On Christmas Day

by Rosie James

‘My God …’ he whispered hoarsely. Then –

  ‘’I shall be away for a few days … maybe a week – so would you pack a bag for me, please?’ He looked across at Anna, and she saw at once that he was visibly shocked.

  ‘I shall be leaving first thing in the morning,’ he added.

  With his foot hard on the accelerator, Reynard drove rapidly out of the town and into the Wiltshire countryside. The route he was to take was painfully familiar because he had made this journey every Thursday evening for many, many years.

  His expression was grim, the frown lines on his forehead deepening, his mind a torrid mass of conflicting emotions.

  To say that he was relieved was undeniable, yet with that relief came an overwhelming sense of guilt and regret. The situation would change for the better – undoubtedly – but already that change had brought with it no pleasure. No sense of reward or satisfaction. The opposite, in fact. Because now, and for the rest of his life, there was nothing he could do to make amends.

  It took him less than forty minutes to reach the huge, granite building set in its own grounds, and, driving slowly now, he made his way up the long, tree-lined drive to the front door. He pulled up, got out of the car, and went up the three steps to ring the bell. Almost immediately, the door opened and the superintendent stood, unsmiling, to greet him.

  ‘Good morning, Mr McCann,’ he said, ‘Please come in – I am sorry that this is a sad day for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Reynard replied briefly, following the superintendent along the long stone corridor, struck once more by the pervasive and utter silence, and Reynard tried not to heave at the familiar smell … carbolic … antiseptic … and other clinical scents he could never identify but which never failed to make him feel sick.

  Presently, they came to the door at the end and before going in, Reynard touched the man’s sleeve. ‘Did … did my wife … say anything, you know, before she died?’ he asked.

  ‘Not that we could make out, Mr McCann, the superintendent replied quietly, ‘but I can assure you that she passed without pain.’

  ‘It is very quiet this morning,’ Reynard said, surprised at the lack of any sound. Usually the place rocked with raised voices, arguments, accusations …

  The man nodded briefly. ‘All our clients are under medication at this time of day,’ he explained. ‘It gives us, and them, a chance for a little peace.’

  They went inside together, Reynard aware that his heart was beating so rapidly he thought he might actually pass out. Then he went slowly over to the bed and looked down. She had her eyes closed, and her grey hair was loose around her shoulders. When had her hair gone that colour? It had once been bronze, and curly. And always shiningm…

  ‘I am sorry, Sylvia,’ Reynard said quietly. ‘So sorry …’

  The superintendent spoke again. ‘Shall I leave you for a moment, Mr McCann?’ Reynard shook his head.

  ‘No thank you. I just wanted to say … to say sorry.’

  ‘From my experience, Mr McCann,’ the man said, ‘you have little to be sorry for. Your wife has wanted for nothing all these years, and you have never failed to visit her, week after week. Some of our clients never have a single caller. And while Sylvia might have been difficult sometimes when in your company, I know that she looked forward to seeing you. She always seemed to know when it was Thursday.’ He hesitated. ‘The mind is a strange, complex part of us. We shall never truly understand it.’

  After a few minutes, they left the room and went upstairs to the superintendent’s study to clear up the formalities, and Reynard said –

  ‘I shall be staying at The Bell until after the funeral, and to finally settle up. So please contact me there if there is anything else I must do.’

  Driving slowly away from the premises Reynard wished, for the first time in his life, that there was someone there with him to talk to. Someone to share his thoughts, to offer some consolation. It might have been a comfort to have had Anna sitting alongside him …

  Because although the superintendent’s words had been kind enough, the man didn’t know the half of it.

  Reynard pulled in and stopped the car for a moment to brush away a tear. What was done was done, and there was no bringing back the young girl who he’d married, not out of love, but to please his father who’d impressed on Reynard the necessity to produce heirs for the McCann dynasty. And for a short while it had worked well enough. But looking back, Reynard knew he had never understood her, or tried to understand what she may have wanted, or needed, as a woman, as a wife. He’d neglected that side of their relationship because he’d never thought it important. Of course, Sylvia hadn’t been kept short of money, but the irony was that it had been that money, his money, that had bought the drink and drugs which eventually drove them apart. And which had driven her mad … and which, inevitably, had killed her.

