A Christmas Candle

by Katie Flynn

  However, on this occasion no new adventures befell her hero and heroine. Her thoughts were racing, and to control them she decided that she would relive as much of the day as she could, whilst waiting for her companions to fall asleep. She had no intention of opening the envelope from Colin, let alone reading its contents, before she could do so in complete privacy.

  For a moment she lay in the dark, listening to the stirring of her companions. She had had a busy morning pretending to ignore the preparations for the ‘surprise’ party, and had entered the kitchen not long before lunch knowing that already there was a small pile of presents by her plate, which she would open when everyone was assembled. She had seen her mother’s familiar handwriting on top of the pile of half a dozen envelopes, and recognised her pal Mary Jane’s careful script peeping out at the bottom.

  Auntie Bess had turned and beamed a welcome. ‘’Twon’t surprise you to know there’s a letter from your young man,’ she had said cheerfully. ‘In fact it arrived yesterday, but us held it back ’cos we guessed ‘twould be birthday wishes.’ She had glanced at the clock ticking away on the kitchen mantelpiece. ‘Give it another five minutes and everyone will come rushing in and the fun will start. Do you want to take your feller’s letter up to your room so’s you can read it in private?’ She had chuckled. ‘’Tis quite a thin letter for a change, so it maybe only says happy birthday, but it’s up to you, of course.’

  Lily had picked up the letters and was surprised to find that Colin’s envelope was the lightest of the bunch. He must have been in a hurry because usually his letters were long and chatty, the sort that everyone likes to receive. For a moment she was tempted to see what the blue airmail envelope contained, but then she had changed her mind. She would save it until all the excitement was over and then enjoy it when everyone had gone and the youngsters were asleep. Accordingly she had put the other letters back on the table and headed for the stairs, calling over her shoulder as she mounted the first flight: ‘Thanks, Auntie Bess, but I won’t read it yet. It’ll be the perfect end to what I’m sure is going to be a perfect day.’ She had gone straight to the attic and pushed the letter under her pillow, though with a twinge of regret that she could not enjoy it twice over, once now and once when everyone else was safely asleep. Sometimes she wanted Colin so badly that she shed tears into her pillow, but today she had a party to distract her.

  In the doorway, Lily had hesitated. Suppose there was some exciting news in the letter? For all she knew he might have been posted back to England; he might be on his way now! Perhaps that was why the envelope only held, at most, a couple of sheets of thin airmail paper. He wouldn’t want to waste time giving her much news in a letter when he would shortly be home to tell her himself. As a trainer he would fly home, not have to suffer the tedious ocean trip. Just suppose … but a voice from below was calling her name and Lily gave one last rueful look at the corner of the blue envelope with its well-loved writing and then left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. The letter would lie beneath her pillow like the gold at the foot of the rainbow, waiting for her to enjoy at the end of what looked like being a wonderful day.

  But now Lily lay for a little longer, forcing herself to have patience. She waited until Chrissie’s bubbling snores and Eve’s and Connie’s steady breathing told her they were all asleep, and only then did she fish under her pillow and bring out the letter. With trembling fingers she lit her candle, stood it on the box which did duty as a bedside table and slit open the envelope. She pulled out the thin airmail pages, so delighted at the sight of Colin’s well-remembered script that she could have laughed aloud if she hadn’t been determined not to wake her roommates. She hitched herself up on one elbow, spread out the letter and began to read.

  My dearest Lily, how I miss you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I hope to God, my darling girl, that what I am about to say will neither hurt you too much nor come as a great surprise. I’ve met someone else. Her name’s Valencia and she’s a blue-eyed blonde and so like you to look at that you might be twins. I told her about you as soon as I realised she was beginning to mean a lot to me, and she insisted that I must tell you at once how we felt about each other.

  Dear Lily, you will always hold a place in my heart, and I hope with all my soul that you will meet a better man than me and fall truly in love, as I have.

