by Miss Read
She crept from her bed, and squatting on the floor, she felt the various shapes in the pillowcase. There was the doll she had asked for, and this box must be the tea set or a jigsaw puzzle. She could smell the fragrance of the tangerine tucked in a corner, and could hear the rattle of the nuts in the other.
Tears continued to course down her cheeks. She would not unpack things until morning light. And would she enjoy them then, she wondered, knowing that Lovell had betrayed her? Would things ever be the same again?
Her feet were cold as stones, and she clambered back into bed. As she did so, her restless tongue finally broke the loose tooth from its precarious moorings. Still weeping, she felt the edge of the new tooth thrusting through. She pulled the clothes about her, and fell into an uneasy sleep.
Leaden-eyed and leaden-hearted next morning, she did her best to share in the general excitement.
At the breakfast table she thanked all her relatives for their gifts. She could hardly bear to look at Lovell, so happy and unconcerned.
Sidney was flushed with joy and excitement.
"All gone!" he said, showing her Father Christmas's empty plate. "Did you thee him?"
He pressed against Miriam anxiously.
"Did you thee him?" he persisted.
Conscious of the eyes of all upon her, her heart raging with bitterness, Miriam took a deep breath. She turned her blazing gaze upon the traitor Lovell.
"No, I didn't!" she burst forth. "I didn't see Father Christmas, Sidney. But I'll tell you what I did see!"
The child looked up at her, smiling and trusting.
Lovell's gaze was steady. Across the breakfast table, brother and sister were locked in a look.
Very slowly Lovell shook his head. Briefly, and with a wealth of meaning, he glanced at Sidney, and then looked back at Miriam. It was a conspiratorial look, and it filled Miriam's quivering body with warmth and comfort. Now, in a flash, she understood. Suddenly, she was grown up. Hadn't she felt the first of her adult teeth this very morning?
A little child, as she had been until now, had the right to believe in this magic. She felt suddenly protective towards the young boy beside her. She, and Lovell, and all the other people present, knew, and faced the responsibilities of knowing, this precious secret. Now, she too was one of the elect.
"What did you thee?" asked Sidney.
"I saw the door closing," said Miriam. "That's all."
Across the table, Lovell smiled at her with approval. Her heart leapt, and Christmas Day became again the joyful festival she had always known.
***
How sharply it came back, thought Miss Quinn, that memory of thirty years ago! The shock of her enlightenment was some measure of the joy she had formerly felt in the myth of Father Christmas. She was glad that Jenny and Robin were still ardent believers, and she must try and make sure that Hazel, on the brink of knowledge, did not suffer as she had done as a child, and did not tarnish the glitter for the younger ones.
Somewhere, in some distant copse, a fox gave an eerie cry.
The scudding clouds parted briefly, and a shaft of moonlight fell across the bed.
The night was made for sleeping, said Miriam to herself, and tomorrow there was much to be done. There were children to be tended, Eileen to visit, provisions to organize, and all to be accomplished amidst the joyous frenzy of Christmas Eve.
Resolutely, she applied herself to sleep.
Chapter 7
CHRISTMAS EVE
SHE AWOKE, much refreshed, still with the memories of past Christmas times about her, and determined to make the present one happy for the children.
It was still dark, but she could hear children's voices. Perhaps they were already dressed? She put her warm feet upon the chilly linoleum and went to the door. The house felt icy.
Sure enough, the two little girls were scampering about the long passage half-dressed. They greeted her with cries of joy, and bounced into her room unbidden. Wails from Robin could be heard in the distance.
"Oh, he's all right," said Hazel casually. "Daddy's put him on his potty, and he doesn't want to go. That's all."
Jenny was fingering Miriam's hairbrush.
"I've asked Father Christmas for one like this," she said.
Hazel's lip began to curl in a derisory manner, and Miriam, recalling her nighttime memory, put a hand on her arm. There was no mistaking the alert glance that the child flashed at her. She knew all right!
