She took the paper wrapping off the flowers and placed them one by one in the vase, testing the effect after each one. Lewis was glad he had brought them. There was something about women and flowers – fragility, fragrance, beauty. When she was finished she placed them on the kitchen table.
‘They’re absolutely gorgeous,’ she said.
And then he thought the smile in her eyes seemed to soften and be replaced by vulnerability or even sadness.
‘It’s a long time since anybody’s bought me flowers.’
If you were mine, I would bring you flowers every day.
‘I was feeling a bit down,’ she said. ‘But this has cheered me up no end.’
‘Why were you feeling down?’ he asked, not sure whether he should or not.
‘What? Oh, no reason. Never mind. I’m not now – that’s the important thing. I thought we’d eat outside,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘That’s if we can get the table through the door.’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem,’ he said, hoping, as he went to pick it up, that it wouldn’t be as heavy as it looked. She lifted the vase of flowers from it.
As it turned out, the table was as heavy as it looked. But it was too late to turn back now. He took hold of it as she said,’ Here, let me give you a hand.’
‘No, it’ll be fine,’ he almost groaned.
‘Mind you don’t hurt yourself,’ she said.
He managed to turn the table on its end. Then, face red, lifting it with his arms and pushing it with his knees and feet, he was able to get it through the first door into the porch. He paused for breath and then pushed it out onto the flag stoned patio. He was pleased. He had never been particularly good at these practical kinds of things but here, he seemed to be able to do whatever she needed doing. It was like being the man of the house. He supposed he was in a way – there seemed to be no other man here. Helen brought out a tablecloth which she shook out and floated down onto the table. Then she brought the vase with the flowers, a plateful of scones, little pots of butter, jam and Cornish clotted cream.
‘What I’ve done is a bit of a mish-mash really. I made scones because I asked you to tea. But then I realised that you’ve been having your dinner in the evening. So I thought we’d have omelettes and salad and I bought a cake for afters.’
‘It sounds lovely,’ he said.
He felt overwhelmed with happiness to be in her company. She made tea and they sat at the table and drank and ate. She had long fingers and she wasn’t wearing any rings. She asked him what he’d been up to since she’d seen him last. He told her about some of the guests at Mrs Middleton’s, about George conducting the ‘ensemble’ every evening. She smiled at some of Lewis’ descriptions. Then he thought that since she had asked him questions and been interested in him, he should do the same.
‘So where did you live before you came here?’
‘Shropshire.’
‘When did you come?’
‘About a month ago. I’ve been here since the beginning of June.’
‘Are you married?’
He had asked the question lightly. He hadn’t expected it to have the effect that it did. The light seemed to go out of her eyes. They became far away and glazed over. The question seemed to have flustered her in some way.
‘I am.’
She hesitated.
‘Yes, I am. Yes, I am married. My husband’s in the Army – in France. Now, I’d better go and see about those omelettes. You stay here. I shan’t be long.’
She disappeared into the kitchen. He didn’t know what he had said wrong but he had clearly said something. Better to deal with it now, he thought. He got up and went inside. She was standing at the range with her back to him. He thought she looked frail and deflated. She glanced over her shoulder when she heard him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry – to upset you. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘Oh, don’t mind me, Lewis. I’m just having a bad day. But there’s no need to apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked uncertainly.
She turned completely to face him. She was wearing an apron over her skirt and had opened an extra button on her blouse. The skin beneath her throat was brown against the white fabric.
‘Absolutely,’ she nodded. Don’t give it another thought. Now let’s see to those eggs.’
She went to the range and poured half the beaten eggs from the bowl into the frying pan where it sizzled on the butter.
‘The first night I stayed here,’ she said. ‘I arrived in the evening. Mr Paige, who owns the cottage, had left a little food for me. Just the basics, tea, milk, sugar, bread, butter, cheese, eggs. I made a cheese omelette – just like these. Have you ever noticed how cold cheese is just a snack, but cook it, heat it and it’s a feast? That’s what it was for me that night.’