  And Reynard’s greatest regret? That he had hidden her away, ashamed that anyone should find out that Reynard McCann’s wife was a lunatic.

  Sylvia should have been looked after at home, with them, not virtually wiped out of existence.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  December 1916 was grey and windy, but quite mild – which made everyone, apart from the children, say what a good thing it was that there was not likely to be any snow at Christmas.

  As she hurried back home from her night shift, Cecilia picked up a copy of the Evening Chronicle to read later while eating her breakfast. She’d always done this because she liked to keep in touch with local affairs.

  When she got in, Lexi was at the stove scrambling some eggs. She glanced back quickly as Cecilia entered.

  ‘Hello, Mama – was it a busy night?’ and Cecilia shrugged.

  ‘Don’t bother to ask – but never mind, the hours fly when there’s lots to do.’

  Presently, the two sat together and began to eat their eggs on toast. It was early and the children were still asleep, but Lucky had taken her usual place under the table hoping for a dropped crumb or two. Lexi bent to give her a tiny bit of crust. Wouldn’t it have been dreadful, she thought, if Lucky had drowned in the river that day, but thank heaven, Johnny had saved her. And thank heaven it had remained a secret. The children hadn’t said a single word about it since – if they had, curfews would have resulted for all of them! But Dada had been so kind to have brought the little dog into their lives because she was such fun and they all loved her.

  Lexi’s eyes clouded. If only Dada would come home a bit more often, it was a long time since they’d seen him. She glanced at Cecilia. Her mother seldom commented on her husband’s absence, and perhaps she liked it that way, Lexi thought. Cecilia did like to be the one in full control, and Lexi honestly believed that her mother wished that all her children, including Lexi, were still in nappies. And that none of them would ever grow up.

  They finished their breakfast and Lexi began clearing the table, while Cecilia went over to sit down in her chair. ‘I’ll just have a quick look at the paper,’ she said, ‘then I’ll have forty winks before I start the mending.’

  ‘And I’ll get Phoebe and Joe up in a minute,’ Lexi said. ‘All the children are getting so excited about Christmas, and they’re making paper chains to decorate the school rooms.’ She paused for a moment. It did seem a very long time ago that she had done the same thing, had helped all the younger pupils to make Christmas cards to give to their parents. Although Lexi had been very happy at school, she wouldn’t wish those days back. They were the past. The only thing on her mind was what the future held, and she desperately hoped that 1917 would prove more fruitful for her on the job front.

  But Lexi felt somewhat ashamed to be having those thoughts, because there were worse things to worry about. There were now serious food shortages in the shops and it was obvious that people had begun panic-buying, causing prices to rise and making the situation even worse. All this was partly due to the awful fact that so much merchant shipping was going down in the Atlantic as Hitler tried to prevent supplies reaching E
ngland. Each time Lexi read about this in the newspapers she felt grateful that dear Mr Bakewell was no longer in uniform. He had already done his duty to his country. But it couldn’t be denied that the news seemed to get worse every day, one of the more terrifying aspects on the home front being the Zeppelin bombing raids taking place on the east coast – Hartlepool, Whitby and Scarborough had already been targeted. Just to think of that made Lexi shudder with horror … how awful it must be to be attacked from the sky! What could anyone do about it? Except hope for the best?

  Suddenly, Cecilia broke in on Lexi’s thoughts. ‘Goodness me, Lexi,’ she said. ‘Look – they’ve had another burglary at the sweet shop! What’s the matter with those people – don’t they lock up at night!’

  Lexi went across to look over her mother’s shoulder. It was a short piece on the bottom of the first page.

  “For the second time in a few weeks, the Walcot Sweet Shop – only recently re-opened for trading, has been ransacked, most merchandize taken being tobacco and cigarettes. If anyone has information which they think may be useful, please contact the police, who are investigating.”

