The Black Mountains (24 page)

“Well, I've finished my shopping, Ted,” she said with a briskness that disguised her true feelings. But he seemed almost unaware of her.

“You go on home, Mam. Leave your bag with me, and I'll catch you up.”

She hesitated, not knowing why she felt so uncomfortable. Ted was growing up, and she might as well accept it. Then she sighed.

“All right,” she said. “ But don't be too long, will you?”

WHEN SHE had gone, Ted quickly recovered his usual irrepressible confidence and smiled at the girl.

She looked different in daylight, still serious but no longer frightened. Her eyes were hazel and dark-fringed in her heart-shaped face, her mouth delicate and childish. But there was a hint of determination in the tilt of her chin, and he found himself remembering the way she'd flown at him for his rudeness the night he'd seen her home.

Beneath his gaze, her flush deepened. “ I must go. I've got a lot of shopping to do.”

“Don't be in such a hurry,” he urged her. “ You're always running away from me.”

She bit her lip. “Am I? My father doesn't like me out on my own. And if he thought I was talking to a boy …” Her voice tailed away and the frightened look returned.

“You won't come to any harm with me,” Ted said. But he could see she was about to go, and he didn't want her to. “Would he let you come out with me if I asked his permission?” he went on.

“No!” Her voice was sharp, and he stared at her in bewilderment. “It wouldn't be a very good idea,” she added lamely.

Automatically he shrugged. She was turning him down, and he wouldn't ask twice, however much he wanted to. But as if she knew what he was thinking, she said, all of a rush, “If I went out with you, he wouldn't have to know.”

“Wouldn't he? Oh, all right then,” Ted said casually. It seemed funny, but the morals of it didn't matter much to him. All he wanted was to see her again, with or without her father's consent. “When could you get out?”

Uncertainty flickered across her face.

“I don't know …”

“Boxing Day?”

“Oh, I don't think so.”

“Monday, then.”

“Say Tuesday. Wait for me here. Then if I can't get out it won't matter so much.”

“But you will try?”

“Yes, I'll try. Now you'd better go. Your mother will have got a long way ahead.”

“How did you know she was my mother?”

“I didn't know until you called her “Mam.” But she's nice, isn't she? Straight, somehow. You must always know where you are with her,” she said wistfully.

He nodded. “You're right there. So I'll see you on Tuesday—here. At about half past seven.”

“If I can. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas.”

He set off up the hill in pursuit of Charlotte, whistling again, and wondering why he suddenly felt on top of the world. She was only a girl, after all. He'd had girls before. He could think of a dozen who were prettier than she was, and most of them wouldn't have this habit of running away from him, let alone a frightening father-figure at home. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. He was going to see her again. And he was glad.

CHARLOTTE awoke early on Christmas morning, because she had so much on her mind, she supposed. Certainly it was not through a surfeit of sleep! By the time all the preparations had been finished the night before and Amy and Harry sleeping soundly enough to enable her to creep in and fill their stockings it had been nearly midnight. But now here she was wide awake before six, thinking of all the things she had to do. And as if that wasn't enough, she couldn't get the image of Ted's face looking at that strange girl out of her mind.

“He's really taken with her,” she had said to James when she had got home. “ I hope she won't let him down.”

But James had only smiled. “ You worry too much. Our Ted can look after himself as well as any of them—better, if you ask me.”

Charlotte had said nothing, but privately she wondered whether Ted's carefree attitude in fact made him more vulnerable than the others.

It's like Nipper all over again, she thought now, lying awake in the frosty darkness. Look what he was like that time the dog was lost! And that's nothing to the way he'll be when it comes to a girl he cares about.

A board creaked, bringing her back to awareness, and the bedroom door opened a fraction.

“Mammy, are you awake?” Harry asked in a loud excited whisper.

Charlotte smiled to herself. That was the end of any hope of going back to sleep. “Yes, Harry, you can come in,” she whispered back.

