Early as they were, the church was already crowded. The ancient building was ablaze with candles and dressed and decorated with the verdant greenery of the season. There was a crib in the porch, the figures freshly and garishly painted. An ancient organ, inexpertly played, wheezed its way through a piece that Nikos did not recognise. Several people greeted Cathy and Adam as they walked in and found themselves a seat; a few covertly curious glances were thrown in Nikos’ direction. He was not surprised when, reaching a pew where there were a few spaces Cathy pointedly drew Adam with her as she made her way along it, leaving Nikos to follow, and thus putting Adam between them. He sat in the whispering, shuffling crowd isolated and alone. All but unaware of his surroundings he brooded, mentally cursing his father for his selfishness, himself for his foolishness. Adam for involving him in a cruel sham that, whatever he said, could only, in the end, upset Cathy. He stumbled through the service, standing, sitting, kneeling when everyone else did, making no attempt to join in the carol singing. Adam, beside him, blond head shining in the candlelight, virtuous as a choirboy, cheerfully sang every word. When the service came to a close they joined the slow procession that moved to the door. Christmas greetings were exchanged, introductions were made; he smiled and nodded and shook hands politely. Then at last they were back in the car and driving home, Nikos at the wheel, Adam beside him singing Christmas carols at the top of his voice, Cathy a quiet presence in the back.
Back at Sandlings Adam made a beeline for the whisky bottle. ‘I’ve been a good boy for quite long enough. Cathy, you’ll have one with me?’ He was already pouring. ‘Nikos?’
Cathy accepted the glass. Nikos shook his head. ‘Not now if you don’t mind. I’ve got a bit of a headache. I think I’ll turn in.’ It had already been decided that this time Adam would sleep downstairs.
‘Would you like an aspirin?’ Almost for the first time that evening Cathy met his eyes. Hers were concerned. He shook his head. ‘No. Honestly, I’ll be fine. I’m a bit tired, that’s all.’
Adam held up the bottle. ‘Sure a drop of this won’t help?’
‘No, thank you.’ Nikos stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Normally Cathy would wish him goodnight with a brush of her lips on his cheek or a light touch of her hand on his arm. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then.’
‘It is the morning,’ Cathy said, quietly. ‘Christmas morning.’ Softly she came to him, stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Happy Christmas, my dear.’ Her voice and her eyes were perfectly steady.
He stepped away from her sharply. ‘Happy Christmas. And to you, Adam.’
Adam lifted a hand in acknowledgement, turned to stir the fire to life. Blindly Nikos opened the door that led to the staircase, stood leaning in the darkness for a moment before reaching for the light switch. Through the door he heard Adam’s voice: ‘I say, I don’t suppose we could break into the mince pies, could we? I’m starving.’
Cathy murmured an answer. He heard the kitchen door open; slowly he climbed the stairs and left them together.
In the sitting room Adam munched his mince pie, licked the crumbs from his fingers and poured another drink. ‘If there’s one thing I miss about living at home it’s your cooking.’
Cathy turned from where she had been standing staring pensively at the little, glittering tree with its glass baubles and pretty bows and its heap of brightly wrapped parcels. ‘Find yourself a nice girl and settle down,’ she suggested, a little absently, her eyes still abstracted.
Adam snorted with laughter. ‘Don’t be daft! Where would I find a girl that could cook? Most of the ones I kick around with don’t know a boiled egg from a lamb chop!’ He threw himself down in an armchair, stretched his long legs out to the fire.
She snapped from her reverie, ruffled his hair affectionately. ‘Thanks for coming to the service. I did enjoy it.’
He tilted his head, smiled his wide, disarming smile. ‘So did I. It reminded me of when I was a kid. We always used to go, didn’t we?’
She smiled. ‘Yes. We did.’
Adam leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, glass held between the palms of his hands, his blue eyes bright. ‘Do you remember what else we always used to do?’ His gaze flickered to the Christmas tree and back. ‘We always used to open a present, remember? When we came back from church. We used to save the rest for the morning, but we always used to open just one.’
She laughed a little. ‘So we did. That started when you were a very little boy. It was because you used to get so excited that you wouldn’t sleep unless you were allowed to choose one to open.’