He thought of her arriving here alone. That must have been difficult. Was she lonely here all by herself? Was that why she had been having such a bad day today?
‘Now you take that out and eat it while it’s hot,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there in two minutes.’
He waited until she joined him. The omelette was light and slightly runny, just the way he liked it.
‘At home,’ he said. ‘Since I was a kid, we’ve had a succession of housekeepers. They cleaned the house, did the washing and the cooking, that sort of thing.’
‘And were they good cooks?’
Lewis laughed aloud.
‘They were all terrible cooks. The second one – she wasn’t so bad and she was only a couple of years older than me. I thought she was nice, but after she left my dad told me that she had been stealing things. Anyway, after that, I asked Dad if he could find a good cook this time. He said he would. And so, a few weeks later, this woman arrived. Her name was Lil. I think she must have been in her sixties. Dad said she had been cooking in a convent for nuns. So I thought well, nuns must be fairly choosy. She must be a good cook.’
‘And she was?’
‘Terrible.’
Helen laughed.
‘Really, really terrible. By far the worst. I came home from school the first day,’ Lewis continued. ‘She put a plate with meat and potatoes and peas in front of me. I tucked in – I was starving. Except then I noticed that the peas had black marks on them. They were burnt. How do you burn peas? I mean, is that actually possible?’
Helen laughed.
‘And the potatoes?’
‘They were sort of floury on the outside and looked really nice. But biting into them you found that the insides were hard as golf balls.’
‘The meat?’ said Helen hopefully.
Lewis shook his head.
‘Oh, dear.’
‘She asked me if I’d like some “brown gravy”, she called it. I thought anything to soften the rest of it. So she poured the gravy over everything. Of course, the gravy had been burned too and the meat was hard as the sole of my boot.’
‘Did she ever improve?’ asked Helen.
‘No,’ said Lewis, shaking his head and putting a mournful look on his face.
‘Poor Lewis,’ she said. ‘You’re very funny, Lewis. Funny ha-ha, I mean. You’ve got a good sense of humour. You’ve got a funny way of looking at the world.’
He had never thought of it before. Dad had a good sense of humour and Lewis thought he might have inherited it a bit, but it had never seemed to him that anybody else had noticed. He would never feel shy again, he thought.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I wish you had been our housekeeper.’
He wanted to say, ‘I wish you’d been my Mum’, but he felt there would be some kind of betrayal in it.
‘Mmm, I think we should have had a lot of fun together. If I’d been your housekeeper, I mean. I think we’ll have a bit of a rest before the cake.’
Lewis had never had such a wonderful evening. He had thought at first that it would be like going to tea at an auntie’s house. But as
it turned out, it was more like visiting a friend. He didn’t want it to end, but when they both began to yawn, Helen laughed and said, ‘I think it’s time for us to call it a day.’ Lewis jumped up.
‘I hope I haven’t kept you too late – I didn’t mean to.’
‘No. Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a lovely evening. I hope you enjoyed yourself and didn’t mind spending time with an old woman like me.’
‘You’re not old,’ he said. He wanted to say ‘you’re beautiful’, but couldn’t summon up the courage to do so. And he was suddenly anxious that he would never get to do anything like this again. ‘Are you going to the beach tomorrow?’ he asked, hopefully.
She thought. Lewis wondered if she could hear his heart pounding with anxiety as he waited for her answer.
‘I hadn’t decided – but if the weather’s fine, why not?’
‘Readymoney?’ he asked. ‘Or would you like to try one of the other ones?’
‘You choose,’ she said, and he thought that, for a moment, she looked and sounded like a girl. The suggestion that he would decide for the pair of them suddenly seemed to bring them closer together.
‘Pridmouth,’ he said. ‘It’s the next one along the coast.’
‘Would we need to go by bike? Do you have one?’