Remembering Lovell's meaning shake of the head so long ago, she repeated the small gesture to his daughter. The child half-smiled in return, squeezed the restraining hand upon her arm, and remained silent.
That, thought Miriam thankfully, was one hurdle surmounted!
"What do you have for breakfast?" she enquired, tactfully changing the subject.
"Cornflakes, or shredded wheat," said Hazel.
"Sometimes toast, if there's time," said Jenny.
"What does Daddy have?" asked Miriam, secretly thinking that Eileen should surely cook a breakfast, if not for the children, then for a man off to his parish duties in the coldest part of England.
"The same," they chorused.
"Go and get dressed," said Miriam, "and I'll make toast for us all, and perhaps a boiled egg."
"Oh, lovely!" squealed the children. "Let's go and tell Robin!"
They fled, leaving Miriam to have the bathroom in peace.
***
At breakfast, Miriam broached the practical problem of catering for the household for four days. The basic things seemed to be in the house, and she knew that there were Brussels sprouts, cabbages, and carrots in the vegetable garden.
A Christmas pudding stood on the pantry shelf, but she would have to make mince pies and other sweets, and where was the turkey—or was it to be a round of beef?
Lovell was vague. He rather thought a friend of theirs was supplying the turkey, but he would have imagined it should have been delivered by now.
"Will it be dressed?" asked Miriam, with considerable anxiety. She might be Sir Barnabas's right hand, but she knew her limits. Drawing a fowl was not among her talents.
"Dressed?" queried Hazel, egg spoon arrested halfway to her mouth. "What in?"
Gales of giggles greeted this sally.
"A bonnet," gasped Jenny, "and shawl! Like Jemima Puddleduck. That's what turkeys dress in!"
The two little girls rolled about in paroxysms of mirth. Lovell cast his eyes heavenward, in mock disdain.
"Dressed means ready to put in the oven," explained Miriam, laughing.
"I know a boy at school who can pull out the tubes and smelly bits," said Hazel, recovering slightly. "Is that what you mean?"
"Exactly," said Miriam.
At that moment the telephone rang, and Lovell vanished.
"It might still have its feathers on," remarked Jenny.
"And its head," added Hazel.
Miriam's qualms intensified.
"How do you get its head off?" enquired Jenny conversationally, scraping the last of her egg from the shell.
Miriam was spared replying as Lovell returned.
"The chairman of Eileen's bench. Just enquiring."
Eileen, she remembered now, had recently been made a magistrate. Frankly, she wondered if she were capable of the task, but simply said politely:
"Does she worry much about her duties?"
"What she really worries about," replied Lovell, "is whether she should wear a hat or not."
Then, sensing that this might smack of disloyalty, he enlarged on the many compliments he had heard from her fellows on the bench, on Eileen's good sense and fair-mindedness.
His discourse was cut short by a ring at the back door. Hazel skipped off to answer it and came back, much excited.
"It's the turkey man, Aunt Miriam, and it's all right! He's bare!"
Construing this correctly, Miriam felt a wave of relief, and hurried to fetch the bird, Lovell following close behind to pay the bill.
***
; A little later, she sallied forth with several baskets, and the three children in tow. Lovell had to conduct a funeral service and visit two desperately sick parishioners. He would be back to late lunch, and then stay at the vicarage while Miriam visited the hospital.
"Can you possibly get back by about four, do you think?" he enquired, consulting a list anxiously. "I'm supposed to call at the village hall to have tea with the Over-Sixty Club, and be at a Brownies' Carol Service in the next parish at the same time. Then I must have a word with the flower ladies, and get ready for the midnight service."
Miriam assured him that she could manage easily.
"Can we come and see Mummy? Can we?" clamored the girls. Miriam looked at Lovell.
"Sister made no objection last time, as long as they behave, of course, and aren't there too long. But how do you feel?"
"I'd like their company," said Miriam, and they fell upon her with shrieks of joy.
The grocer's shop was one of three in the village. Across the road was the butcher's, and next door was the post office which sold sweets and tobacco.