He jumped up, put his glass on the mantelpiece. ‘Let’s do it! Open mine.’ He reached to the stack of parcels and pulled one out. It was beautifully and obviously professionally wrapped. Gently he pushed her down into the armchair and knelt in front of her, the parcel in his hands. ‘It’s like old times, isn’t it? Just you and me together?’
She took the pretty package, turned it over in her hands. ‘Yes, it is. This looks too lovely to spoil it by opening it!’
‘The girl in the shop did it for me. Go on — open it! Please?’
The boyishness of it made her smile. ‘All right.’ Very carefully she picked at the bow that held the thing together.
Adam fidgeted impatiently, laughing. ‘Just tear it!‘
She tore the paper from a long, narrow box which when opened proved to hold a pair of elbow-length black silk gloves and a pretty silver and turquoise ring. ‘Oh, Adam, they’re lovely!’
‘They’re to go with the dress you bought. The one you wore to the Savoy. You looked so gorgeous. I just thought these would finish the outfit off.’
‘They will.’ She pushed up the sleeve of her jumper and pulled one of the gloves on, slipping the ring on her finger over the top of it, spreading her hand to study it. ‘Incongruous, but elegant!’
He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Well you are, when you let yourself be.’ He laughed, and corrected himself. ‘Elegant that is. Not incongruous. I told you — you looked absolutely gorgeous that night. Dotty Dotty thought so, too.’
‘Your mother,’ Dot had actually said, ‘seems to be the only woman in the room who isn’t wearing gloves.’ The remark had fortuitously slipped into his mind when, having left his Christmas shopping, as always, to the very last moment, and having not given the slightest thought to his mother’s present he had spotted both the gloves and the ring in a shop window display.
Cathy dropped a kiss on to the top of his head. ‘They’re lovely. Really lovely. Thank you. Now —’ she pointed. ‘Your turn. Pick a present.’
‘Any present?’
‘Of course.’
‘Even one that isn’t there?’
She frowned a little, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
He nibbled his lip, looking, as he well knew, so like the little boy he had once been that her heart turned over. ‘I wanted to ask a favour.’ He flashed her a quick, mischievous smile. ‘A Christmas favour. Do you mind?’
She hesitated only for a moment. ‘Of course not.’
‘It isn’t just for me. It’s for Nikos too.’
She relaxed. Not money then. Not this time.
‘Well? May I have my Christmas favour?’
She slipped the ring from her finger, peeled the long glove from her arm. ‘Of course you may.’
‘Promise?’ He was insistent.
‘Promise.’ She folded the slip of silk back into the box, lay the ring carefully upon it, lifted her head to smile at him. ‘What is it?’
*
They spent Christmas Day very quietly and remarkably pleasantly. Adam having got his way over the race meeting was in good temper, and in his company the strain between Cathy and Nikos seemed to have eased. They slept late, opened presents over an early sherry then Cathy shut the two young men out of the kitchen while she prepared Christmas lunch. Before they ate she took a plated helping of chicken in to Bert, who accepted it with his customary splenetic gracelessness and then surpr
ised and touched her by handing her a packet ill wrapped in brown paper. ‘Why, Bert! What is it?’
‘Open it and see, daft woman.‘
The was an emerald green woollen scarf. Delightedly she wound it around her neck ‘It’s lovely! Thank you.’ She bent to kiss his cheek.
His dark skin grew a shade darker. ‘That’ll keep you warm while you walk the dogs, p’raps.’
After lunch they left the dishes on the table, opened another bottle of wine and went into the sitting room to listen to the new queen’s first Christmas speech. ‘Poor thing,’ Cathy said afterwards. ‘So young. And so many responsibilities.’
‘And all that boodle.’ Adam was sprawled in his armchair, replete, his eyes closed. ‘Sort of makes up for it, don’t you think?’
Cathy punched his arm. ‘Don’t be so cynical. And don’t go to sleep either.’
He opened his eyes, his expression injured. ‘Why not? That’s what Christmas afternoon is for.’
