On Christmas Day

by Rosie James

  ‘The town needs a young, talented singer like you, Miss Martin,’ he said. ‘We are looking for fresh, youthful performers to entertain our visitors at the Pump Room as they enjoy their refreshments – and in my opinion you may very well be exactly who we are looking for!’

  Lexi’s mouth almost dropped in amazement. Was he talking about her?

  ‘Oh Lexi – how wonderful!’ Jean Lewis broke in enthusiastically. She turned to the man. ‘And how should Lexi go about this, Mr Larson?’

  ‘She should go down to the Guildhall, any morning after ten o’clock, and ask to speak to the entertainments manager,’ Mr Larson said. ‘Tell them that I have recommended you should have an audition – take some songs with you because the pianist may well be around at the same time but if he isn’t, arrangements can be made for later.’ He smiled at Lexi. ‘If you are accepted – which I am sure you will be – you will be paid a fee, of course. Not a fortune, naturally,’ he added cheerfully, ‘but enough to make all your efforts worthwhile.’

  Eventually, Lexi was able to leave the shop, and began to make her way home, her head buzzing as if a thousand bees had flown in. Had that just happened? Or had she dreamed it? Had she, Lexi Martin, been invited to audition at Bath’s prestigious Pump Room? She’d never thought she’d step over the threshold in her life, let alone to possibly perform before people of rank!

  Lexi stopped in her tracks for a moment. Could this be the next little bit of her big plan? Because if she was chosen to sing, she would be paid a fee, so the Councillor had said …

  She bit her lip as she walked on slowly, making up her mind that for now, the only soul she would tell about this would be Johnny … Johnny would be amazed, and excited for her. But she certainly would not mention it to her mother, because Lexi knew very well the reaction she’d get.

  In Cecilia’s opinion, her daughter was still a child, far too young to be assuming any financial responsibility. There was plenty of time for all that.

  Chapter Two

  Later that night, Cecilia paused on her way upstairs to peep into the bedroom which her children shared. Going over quietly, she gazed down. Lexi and Phoebe slept in the one bigger bed, while Joe was still in his cot, his thumb in his mouth, as usual. Cecilia drew in a long, deep breath. They were her sole reason for being alive.

  Just then, Lexi stirred, smiling and muttering something in her sleep. What was she dreaming about, Cecilia wondered, this precious little girl, who’d arrived six weeks early? The very first glimpse Cecilia had had of her tiny one had been enough to convince her that she’d delivered a princess. Someone just as lovely to look at as Princess Alexandra of Denmark, wife of the wretched man who had become King Edward VII, that drunken, womanizing monarch now thankfully departed this life.

  And what had that dear little foreign princess ever done to deserve such a fate, marrying him at the tender age of sixteen? But as far as anyone knew, and from all the pictures in the newspapers, Alexandra, known as Alix, had always remained as lovely as ever, and truly faithful to her undeserving husband. And Cecilia had known almost at once that her baby was going to be called Alexandra as a sort of act of loyalty to the uncomplaining queen. But rather than Alix, Cecilia’s little giirl would always be known as Lexi, a short, sweet, and simple name.

  As the years had gone on, nothing had changed Cecilia’s opinion of her first-born who was rather small for her age, but whose long, golden, wavy hair surrounded a cherubic face and the brightest green eyes and longest lashes she’d ever seen, convincing Cecilia that she had given birth to an infant just as regal as any born to Edward and Alexandra.

  Then, slowly, and in the quietness of the room alone with her thoughts, Cecilia put her hand to her mouth for a second.

  What if Lexi, her darling Lexi, had never existed? What if she had never taken her first breath, nor uttered that first infant cry? What if something dreadful had occurred while Cecilia’s baby had still been in the womb? Things, bad things, frequently happened to the unborn, either from a deliberate act or through an act of God…..

  Cecilia shook herself, annoyed at these dreadful thoughts. Lexi was here, alive and well, and as beautiful as she would always be.