James grunted and grumbled at being disturbed, but he moved over to make room for Harry and Amy, who came in too as soon as she heard voices, and the children began turning out their stockings on to the counterpane. Amy was too old, really, to be still having a stocking, let alone coming into their bed to open it, but she still enjoyed it and Charlotte was happy for her to remain a child as long as possible.

The stocking ritual over, it was time to get up—for Charlotte at any rate. Although she had singed the cockerel the night before and peeled the potatoes, there was still a great deal to be done if dinner was not to be delayed until half-way through the afternoon.

When breakfast was finished they started getting ready for chapel, the boys grumbling all the while, but for once it was James who was insistent.

“It's only about the once a year we go all together,” he told them. “That pleases your mother. It's like a Christmas present for her, and she doesn't get many of those.”

The boys began laughing and nudging one another.

“What's the matter with you all?” Charlotte asked in exasperation.

“Shall we give it to her now, or keep it for after?” Jack asked the others.

“Give me what?”

“If we give it to her now p'raps she'll let us off going to chapel,” Ted suggested.

“I shall not!” she told them roundly. “What are you on about anyway?”

Amid more laughter they brought out a bulky parcel and gave it to her.

“Happy Christmas, Mam. From all of us.”

Still pretending to be impatient, she pulled at the paper and they watched her, smiling in anticipation. She tore it away, exposing crimson flannel, and her expression changed to surprise and delight.

“It isn't … oh, boys, you shouldn't have!”

She shook it free of the paper and held it up, a crimson dressing-gown, creased from being folded but so obviously smart and warm.

“That's right, isn't it? That's what you wanted?” they asked.

“Always,” she said, a little tremble in her voice. “I've always wanted one. But how did you …”

“That's our business,” they scolded her. But they were delighted by her pleasure.

After chapel there was the usual rush to get the dinner on the table, and Charlotte was glad Dolly had been able to come home for the day to help her. Jim and Sarah arrived, too, with Alex. They had planned to have dinner with the Brimbles and tea with the Halls, but now they knew Fred was off to the war as soon as the festivities were over, they had changed their plans.

“I hope you're all good and hungry!” Charlotte remarked, coming in with the cockerel, resting majestically on its bed of sausages and roast parsnips.

Noisily they agreed that they were, and while James carved they struck up a chorus of We Wish You a Merry Christmas and For She's a Jolly Good Fellow.

Christmas dinner was always the highlight of the day, and when their plates were full the singing and joking stopped and they all tucked in to their food. Cockerel was a treat—there wouldn't be another one until next year—so they made the most of every mouthful, and the silence lasted until their plates were empty again. Then they sat, stretching their full bellies, while the plates were cleared and Charlotte carried in the pudding, surrounded by mince pies and topped with a sprig of holly.

“Now just go careful!” she warned them. “This is the first year I've put in sixpences since your father broke a tooth on one when we were first married.”

“I've found one! I've found one!” squeaked Harry, and the boys smiled at his excitement. They knew what he did not—that later on Ted was going to dress up in a Father Christmas outfit he had borrowed from Horace Parfitt.

When no one could eat another mouthful the men sat back by the roaring fire while the women cleared away. James fell asleep in his chair and Alex in Harry's old cradle.

“The oldest and the youngest!” laughed Charlotte.

The afternoon slipped by in a pleasant aura of well-being. The Brimbles came along to join them, and everyone enjoyed Ted's Father Christmas act, although it was difficult to stop Harry from recognizing his brother. “Look, Harry, see what he's got in his sack!” Amy pleaded when Harry became too interested in Ted's false beard, and Ted managed to push it back into place again, and make a hasty exit, waving and ringing his big school bell.

“Christmas is nothing but one long feed,” Dolly said as she helped Charlotte cut sandwiches for tea and put the finishing touches to the Christmas cake. “ We shall all be too full to move.”