  Lexi tutted. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘Miss Lewis never had such a thing happen when she owned the place. It just has to be that the new owners are too careless and lazy to take all the necessary steps to secure everything. But I’m not surprised,’ Lexi added, ‘because every time I pass by and glance in, there doesn’t seem to be anyone behind the counter. And the shop always looks so dead, and unloved, somehow.’

  Cecilia smiled, but said nothing. She knew that Lexi still felt very possessive of that little shop where she’d been so happy – and which she’d never felt able to step inside since Jean Lewis had sold.

  In the kitchen at Grey Gables, Anna tried hard to feel Christmassy. Usually, on this eve of the big day she’d be preparing the turkey to slow-roast overnight, or she’d be icing the cake, or making more mince pies …

  But the fact was, she couldn’t wait for it to be all over. Christmas would never, ever be the same again, now that her dear boy was no longer alive. How could it possibly be, for any of them.

  She had not bothered to consult Mr McCann about the festive meal. They would have what was available – even bread was in short supply – anyway it was only going to be Mr McCann and Johnny eating alone in the dining room, and it had been fairly easy to buy enough … they’d have a chicken and some vegetables. And fortunately she’d made two Christmas puddings in early September before the shortages had really taken hold, so they would have one of those afterwards, with brandy sauce. She was going to let Cecilia have the other one for the Martin family – unlike Grey Gables, there wasn’t the money at the cottage to pay the current high prices demanded.

  Anna glanced at the last few days on her calendar. She remembered she’d agreed to meet her friend at the pictures next week to see Charlie Chaplin’s new film ‘Fireman’ which was now showing. Anna heaved a sigh. You had to find something to look forward to at this deadly time in the country’s history.

  Anna went across to the window and looked out. The month had now turned bitterly cold, and very wet, and the garden looked so dead, with little growing – though she had managed to pull a few parsnips for tomorrow. She tried not to think what it must be like on the Western Front … There was so much news about continuous rainfall and icy conditions over there, and for the briefest moment Anna was glad that Alfred was no longer alive. That he was at peace.

  She bit her lip. Peace? Would their new prime minister David Lloyd George have the answer? Like many, Anna doubted it, but any new face brought hope that things might change things for the better. They couldn’t get much worse.

  She glanced at the clock. It was half past three, and almost dark, and just then the back door burst open and Johnny and Lexi came hurrying through, shaking the rain from their coats. Anna’s face lit up. These two were just what she needed at the moment.

  She smiled across at them. ‘You must have known,’ she said. ‘The icing on my ginger biscuits has just set, and the tea is made – so sit down and warm up, the pair of you.’

  They did as they were told, and Anna gazed at them. Despite the present grim situation, their faces were alive with the sheer joy of being together, and Anna thought – not for the first time – that they were a pair truly in love, young as they were.

  ‘It is quite mad up at the cottage,’ Johnny said cheerfully. ‘Lucky has been sabotaging Phoebe’s efforts to finish the decorating and has been eating all the tinsel.’

  Anna passed two mugs of tea across the table. ‘Enjoy this while it’s hot,’ she said, ‘and in a minute I’ll take one up for Mr McCann.’ She shook her head. ‘He is very, very unhappy at the moment, I’m afraid, and is anybody surprised at that? Poor man,’ she added.

  Johnny passed Lexi a ginger biscuit, and before biting into one himself, he said soberly – ‘I can’t see Dad getting over Alfred for a very long time, can you, Anna?’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve tried to console dad, to reassure him that he can count on me, but I will always be second best, I realize that.’ Johnny glanced up. ‘By the way – I was very surprised that dDd didn’t go out on Thursday evening, Anna,’ he said.

  Anna raised her eyes. ‘That ritual seems to have completely stopped,’ she said. ‘After all these years, and I have no idea why. I was merely informed that the matter has been finally settled.’

  After Anna had left to go upstairs with Reynard’s cup of tea, Johnny leaned over to Lexi and took her in his arms. And they kissed, properly for the first time since he’d come home.