‘No, but it’s not much of a walk. We could easily do it,’ he said, hoping he wasn’t sounding too presumptuous.
‘Why don’t you call for me when you’re coming past in the morning? I’ll make a picnic.’
‘Oh,’ said Lewis suddenly.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I just realised – tomorrow’s Sunday. Don’t you – er, did you want to go to church?’
She thought about it for a moment.
‘No, I don’t think so. If the weather’s nice and we’re out enjoying creation, I’m sure that’ll be as good as any dry old sermon from a vicar. Don’t you think?’
He did.
With this agreed, they headed for the back door. She opened it, and they stepped out onto the little patio. There were stars overhead. They could see and hear the sea. The air smelt of foliage and salt and the heat of the day.
‘Thank you again,’ he said, as he stood facing her.
‘You’re more than welcome, my love. I enjoyed it. It was a lovely evening.’
She touched one of his cheeks gently with the palm of her hand and leaning forward kissed him on the other.
‘Good night,’ she said.
Then she stood with arms folded at the back door, until he had disappeared around the corner of the house. He went out through the gate and down the dusty laneway that was the way back to Fowey. She had called him ‘my love’. But then aunties often called him ‘my love’. He walked home in another blur of happiness. He could hardly believe the night he had spent and that she was in his life. He realised that he still knew very little about her. In fact, it was funny that she had talked so much yet revealed so little about herself. But there would be plenty of time.
The sky overhead was full of stars and he stopped several times to gaze up at them. He tried to remember her fragrance but it was gone. But he could see her face now and that was the last thing he pictured later before he slid away to sleep.
17
After lunch on Christmas Eve Dad took Lewis to the station to catch an Underground train into London to see the lights and the shops. It was the first Christmas after they had moved house. It was very cold and Lewis wore a scarf around his neck and the lower parts of his ears. The train was crowded and stifling after the chill of the platform. Dad found them seats and Lewis studied the flushed faces in the compartment as the train rocked its way into the city.
It was already dusk when they came up the steps from the Underground station. The yellow globes of the gaslights glowed and illuminated shop windows spilled brightness out onto the pavements. Through the windows Lewis could see people standing at counters paying money or talking with shop assistants. On the pavements there was a great bustle of shoppers hurrying past carrying boxes or with armfuls of things. In one or two windows he saw men working at desks with pens and large books. A man on crutches stood in the gutter selling matchboxes. Carriages and other vehicles bowled by in the roadway. They went into a jeweller’s where Dad asked to see some necklaces.
‘If sir could give me a rough idea as to price,’ said a weary looking man who did his best to smile.
Dad told him and the weariness suddenly became animated interest. The decision quickly came down to one or two circlets of gold and Dad seemed unable to decide. He asked if he could see both necklaces on a girl with black hair who worked in the shop.
‘This lady is going to try on each one,’ Dad said. ‘And whichever one looks prettiest, we’ll take for Mummy.’
The girl smiled at Lewis, and with each one she leant her head back slightly pushing her neck and her chest forward a little so that both Dad and Lewis could see the effect.
‘What do you think, Lewis?’
‘She’s not as pretty as Mummy,’ said Lewis.
‘Lewis!’ said Dad in mock outrage, enjoying the girl’s reaction.
‘I’m sure I’m not,’ she said, laughing good naturedly.
‘I think we’ll take this one,’ said Dad indicating the wider of the two. ‘And thank you for your help, Miss, even if some of us appreciated it more than others.’
Lewis saw Dad wink at her.
After the jeweller’s they went into a pub. Dad seemed to know a lot of people there. They stayed for several hours. Lewis was afraid that they’d be late putting up the Christmas tree and the Christmas decorations and that then Santa Claus won’t come. He kept asking Dad when they were going to leave so that Dad became annoyed. Each time it looked like Dad had finished his drink, a new one arrived.