The proprietor of the village store bore a strong resemblance to Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre. She had the same square frame, the identical short-cropped hair, and an expression of malevolent resignation.
Fortunately, the similarity ended there, and she turned out to be unusually helpful about the needs of the vicarage household.
"Did you want the piece of gammon Mrs. Quinn asked about? I've put it by, in case."
"Yes, please," said Miriam. At least it would make a change from turkey in the days to come.
"And you'll want potatoes," Mrs. Bates informed her. "That half-hundredweight was nearly finished last week, Annie told me."
Miriam, slightly dazed, remembered that Eileen's mother's help was a local girl.
"I'm her auntie," vouchsafed Mrs. Bates, scrabbling in a box of potatoes hidden behind the counter. Fair acre all over again! thought Miriam.
"Take five pounds now, and my Bert'll bring up ten pounds tomorrow if that suits you. You don't want to hump all that lot, and Robin's push chair's not that strong."
Miriam agreed meekly. It was quite a change to be managed. Was this how Barney felt when she mapped out his routine?
With a shock she remembered that there had been no preparations made for lunch at home. For the first time in her life, she bought fish fingers, and a ready-made blackcurrant tart. How often she had watched scornfully the feckless mothers buying the expensive "convenience" foods. Now, with three children distracting her and the clock ticking on inexorably, she sympathized with them. Catering for one, she began to realize, was quite a different matter from trying to please the varying tastes of five people, and hungry ones at that.
"Where's Robin?" she enquired suddenly. The child had vanished.
Hazel and Jenny were talking to a boy in the doorway.
"Probably in the road," said Mrs. Bates. "And the traffic's something awful this morning."
There was a hint of mournful satisfaction in this remark that reminded Miriam yet again of the distant Mrs. Pringle.
She rushed to the door, heart thudding, calling his name. The road was clear, except for a scrawny dog carrying a large bone.
"It's all right!" shouted Mrs. Bates behind her. "He's here."
The child was sitting on the floor, hidden behind the end of the counter, beside a rolled-down sack containing dog biscuits which he was eating with the voracity of one just released from a concentration camp.
"Robin, really!" exclaimed his aunt. Like Tabitha Twitchit, she thought suddenly, I am affronted.
"Don't worry, miss. He's partial to dog biscuits. And these are extra pure," she added virtuously.
"You must let me pay you," said Miriam, hauling the child to his feet and brushing yellow sulphur biscuit crumbs from his coat.
"Oh, he's welcome," said Mrs. Bates indulgently. "I'll just add up the other."
By the time she had visited the butcher to buy steak and kidney for a casserole for the evening meal, and then the post office for stamps and sweets, Miriam seemed to have accumulated three heavy baskets.
The wind was now boisterous, and carrying rain bordering on sleet. The children did not seem to notice the cold, but Miriam, struggling with the erratic push chair and the shopping, felt frozen through.
Ah! Dear Holly Lodge! she thought with longing. Tucked into the shelter of the downs, screened by that stout hedge, when would she see it again?
***
"What a lovely, lovely lunch," sighed Jenny, leaning back replete.
"Excellent!" agreed her father.
Miriam was secretly amused. If her friends could have seen the meal she had assembled, fish fingers, instant potatoes, tinned beans, and bottled tomato sauce, followed by the bought fruit pie, her standing as a first-class cook would have taken a jolt.
And yet it had been relished. Perhaps there was a moral here, but there was certainly no time to pursue the thought, with the washing up to be done, the girls to get ready, and Robin to be put down for his afternoon nap. She must put the steak and kidney in a slow oven too, so that it could cook gently while they were at the hospital. How on earth did mothers manage? She was more exhausted now, at midday, than she was at the end of a hard week at the office.
At half-past two she set out, with the girls in a state of wild excitement in the back of the car. They were carrying their Christmas presents for Eileen, and keeping an eye on Miriam's. Tomorrow Lovell would be the only visitor at the hospital, while Miriam took charge at home.