  Please forgive me for what must seem like disloyalty, but I couldn’t help myself. Valencia means the world to me. I should’ve written this letter six months ago, but Lily, darling, I simply could not make up my mind whether it was Valencia I was in love with or you. It was a dreadful decision to have to make, and even though I’ve been back in Britain for three weeks I still find this letter very difficult to write. But in the end I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Valencia and must break the news to my old love. Please try to understand, darling. I will never forget you, and I envy the man who wins you. Colin

  Lily read the letter through tear-blurred eyes, and then with trembling breath blew out the candle and crumpled the letter into a tight little ball. She and Colin had been boy and girlfriend for seven years; their romance had been the envy of her friends, so how to explain Colin’s change of heart? It was not only sad – it was humiliating. He had met her parents and liked them, knew many of her old school friends, had slipped easily into the role of Lily Kendal’s boyfriend, and now all that was over. And explanations would be called for. Oh, not from the folk at home, but from those here at Drake’s Farm, some of whom had envied her starry-eyed love affair and others who had simply taken it for granted that Lily and Colin were made for each other. Lily had spoken often about Colin, mentioning marriage and the family they hoped to have one day. And on the first occasion that Colin had visited Drake’s Farm he had immediately struck a chord with Auntie Bess and Uncle Reg, who said that he reminded them of their own son.

  ‘Such a handsome fellow, and it’s plain to see he’s deeply in love with his “golden Lily”,’ Auntie Bess had remarked. ‘You only have to walk into the room, my dear, and his whole face lights up. You’re a very lucky girl. It’s not often true loves comes along, but when it does you must grasp it with both hands. He’s clearly devoted to you and will make you a wonderful husband.’

  How can I go downstairs tomorrow morning and tell them, Lily asked herself. Oh, how can I face them? Sleep was impossible. She simply lay on her bed phrasing and rephrasing what she would say at breakfast next morning. And then, as though the idea had been in her head all the while, a tide of longing, deep and passionate, washed over her. She sat up, aware that this solution to her problem was the right one. She would go home! She had never taken so much as a day’s leave from her work as a land girl, and as far as she could make out there was nothing to stop her from taking that delayed leave now. It would not take her long to pack her few possessions into the knapsack which hung on the end of her bed. Miriam would do her work, or more likely little Eve. Moving silently around the darkened room, Lily began to pack.

  Auntie Bess was always first down in the morning and as soon as she entered the kitchen she saw the note propped against the marmalade pot. She stared at it for a moment and then saw that it was addressed to herself and picked it up. It was written on lined paper and consisted only of half a dozen lines.

  Dear Auntie Bess, the note read. I am taking some leave to go home and see my parents. I hope I have not made things difficult but I have to go. The letter from Colin told me he’s met someone else. If I stay here every bit of the farm will remind me of him and I’m not strong enough to face it yet. Yours with love, Lily.

  Auntie Bess sat down on a chair with a whump. For a moment she simply could not take in what she had read. Like everyone else at Drake’s Farm she had thought Lily and Colin were simply waiting for Colin’s return before they got married. It seemed unbelievable that what she had secretly thought of as the love affair of the century could be finished, and that by a letter which he must have realised would arrive aro
und Lily’s twenty-first birthday. The note clenched in her hand had been written on a page torn out of an exercise book, and she turned it over in the hope that there would be a postscript on the back saying that the note had been a joke, but of course there was nothing.

  She got ponderously to her feet and climbed the stairs which led to the attic. Lily’s bed had been neatly made up. Her clothes were missing, as was the knapsack in which the girl had kept her personal possessions. Auntie Bess heaved a sigh. Lily had gone, all right, and suddenly she realised that she must get downstairs and start thinking about how they would manage. She scanned the note again; it gave no clue as to how long Lily would be away. In the meantime, until they could replace their best worker, Auntie Bess must wake everyone, tell them that Lily had gone home on unexpected leave and start reallocating the day’s work. I’ll get Eve to do Lily’s milking and old Mr Smith can get off his behind and clean the milking parlour, Auntie Bess told herself. Young Chrissie can go up to Spindlebush, explain what’s happened and get them to lend me one of the lads for a day or two, just until we sort ourselves out, and in the meantime I’d best stir myself or everyone will be coming down and the porridge won’t even be started. Thank God for the Aga; that won’t let me down!