Charlotte agreed. She was tired but glowing from the goodwill and the comfort that came from having her family all around her. But when tea was over and they had sung yet another chorus of We Wish You a Merry Christmas, Sarah said it was time to be getting Alex home and Charlotte felt the first chill of apprehension whisper over her skin.

“Stay a bit longer,” she begged them, but Sarah remained firm.

“There's always next year,” she said.

Charlotte turned away quickly.

As Jim and Sarah were leaving, Colwyn Yelling and the two Brixey boys arrived. They had heard the news about Fred volunteering, and they had come to pull his leg about it.

“We're looking for a soldier,” they joked. “Name of Hall—Fred Hall.”

“You'd better come in then, hadn't you?” Charlotte said tartly, but her feeling of discomfort was growing. The day that was to be so special was slipping away from her and the Lord only knew what would happen before they had the opportunity to be all together again.

The boys were teasing Fred, and it made the sick dread in Charlotte all the sharper. “Let's forget about the war—this is Christmas!”

she said when she could stand it no longer. “I've got a nice fire in the front room, and we could sing some carols round the piano.”

They agreed, but she felt they were only humouring her. As soon as her repertoire of carols ran out, the boys began singing marching songs.

“Come on, lads, I'll drill you!” Colwyn offered. He seemed to have forgotten his fears about going back to France for the moment, and was enjoying being the only serving soldier among them.

They lined up, using the long-handled broom and the brass fire-irons for rifles, while Colwyn bellowed orders at them. Everyone, even Dolly, who was making eyes at Colwyn, laughed and thought it a great joke. But not Charlotte. She sat on the piano stool watching them, and feeling as if the world were crumbling around her. How could they joke and laugh about it? Didn't they realize how deadly earnest it was? Colwyn at least should know better. And where would they be next year? Still laughing and playing the fool? Or would they be …

She stood up abruptly, cutting off her thoughts. “ Supper time lads!” she called to them. To her relief they stopped their drilling and followed her. But for Charlotte the warmth and safety of her Christmas had gone, and as she carved thick slices of ham, desperately preserving the air of jollity, she could not help wondering if it would ever be the same.

Christmas day in the Church household was a family occasion too, but it was very different from the Halls' Christmas.

Every year for as long as Rebecca could remember, it had been the same—midnight mass on Christmas Eve, matins on Christmas morning, thank-you letters to be written while Winifred cooked lunch, and the afternoon spent receiving the first of the endless round of annual visitors.

There was plenty of good food and wine—Alfred made sure of that—and there was always a Christmas tree tall enough to reach to the ceiling, which it was Rebecca's job to decorate on Christmas Eve.

It was the nicest part of Christmas, she had always thought, unwrapping the baubles and the tinsel from their tissue paper and hanging them one by one on the branches until they sparkled like something from a fairy tale. But this year her hands trembled as she eased the tiny bells and globes from their wrappings, and she could not concentrate on what she was doing.

She had arranged to meet a boy—not just any boy, but Ted Hall, who had sung ‘Burlington Bertie' in the concert party, and walked home with her afterwards.

Each time she thought of it she began to tremble again. Deep, deep inside she trembled, her nerves knotted and rose in her throat in little spasms, her mouth became dry in anticipation.

She had arranged to meet him, and she could think of nothing else, just as she had been able to think of nothing else but the things he had said to her and the way he had made her feel when he had seen her home after the concert party. That made her tremble again, because she knew he was very special. She hadn't known many boys. The life she had led had been manipulated to prevent her doing so, but none of the ones she had met had affected her in the same way as Ted Hall. In the past she had sometimes been glad of her father's strictness, for it had prevented her from having to get to know them better. But Ted …

She wanted to see him again more than she'd ever wanted anything in her whole life. But how could she? Her father would never allow it, and what excuse could she give for going out by herself? When she had been talking to Ted, she had been determined to think of something. But now, at home, in the imprisoning atmosphere, she knew it was hopeless.