Eileen looked prettier and younger than ever, propped against her pillows in a frilly pale blue nightgown. It so happened that Miriam's present was also a nightgown, but a black chiffon one threaded with narrow black satin ribbon. It would make a splendid contrast, she thought, to the one she was now wearing.
Eileen greeted them all with hugs and kisses.
"You are a perfect angel to come to our rescue," she said when the little girls had been settled, in comparative peace, with some magazines. "Have you had a terrible time coping?"
Miriam reassured her.
"I think all the shopping's done. No doubt I've forgotten something quite vital like bread, but I've remembered stuffing for the bird and even salted peanuts in case people come in for drinks."
"That's more than I should have done," said Eileen cheerfully, and Miriam began to feel more drawn to her sister-in-law than ever before. There was something engaging about such candor.
"Is that lady dying?" asked Jenny, in a high carrying voice, her finger pointing to a gray-faced woman dozing in the next bed. Miriam went cold with shock.
Eileen laughed merrily.
"Good heavens, no! Mrs. White is getting better faster than any of us. Be very quiet, darling, so that she doesn't wake up."
At this point, Sister arrived, and asked Eileen if the children would like to see the Christmas tree in the children's ward. They departed happily.
"By the way," said Miriam, "did you know that Hazel has tumbled to Father Christmas?"
"Yes. I hope she won't tell Jenny yet."
Miriam explained what had happened.
"Always problems," said Eileen. "And with some you will be wrong whatever you do. I thought this when Lovell and I were invited out together, the other evening. He was suddenly taken ill. Of course I rang our hostess, and she said: 'Will you feel like coming?'
"What do you do? Say 'Yes' and be branded as callous to one's husband's sufferings, and probably greedy to boot, or say 'No' and let down the hostess?"
"Insoluble," agreed Miriam. "Or, worse still, wondering whether to pull the lavatory chain in the dead of night in someone else's house. If you do, you can imagine the startled hostess saying: 'You'd think she would have more sense than to rouse the whole household!' On the other hand, one is liable to be branded a perfect slattern if the hostess visits the loo first in the morning!"
They laughed together, and Miriam, for the first time, felt completely at ease in Eileen
's presence.
"But tell me about yourself," she said. "Are they getting things right?"
"I think so. They couldn't be kinder, and once the results of the tests are through I may be able to come home. Strict diet, and all that, and weekly checkups, but I've a strong suspicion it won't come to surgery."
"Thank God for that!" said Miriam.
"You must be longing to get back to Fairacre," said Eileen. "The vicarage is such a barn of a place. But Lovell is terribly grateful to you for coming up so quickly, and so am I, as you know. We should have foundered without you. Ah, here comes Sister."
The children had been given a chocolate toy from the tree, and were starry-eyed with pleasure.
"Shall I unwrap your presents while you're here?" asked Eileen.
"Yes, yes. Do it now!" they clamored.
With great care, she undid the wrappings, read the lopsided cards covered in kiss-crosses, and finally displayed a canvas bookmark embroidered in lazy-daisy stitch by Hazel and a thimble in a walnut-shell case from Jenny.
"Perfect!" smiled Eileen, putting the thimble on her finger, and the bookmark in the novel by her bed. "Now Christmas has really begun!"
Miriam looked at her watch.
"I must take them back. Lovell has to be off again by four. He'll be in tomorrow, and I'll come again after that."
"Dear Miriam," murmured Eileen, as they kissed. "No wonder Lovell adores you. You are an absolute tower of strength."
Miriam called into Sister's room as they went out, to thank her for the children's presents, and to enquire after Eileen's progress.
"She's doing very well. We couldn't have a better patient, and a real help to the others in the ward."
"She says you are all very good to her."
"That's nothing to Mr. Quinn's kindness to my old mother," said Sister, with energy. "You don't forget help like that when you're in trouble. He lives by his beliefs, that brother of yours."
"He tries to, I know," replied Miriam, much moved.
"Come on, Aunt Miriam, we've got to get our things ready for Father Christmas," urged the girls.
"First things first," called Sister, as they left the hospital.