  In the other small bedroom, Cecilia slowly got undressed. It was surprising how quickly she and the children had got used to this new cottage which had two bedrooms. Before, she and Albert had had to make do with a small curtained-off space in the kitchen for their sleeping quarters. Not only that, but now there was a small sitting room downstairs as well as a kitchen and scullery. When they’d moved in last year the place had seemed as big as a mansion.

  Cecilia made a face to herself. Albert hadn’t even seen the new place yet, knew nothing of the sudden notice to quit which all the tenants in their old rank had received from Mr McCann last year. Everyone had been given a month to find other accommodation, or to accept one of the new cottages which would be double the rent. A familiar well of anger rose in Cecilia’s throat. Landlords had the whip hand every time and there was nothing that could be done about it. No law existed that favoured tenants.

  Still, Cecilia had to admit that the new cottages were a distinct improvement. The rooms were lighter and airier, the kitchen was bigger, the fireplace quite posh – and they even had a small gas stove now for cooking and heating water. In their old kitchen the fire had never been allowed to go out – well, they’d depended on it for all their needs – but it had made the little kitchen so comfortable. Lexi and Johnny had loved going out into the fields to collect twigs and bits of wood to keep the fire alive and to supplement the precious coal. There was no need now to keep a bucket of coal dust, purchased for a penny or two, to damp the fire down and keep the glowing embers alive.

  But the best thing of all was that they now had a bath in the scullery, the water heated by a gas boiler, and next to that there was a lavatory – so much more comfortable and convenient than everyone having to wait their turn for the outside privy, like they used to. There’d usually been a small queue of women there, smoking, sharing a joke, often someone eaten out with anxiety that their time of the month had come and gone with no sign … exchanging advice about all their personal problems. Cecilia bit her lip as she thought back. Some of that camaraderie, that female support, seemed to have –disappeared – not that it mattered to her now, nor ever would again. Cecilia Martin had everything she needed.

  One extra advantage of the move was that they were now closer to the school so Phoebe and, eventually, Joe could get there safely by themselves. The snag – and it was a big snag – was that increase in rent. Yet somehow, by accepting more night work at the laundry and doing as much private tailoring as she could fit in, Cecilia had been able to afford it. There’d been others in the row who hadn’t been so lucky and who’d had to cadge accommodation from friends or relatives until they could find something more permanent and more affordable.

  As she got into bed Cecilia’s lips tightened. Mr McCann had no idea how the other half of the world lived, no idea at all. But she always kept quiet, and had never, ever, indulged in gossiping with others about their landlord. With most people, his name was mud. But he paid his employees well enough, and Cecilia often did housework at Grey Gables, not to mention answering Mr McCann’s incessant need for new waistcoats and smart jackets – which she created from scratch. And there seemed to be always something that he’d bought which needed altering. His wardrobe must be bulging with clothes.

  Cecilia was pensive as she drifted off to sleep. The thing she was finding irritating was trying to persuade Lexi that supporting the family was not her problem, and certainly not a child’s responsibility. Cecilia, was well able to cope alone – she’d had plenty of practice, after all. But she had at last accepted that the little job Lexi had at the sweet shop seemed to suit her daughter, who’d never seemed happier – it was a very respectable job, after all. And the money Lexi earned did come in very handy, although Cecilia would only take a little of it. Cecilia half-smiled to herself. Lexi had suc
h grand ambitions, was so determined to save money, to be someone, do something special one day. Yet what chance did people in their class have, to raise themselves above the norms of the time? No chance, none at all.

  Cecilia turned over restlessly. The best thing that Lexi could do was to become a lady’s maid in a grand household, where you were paid a good salary and your bed and board were thrown in. And most of all, you were respected. It gave you status. Lexi would be just perfect at the job – she’d done well at school, she spoke well, she wrote well, and people seemed to like her. Yes, that was the thing, Cecilia decided. If Lexi became a lady’s personal maid she would one day live in a grand house with a very superior address, and never have to worry about finding a roof over her head.