  Lily walked up the familiar road towards where the great bulk of the cathedral announced that her home was only minutes away. Home! She had been born here and had lived here all her life until she had answered the cry for girls to work on the land, to take the place of fighting men who had been called up. She had gone to school here, had proudly worn the uniform first of the Brownies and then of the Girl Guides. She had met Colin here; her heart thumped painfully at the recollection. She had gone with a crowd of friends to a dance at the Gala Ballroom and the handsomest man there – Colin Tunstal – had not only asked her to dance but had walked her home afterwards. After that he had met her parents on several occasions, impressing them with his easy charm and delightful manners. He had soon become a regular visitor, and though he never overstepped the mark it soon became clear – or so people said – that they were made for each other. They had similar tastes, both loving the countryside and country pursuits. And very soon Colin was accepted as the man she would marry one day. Neither had ever been out with anyone else, nor had they wished to. Colin was Lily’s idea of the perfect mate and when he was posted abroad she had been heartbroken, but, as everyone kept repeating, there was a war on, and simply by taking their separation as a part of her war effort Lily had felt she was doing her bit.

  She had joined the Land Army only a few weeks after Colin had been posted. They had exchanged letters almost daily and telephone calls whenever they could get to a phone, and in all her wildest nightmares Lily had never dreamed that Colin would meet someone else and cast her aside, not even in person, but by a letter so cruel that she could scarcely believe it had come from the man she had loved so passionately.

  Lily reached the white wicket gate which led to her house and stood for a moment staring at what had once been a beautiful front garden. She supposed she had expected change, but not quite like this. The flowerbeds, the shrubs and the lawn had all disappeared, to be replaced by neat rows of vegetables. Only the old lilac tree which leaned over the wicket gate and the climbing rose which clambered up the stone walls were unaltered. Lily smiled to herself. There had been keen competition amongst the tenants of the Close as to who had the loveliest garden, and for a good few years now her father and mother had won hands down. Lily assumed that her love of the countryside had come directly from her parents, for the house had a long back garden which they kept in apple-pie order. There were asparagus beds, great clumps of rhubarb, half a dozen blackcurrant bushes and several raspberry canes which had supplied the household with pounds of delicious fruit which the Reverend Michael Kendal vowed were the best in the city.

  Well, they won’t have rooted up the back garden, Lily told herself hopefully. And the house shouldn’t be so very different. It was too small to be taken over by the military and too near the many airfields in Norfolk to be a home for evacuees. Her mother had said vaguely that they had an injured officer billeted on them but Lily had no idea whether he was still with them or had re-joined his unit. There had been some accident or other at his base, and her mother, having been a nurse, had offered to take the wounded man in.

  Now, leaning on the wicket gate, Lily wished she had paid more attention to her mother’s letters, but she had been so wrapped up in Colin and his various items of news that she had rather skimmed over her mother’s lengthy epistles. She pushed open the wicket gate and entered the front garden, nodding approvingly to herself as she passed between the rows of vegetables. There wasn’t a weed in sight, and when she peered at the big round green cabbages no caterpillar reared its hopeful head.

  Lily smiled to herself; knowing her father’s ways he would have advised any humble caterpillar to go elsewhere. Father would set his choirboys to collect the pests and would pay a penny a dozen – or that had been the old rate – to any boy who had the patience to catch enough offenders and take them proudly into the Reverend’s back scullery, where they would be painlessly destroyed.