‘That’s what Christmas afternoon is for after the washing up is done, not before. I’m going to try out my new scarf and walk Sandy to the beach and back. I won’t be long. The washing up —’ she smiled and pointed to the kitchen door ‘- is thataway.’
Nikos scrambled to his feet. ‘I’ll do it.’
Adam had closed his eyes again. ‘If you insist.’
‘Adam!’
‘It’s all right. Really.’ Nikos followed her into the kitchen. She reached for the heavy waxed jacket that hung behind the door. As she shrugged into it he, with unthinking and automatic good manners, reached to help her. His hands were still resting on her shoulders when she turned to face him. The wireless droned in the other room. Adam snored. Infinitely gently Nikos turned up her coat collar and handed her the green scarf. ‘Enjoy your walk.’
‘Yes.’ Their eyes held for a moment, openly and intently. Cathy shook her head a little. ‘Here, Sandy,’ she called briskly, and, the dog dancing about her excitedly she turned away. Nikos stood for a long time after she had gone, looking at the closed door, his heart hammering in his chest. That fleeting moment of contact, that tiny movement, and he was lost again. All the defences so painfully constructed over the past twenty—four hours were destroyed. He wanted her. He had to face it. And he had to get away, before he tried to do something about it; before he caused a complete disaster.
They played cards later, Cribbage at first at sixpence a game until Adam declared this to be too tame and instigated a game of poker in which he took flamboyant risks and played for the pennies and ha’pennies they were staking as fiercely as if they had been guineas. At midnight Cathy leaned back in her chair pushing the last of her pile of Coppers to her son. ‘You’ve cleared me out. I’m for bed.’
‘One more round?’
She shook her head. ‘No fear. It’s bed for me.’
After she had left them Adam neatly stacked his winnings in piles on the table. Nikos watched him. Sensing it, Adam lifted his head, his brilliant forget-me-not eyes gleaming with the excitement of the game. ‘A good omen,’ he said, indicating the money, ‘I feel lucky.’ He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Tomorrow’s going to be good. You still on to come?’
Nikos’ hesitation was infinitesimal. The last thing he wanted to do was to go with Adam. The last thing he could do was to stay here alone with his stepmother. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘I’m still on.’
*
In the event, once they got there, Nikos found himself enjoying the afternoon. The atmosphere of the meeting was festive, the weather had turned cold and bright, and whilst he could not match Adam’s fervour when it came to the racing he nevertheless could not help but be caught up in the noisy excitement as the horses thundered towards the post urged on by the vociferous punters. As it happened, in the end, Adam’s presentiment of luck turned out to be well founded, though not before a couple of bad results had hit his pocket hard. Nikos had taken a few pounds to the meeting, ready to lose, part of the payment, as far as he was concerned, for the afternoon’s entertainment. Adam on the other hand gambled to win. His reaction to a loss was to double his stake next time, and the longer the odds the better. It was an unlikely outsider that changed his luck. He distributed the large roll of notes between several pockets, slipped a fiver in his shoe as extra insurance — everywhere there were notices warning of the activities of pickpockets — and, grinning, took a large swig from his hip flask. ‘Right. Two more to go.‘ He studied the card he held, ‘I fancy the grey. “Roll on Home”. That‘ll do me. A pony on the nose. Join me?’
Nikos shook his head, laughing. ‘Too strong for me. I’ll stick to ten bob each way.’ He took the proffered flask, sipped from it, shook it. It was almost empty. ‘You’re running low.’
Adam shook his head, put his hand in his pocket and produced a second flask. ‘Not a chance.’
‘Roll on Home’ came in at fifteen to one. Adam promptly lost half of his considerable winnings on the last race but was still cock-a-hoop and almost feverishly excited as they made their way back to the car. ‘Tell you what. How about a celebration?’
Nikos glanced around the rather drab countryside in which the racecourse was set. ‘What do you suggest? Chase a few sheep?’
‘Cambridge. It’s on the way. Pubs’ll be open by the time we get there.’ He winked, patted his pocket. ‘Who knows? Might find ourselves a couple of fillies up for the Maiden Stakes.’