  But if and when the time came, Cecilia would warn Lexi to be very cautious in her choice of husband – should she ever want to get married. Little Princess Alexandra could never have guessed what had awaited her – and neither had Cecilia’s mother who’d married a man who’d beaten her and all her children without mercy. Which was why Cecilia had run away from home at the age of twelve with nothing but the clothes she’d stood up in and a little money she’d secretly stored. Then, going from place to place, she’d found work wherever she could get it; shops, hotels, scrubbing, cleaning, a maid of all work. But it hadn’t taken long for her talent with a needle to be recognized and soon she was repairing hotel pillow cases, worn sheets, tablecloths. It all helped her to stay alive with no questions asked of her and with no one ever trying to find her. People of her class were invisible and if they disappeared, no one cared or even noticed.

  It was late, and Cecilia had only just managed to finally get to sleep when she was roused by a gentle tapping on the front door. She sat up quickly and waited. Who had visitors at this time of night? There it was again – three short taps, and she got up, reached for her dressing gown and went downstairs. Before she opened the door, she peeped cautiously through the window, then let out a gasp of surprise.

  ‘Albert’!

  Cecilia opened the door and her husband came inside. He was carrying his holdall and a plump, white chicken, still warm, which he put down carefully on the floor. He was the first to break the few moments’ silence.

  ‘Well now, isn’t my lovely wife after going to give her man a hug, then?’ He put his arms around her but she averted her face so that their lips didn’t meet. ‘Sure, and you’re pleased to see me, aren’t you, Cissy?’

  Albert Martin was a stocky, well-built, muscular man, his hugs like those of a bear, and however angry Cecilia often felt about her husband and his erratic lifestyle, there was still a place in her heart for him. He was the children’s father, after all, the man she’d fallen for the moment she’d drawn a pint of Guinness for him at the bar where they’d first seen each other. Those wicked Irish eyes, that irrepressible laugh, his conjuring tricks, his deftness with a pack of cards … and his harmonica that he played with expert ease to anyone who would listen. All the favourites, the sing-along tunes that automatically drew people around him in the bars or pubs, wherever he went. He had certainly drawn Cecilia to him more than sixteen years ago, and he hadn’t had to ask her twice to be his wife … She had instinctively known that he was a kind man who would never treat her brutally, and he never had. He’d never laid a finger on either her or the children.

  But neither had he provided for them, not really … because Albert liked freedom, an unrestricted way of life, and it didn’t seem to bother him that he was hardly the perfect husband. After a very short time into their marriage, he’d taken off, jaunty as you like, and Cecilia hadn’t seen him again for eighteen months. Then, after Lexi was born, he’d gone back to his family in Ireland and hadn’t returned for five whole years. which had made Cecilia believe that he’d deserted her for good. But eventually he did turn up, and in the next few years Phoebe and Joe were born and life returned to its rackety, unpredictable normal.

  When he did come home he would always bring gifts for the children and money for her – money which Cecilia always hid away safely in case she ever got really short. And it seldom bothered her that she would always be the main bread winner because she was used to it by now, used to fending for herself. She had accepted her lot, and was as happy in her role as Albert was in his. Theirs was a strange alliance, she sometimes thought, but it worked well enough – if she let it.

  Albert’s “business” was a variable affair consisting of buying anything he could find at low cost and then selling on at a profit. He had a shrewd eye for a bargain and would spot things in markets or wayside stalls, buy in sufficient quantity to encourage a quick sale, then cycle to the outskirts and convince prospective buyers that he was giving them the chance of a lifetime. And when business stalled for a bit, he would find work on any farm that needed an extra hand, or in any pub that could do with a skilled puller of pints. As long as he was never anywhere for long, Albert Martin was happy. And whether it was his willingness to put his back into anything asked of him, or whether it was the luck of the Irish, he was seldom short of food or shelter – for which he was rarely expected to pay. It did mean he’d sometimes shared a straw bed with a farm animal or two, and it always surprised Cecilia that whenever he came home her husband was seldom dirty or bedraggled despite his wayward existence. Tonight, he was wearing a pair of baggy, workman’s trousers and one of the warm, cotton twill shirts Cecilia had made him, loose at the neck. The large, hessian holdall he was never without was on the floor at his feet.