  Lily gave one last valedictory glance at what had once been the most beautiful garden in the Close, and looked up at the house, thinking hopefully that she might find little change once she got indoors. And after the most perfunctory of knocks – for who could be in the kitchen except her mother or father? – she pushed open the door, knowing that her parents had never locked it before and never would.

  ‘There’s nothing to steal, and anyone who wants a few blackcurrants or some sticks of asparagus is welcome to them,’ the Reverend was fond of saying. ‘Not that anyone has ever helped themselves yet.’

  Lily entered the kitchen and found, as she had expected, that it was exactly the same: the big wooden table on which Mrs Kendal had once cooked enormous meals for fundraising events, the tall dresser which reached up to the ceiling and contained a motley array of mismatched china and glass, the six or eight wooden chairs which provided the Kendals and any visitors with somewhere to sit, and the cracked linoleum on the floor which her mother scrubbed optimistically every morning and sighed over pessimistically every evening, for though they often talked of replacing it that had never happened. One end of the room was taken up with the ancient range in whose depths there smouldered the remains of yesterday’s fire. Lily knew fuel was scarce and guessed that her mother only lit the range now when she was baking.

  She looked around her and saw a big old-fashioned glass vase full of late roses, from the climber that adorned the outside walls. She crossed the room, dumped her bag next to the dresser and bent to sniff one of the blooms. It was an old-fashioned variety, no longer much grown, but the scent was sweet and all pervasive once you got near enough, and suddenly it all seemed too much. Lily plonked herself down on a chair, spread out her arms on the table and laid her head upon them. And then, without any sort of warning, everything caught up with her. The journey from the farm had been a long and complicated one. Catching the right connection at the right time had not always been easy, and she had had to spend the night in the waiting room of a tiny station somewhere in the wilds of the countryside. She was deathly tired, so tired that even Colin’s treachery – for she was beginning to regard it as such – no longer consumed her thoughts as it had two days ago. Feeling the first slow tear form in her eye, she winked it away and told herself that she would never love again, not if she lived to be a hundred. Colin could marry his Valencia with her good will; she would dance at their wedding, she would congratulate Colin on his beautiful bride, and then she would never see him again.

  When a hand touched her shoulder she was so sure that it must be Colin’s that she did not even look up, but remained with her head on her arms and a sob beginning to try to escape from her dry throat. He hadn’t meant what he said. He had sent the cruel letter as a rather bad joke and now here he was, claiming her for his bride.

  ‘Lily? W
hat’s happened? We had a telegram from Mrs Faversham saying you were coming home. Oh, my darling girl. Is it Colin? Has he – is he …’

  Lily moved her head from her arms and swivelled round in her chair to look up into her mother’s strained and anxious face. ‘Colin’s all right,’ she mumbled. ‘He’s very well, in fact. Oh, Mother, he’s met someone else and I don’t think I can live without him.’

  Her mother took hold of both her hands, pulled her to her feet, and gave her a hard, comprehensive hug. Lily looked at her through a blur of tears, then wiped them away with the palms of both hands. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying when I’m so lucky,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve got you and Dad to support me through whatever lies ahead, which is more than a lot of girls can say. I can’t show you Colin’s letter because it hurt me so much that I threw it away, but you can imagine it upset me dreadfully. He actually had the cheek to say he would always love me … oh, Mother, I wish I’d kept it now because you would understand how betrayed I felt. He’s been my boyfriend for so long, and the awful thing is that I can’t hate him. In fact if he walked in here right now I’d probably throw myself into his arms and forgive him everything.’

  Mrs Kendal sat down in the chair next to her daughter’s and shook her head. ‘No you wouldn’t. You’ve got more spunk than that,’ she said firmly. ‘Colin has dealt you a terrible blow and you’ve come home – very sensibly I might add – to get over the shock of it. And I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone before. I never did like your Colin. Oh, I agree he was handsome and charming, but his eyes were too close together, and though he was proud to be a Brylcreem boy I always thought he was too slick to be the right mate for my lovely girl.’