  ‘When are we ever going to have chance to be alone?’ he grumbled. ‘I wasn’t even able to do the rounds with you on Friday, nor to hear you sing at the Pump Room – your last performance until next year.’ He kissed her again. ‘Did you get rapturous applause as usual?’

  Lexi nodded. ‘I did – well, it’s always a special time for everyone, and the carols just went on and on … but as well as that, earlier, the pianist suggested I sang ‘Land of Hope & Glory’ – it only took a couple of practices for me to get it right, and the whole room joined in so loudly I thought the chandeliers were going to shatter!’ Lexi stopped speaking for a minute. Then - ‘It made some people cry, Johnny – tears were running down their faces, and I nearly cried myself,’ she added.

  ‘Well, try not to spend too much of my two week holiday being sad,’ Johnny said, ‘I’ll be going back before we know it.’

  Lexi snuggled into him, and looked up. ‘I wear my engagement ring every night, in bed,’ she said softly, ‘making sure the children don’t see it, of course.’

  ‘I know you’ve tried to explain,’ Johnny said, ‘but I still wish I knew why we have to keep it such a secret.’

  ‘It won’t be a secret forever, I promise,’ Lexi said. ‘It’s just for now, Johnny, just for now.’

  ‘But you do love me, don’t you?’ he said, and she reached for his lips again.

  ‘I will never love anyone else but you in all my life, Johnny,’ she promised.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  1st January 1917

  New Year’s Day brought yet another piece of sad news that no one had been expecting. Mr Bertram Bakewell had been found dead.

  It took no time at all for this tragic news to become known throughout the town, and when Lexi heard it she burst into tears.

  ‘Oh Mama,’ she sobbed, ‘what are we going to do without Mr Bakewell and his lovely café! It is never going to be the same without him!’

  Cecilia could only agree – as Anna did when they talked about it together later. They had both paused at the café so often over the years for a little light refreshment.

  Anna broke the news to Mr McCann when she took his coffee upstairs.

  ‘I am sad to tell you of a dreadful event which has taken place,’ she said soberly as she put the tray down. ‘Mr Bakewell, one of our most well-known, well-respected residents has just passed away.’ She sighed. ‘A horrible event to start the n
ew year,’ she added.

  Reynard was staring up at her as she spoke, and Anna wondered if her employer had even been aware of Mr Bakewell’s existence. Mr McCann would certainly never have had reason to stop at the café himself. When he spoke, his voice sounded odd.

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Very early this morning, apparently,’ Anna said. ‘A delivery man bringing early supplies couldn’t get any answer, and saw poor Mr Bakewell through the window. He was lying there on the floor.’ Anna tried not to get emotional in front of her employer. ‘Yet another tragic day for all of us,’ she added.

  ‘Yes … I suppose so,’ Reynard said slowly. ‘But at least there are no dependents left behind. Which is a good thing … a very good thing.’

  Anna was surprised at that So – Mr McCann was aware of Bert after all. ‘Mr Bakewell may have had no family,’ she said quickly, ‘but he had many, many friends, and he is going to be sorely missed – by all of us.’

  She left the room without another word, but as the door closed behind her Reynard jumped to his feet, his eyes shining. At last – a piece of good news! And surely he deserved a piece! ‘Bert’s Place’ and –much more importantly – that field, the huge area of land behind it, would be coming on to the market at last! At last! The stubborn old man was no longer here to stand in Reynard McCann’s way!

  Reynard went over to the window, clenching and unclenching his hands. Why had Bakewell turned down all the chances to sell, when he could have had a small fortune in the bank and retired – perhaps to somewhere near the sea and end his days in ease and comfort! Instead, he had toiled away at that one-eyed café all those years … and it could hardly have netted him much profit.

  Reynard could barely hold back a small cheer. When that place came on to the market, he would offer twice the price demanded, treble it if necessary, until it was his. Because that territory was a goldmine of future possibilities and he would build, build, build on it! The McCann empire was on the march again!