  Now, reluctantly, he let go of her, and Cecilia instinctively drew her dressing gown around her, tying it tightly around her waist. ‘How did you find us, Albert?’ she enquired casually. ‘Of course, I had no way of letting you know that we had changed addresses since you were last home.’

  He grinned down at her. ‘Yes – it was a bit of a shock to find that our cottages had all gone but I soon found out what had been going on and they told me at the pub where I’d find you.’ He gazed around him. ‘Sure, an’ this is a very posh room, Cissy … this is what they call a “parlour”, isn’t it?’

  Cecilia half-smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose it is, Albert,’ she said. ‘And our kitchen is bigger, too. I’ll show you around our property in a minute. But I expect you’d like something to eat?’

  ‘No thanks, Cissy. I stopped on my way for bread and cheese and a pint. But I’d love a cup of tea if you’ve got one.’ He glanced down. ‘I was given this bird at my last farm … thought it would do for our dinner tomorrow.’

  Albert picked up the chicken and holdall, and together they went through the kitchen and into the scullery, where Cecilia filled the kettle and put it on the gas stove. She turned to look up at him.

  ‘See what luxuries we have now, Albert? And we have a bath, and our own lavatory – and the fireplace in the kitchen is just for sitting around, now. Mr McCann is keeping us all up to date … so long as we can pay the extra.’

  Albert whistled through his teeth as he glanced around, clearly impressed, and presently they went back into the kitchen with their tray of tea, where they sat opposite each other as if he’d never gone away.

  ‘So, Albert, has business been good for you these last months?’ Cecilia said.

  ‘Not bad, Cissy, not bad. Good days, bad days. You know how it is.’

  As she gazed across at him, Cecilia was fairly certain that he must often be unfaithful to her. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. He was an attractive man, and plenty of women would flirt with him and wouldn’t he want to respond in the natural, masculine way? Men could do what they liked and get away with it, they could have their fun and just walk away. No fearful repercussions for them.

  Cecilia shut her mind against those thoughts. There was no point going into matters like that. They were better left alone.

  ‘You didn’t come home at Christmas, Albert,’ Cecilia said. ‘The children were very disappointed.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘No, sorry about that, Cissy. But there was family trouble over t
here at the time … one of my brothers got himself into a bit of a mess with the law, to I stayed to help sort things out.’

  Cecilia didn’t bother to reply to that. Loyalty to all those brothers and sisters over there, his family – but what about this family? His children?

  He bent down to pick up the holdall. ‘I’ve brought some little gifts for my bairns,’ he said, ‘and something for my beautiful wife.’ Reaching right into the bag he drew out a small parcel, wrapped in pretty paper. He winked across at Cecilia. ‘This is for my favourite wife.’

  Slowly, Cecilia took it from him and opened it. And when she saw what was inside she caught her breath for a second. It was a dainty shawl in black lace, scalloped all around the edge and heavily embossed with jewelled colours of red and green and purple and slashes of sun yellow, and it glistened and shone in the light as she carefully draped it around her shoulders. Not that she ever went anywhere where she could show it off, Cecilia thought briefly, but that didn’t matter. She’d never owned anything as lovely as this and it felt so light and luxurious.

  ‘There now,’ Albert said softly, ‘and didn’t I know that it was just the thing for my Cissy?’ He got up and put his arms around her. ‘Cissy, my anamchara, my soul mate, my sweetheart.’ Then he placed his lips tenderly on hers.

  How did he manage to worm his way back into her good books each time? This absent soul mate, this far-away sweetheart? But he did, and she smiled up at him.

  ‘Thank you, Albert, for the shawl,’ she said, glad that she had something to give him, too. It was a waistcoat – the same pattern as she’d once made for Mr McCann, in yellow and brown check which would go nicely with trousers of any colour. Meticulously crafted, as always, it had lain in the bottom of the drawer where she kept Albert’s clean things for when – and if – he came home. She would give it to him tomorrow.