*
The noisy crowd in the pub was predominantly male. Adam pushed his way through to the bar, came back with a couple of whiskies. He stood nursing his glass, practised eye roving the smoky room. ‘Not much on offer here. Hold on a minute. I’ll have a word.’ He sidled back into the crowd. Nikos lit a cigarette and watched him. Adam leaned across the bar, beckoning. The harassed bartender ignored him. As if by magic a crumpled brown ten-shilling note appeared in Adam’s hand. The barman’s attention was engaged. He moved to where Adam stood, leaned across the counter, listening, nodding, speaking rapidly. The note disappeared over the bar. Adam rejoined Nikos. ‘Drink up,‘ he said, cheerfully ‘We’re in the wrong pub.‘
Fog wisped in the darkness, and their breath clouded the air. ‘Leave the car here,‘ Adam said, ‘it isn’t far. Just round the corner.’
The street was quiet. There was movement in a doorway. Beneath a street lamp, that shed its shroud of light through the thickening fog, two young women stood talking. A cigarette glowed and died, a spark in the darkness. ‘Adam —’ Nikos said.
‘Hello girls.’ Adam’s bright hair, fog-damp, sparkled in the light of the lamp. ‘Happy Christmas. Fancy a drink?’
*
It was eight o’clock before Cathy really started to worry. As darkness had fallen a heavy bank of fog had rolled in from the sea, blanketing the countryside. Even the sound of the sea was muffled. She had listened to a play on the radio, then had switched to a concert on the Third Programme, that played quietly in the background as she picked unenthusiastically at the carcass of yesterday’s chicken. She had not drawn the curtains; the thick, hushed darkness outside seemed to invade the house. The weather report had said the fog was widespread. That must be why Nikos and Adam were late. She tried not to think of the lethal combination of poor visibility and the general insobriety of the season. She gave up on the chicken, eyed the depleted plate of mince pies and decided against them too. She wandered to the window, leaning to the pane, cupping her hands about her eyes to peer out. She could see absolutely nothing; the wall of fog was impenetrable. She turned back to the warmth and light of the kitchen. Sandy, curled in front of the stove, watched her every movement. ‘They won’t be long now,’ she said to him, reassuringly. ‘I’m sure they won’t be.’
The dog’s small tail thumped twice and was still.
‘I could pop next door and check that Bert’s all right.’
Sandy cocked his head on one side.
The wireless had slipped a little from the station, and was hissing and crackling. She adjusted it. Looked at her wa
tch. ‘He’ll be in bed, I suppose. Oh, dammit, where the hell are they?’
In the dripping silence beyond the window the North Sea fog continued to roll in and blanket the flat East Anglian landscape.
*
The room was untidy, the furniture threadbare; the whole house smelled of badly cooked food and overused lavatories. The two girls, who had introduced themselves as Babs and Irene, lived on the top floor. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke, the ceiling yellowed with it. One of the bottles of gin that Adam, on the girls’ instructions, had bought when they left the pub was already empty, the other well on the way. The girls were drinking it with orange, thick, sticky and sweet. Nikos turned his head from the smell of it on Irene’s breath as she buried her face in his neck and guided his hand inside her unbuttoned blouse. The other girl, Babs, was naked to the waist, sprawled on Adam’s lap, his hand up her skirt. Adam whispered something. Babs giggled.
‘Come on, darlin’.’ Irene wriggled, her hand groping at the buttons of Nikos’ trousers. ‘Come on, Yankee - let’s use the bedroom first.’ She raised her voice. ‘That OK, Babs?’
‘Wa’ss’at?’ Babs’ untidy blonde head lifted. Her voice was slurred.
Irene jerked her head towards the door. ‘OK if the Yank an’ me use the bedroom first?’
Babs hauled her skirt up a little higher, turned back to Adam. ‘Do what you like, Reen love. Big Boy here ain’t gonna wait for no bedroom from the feel of it.’ She laughed huskily.
The other girl slid a little unsteadily from Nikos’ lap, stood up and unbuttoned her skirt, letting it slip to the floor. She was wearing laddered stockings and a suspender belt that even in the dingy light looked none too clean. Her blouse hung open, revealing her large, soft breasts. She held out a hand. ‘Come on, then, darlin’, come and see what Reenie’s got for you —’
Icon of Gold Page 12