Finally, they went back out into the street where the strains of carol singers singing ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ could be heard. The air smelt sooty and felt thick in his nose and throat. It seemed incredibly late to Lewis. They hurried to the Underground station and caught the train.
‘Wake up, Lewis. We’re here.’
Lewis woke to see people whizzing by on the station platform. They gradually slowed to a halt. Lewis rubbed his eyes.
‘Is it still Christmas?’ he asked drowsily.
‘Of course it’s still Christmas,’ said Dad. We’ll have some tea and then it’ll be up with that tree and those decorations faster than you can say Jack Robinson. Then we’ll have to get you to bed early before Santa comes.’
There was still a lot of traffic on the street as they approached home. The gas lamps on the far side shone like blocks of golden ice. They met several of the neighbours and compliments of the season were exchanged. The wrought iron garden gate squealed open and Lewis saw excitedly that there was a wreath of holly and laurel on the door. As they walked up the path, the door opened. It was Mum – she must have heard them. She wore an apron and stood there in the yellow light. She was smiling and Lewis was delighted to see her looking so happy.
She had transformed the house. The hallstand and banisters and parquet floor gleamed from the recent polishing. Brightly coloured paper chains crossed from the four corners to meet in the centre of the ceiling of the living room. Sprigs of shiny holly rested on all of the pictures on the walls. The tree was up though only partially decorated.
‘I hope you’ve left some for us to do,’ said Dad.
‘Yes, I didn’t get a chance to finish the tree, so you two can do that while I get tea ready.‘
A fire blazed in the hearth, fire irons shone and the table and sideboard reflected back a warm woody glow. The Christmas tree stood in the bay window. Paper decorations and tinsel and brightly coloured balls lay tumbled out of a box on its side beside the tree. Magic had invaded the house and Lewis thought his heart would burst with joy. When Mum came in to call them for tea, she complimented them on the tree. While Lewis draped the last piece of tinsel over the lower branches, she and Dad hugged.
The kitchen window was thick with condensation. Wire trays of sausage rolls and mince pies lay on the table. For tea they had sausages, bacon and eggs. The bacon tasted salty and smoky and juicy. The eggs had been fried in the meat juices. There was one further job to be done before Lewis went to bed. That was to leave a plate of sausage rolls and mince pies on the dining room table along with a bottle of lemonade and some carrots. The carrots were for the reindeers, the rest was for Santa Claus. Dad had suggested a bottle of beer but no, Lewis didn’t want Santa getting drunk and losing his way.
It was like no other night, Lewis thought, as he lay in bed wide awake. The rest of the year the world just got along with its business, but at Christmas Santa Claus came and visited every house in the world. Tonight he would be here in 4 Shalimar Terrace. How did it work? Did the night get stretched so that Santa had time to visit each house and spend some time there? What time would he come here? Where was he now? Faintly, downstairs, Lewis could hear the sound of Mum in the kitchen. Baking trays and crockery were clanging and knocking in the kitchen sink. Mum and Dad had better come to bed soon. Otherwise, if they were downstairs, maybe Santa wouldn’t come at all.
Dad had hung stockings on the mantelpiece over the fire, but Lewis had hung another one on the end of his bed, just to give Santa a choice. It was dark in the room. Lewis jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtains a fraction. This would give some light by which he could see Santa if he came into the room. Lewis lay in bed trying to fight off sleep. Several times his lids drooped heavily and he shook his head to restore a wakefulness which only seemed to last for a few moments. He looked continually at the end of the bed, and once or twice he thought he saw movement there but it was nothing.
Lewis was awake early the next morning. Despite his best efforts he had fallen asleep, but no matter. It was Christmas Day. He ran across the landing into his parent’s room. Dad took a while to wake up but eventually, he said, ‘Right-ho, I’d better go down and make sure Santa’s gone.’
He went downstairs while Lewis and Mum in their dressing gowns waited at the top of the stairs. They heard the rattle of the door handle and then the door opening. .
Starlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 1) Page 9