots of interesting articles. Au revoir!’

  A nice cup of coffee and yet another mince pie later, Sarah was feeling more like herself. John was in the kitchen making a hearty stew for dinner, and White Christmas was on the box. You couldn’t get much better than that, eh? It was a damned sight better than fighting your way through the shopping mall, endless traffic and then having strange conversations with enigmatic French guys.

  Sarah was in full flow singing along to the Sisters song and then yet another commercial break advertising last minute bargains loud enough to explode her eardrums broke the mood of 1950s Hollywood. Why did the adverts always have to be so loud? Did the promoters think people were deaf, stupid or both? Sarah knew one thing; the obvious increase in volume to grab the viewer’s attention did just the opposite in her book. She grabbed the remote and punched mute.

  ‘Want a cuppa, love?’ John shouted from the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, yes p—’ Sarah’s words stuck in her throat as the title and opening paragraph of an article caught her eye in the paper that Corbin had handed her. With trembling fingers she picked it up from the cushion next to her and read:

  The Oldest Woman in Britain Celebrates her 113th Birthday

  Ex-schoolteacher, Mrs Veronica Thomas (nee Ratchet), last week proved that not all teachers tend to die earlier than those in other professions. She believes that the secret of her longevity is a lively interest in history, the world around her and to help others when she can. ‘I think that the survival of humanity depends upon the love of our fellow man and woman and a healthy respect for the past and the sacrifices people have made over the ages for others. If one doesn’t remember the lessons of the past with clarity, how can one progress with any kind of confidence to the future?’ Mrs Thomas commented yesterday. It is clear that her great age has certainly not dulled her sharp mind or muted her articulate speech – a fantastic role model for young and old alike.

  Underneath the copy was a photograph of an old lady propped up in bed surrounded by nursing staff that were smiling and raising glasses of champagne to the camera. The old lady had a long angular face, haystack white hair, and amongst a face of many wrinkles, a faded mole and two lively dark eyes. A ghost of a smile played over her lips as one of the staff held a glass of champagne to them.

  ‘Did you say yes please?’ John s
tepped through the door holding the kettle, then stopped when he saw the shock on her face. ‘You okay, love?’

  With a heart tattooing a tom-tom in her chest, all Sarah could do was to point at the article and do the goldfish act.

  John handed her the kettle and picked up the paper. After a few seconds his mouth dropped open too. ‘Bloody Norah, she’s still alive!’

  ‘I know, I can’t believe it.’ Sarah’s hand fluttered to her head where an idea thrust itself forward. ‘Where is that nursing home, John?’

  ‘Southampton. Looks like she stayed in her home town all these years.’

  ‘Right, well it’s not that far away. Tomorrow’s Sunday, I could get a train and—’

  John lowered the paper and frowned at her. ‘Hang on. There is no way, I mean absolutely no way you are visiting her tomorrow.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I am.’ Sarah folded her arms and stuck out her chin.

  John waggled his finger in front of her face. ‘Er, hello. It’s just before Christmas, snow is forecast so you might get stuck there, it IS that far away … and you are pregnant!’

  ‘As if I have forgotten any of that, John. Look, it will be fine. I’m not asking you to come, I can go on my own.’ Sarah stood, put her arms around his neck and gazed earnestly into his eyes. ‘Don’t you see that I have to go? It’s a sign that Corbin handed me the paper folded to that page. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have seen it. You know I don’t read papers much.’

  John sighed. ‘But what if you get snowed in? You’ll miss Christmas and everything.’

  ‘I won’t. I can feel it in me water.’ Sarah smiled. She couldn’t, of course, but she knew she had to go, something almost physical was pulling her to Veronica.

  John looked at her for a while, a far away expression on his face as if weighing up the pros and cons, then he said, ‘Well, if you are determined to go, I’m determined to take you. We’ll drive down tomorrow morning and be back by tomorrow night, probably a seven hour round trip – take it or leave it.’