By the end of the autumn term Molly was completely exhausted. She had made cinnamon biscuits with her class and helped all of them to decorate the festive photo frames that were to be given to their relatives; she had dressed up as the smallest bear in the school Christmas production and had made everyone laugh by sitting on a collapsing chair; she had presented each child with a photo of themselves and written a special message on the back. She even found something kind to say about Grace Bennett who was a sullen girl who had never knowingly participated in any learning exercise but who had gloriously groomed hair.
‘Happy Christmas Grace,’ Molly had written on the back of her photograph. ‘I have really enjoyed your hair accessories this term. You can do my hair any time you want.’
Molly was slightly late picking Max up, but when she arrived he was happily sitting on the floor playing with the childminder’s youngest daughter Rosi. Kate Jefferies, who lived down the road in Parson’s Bridge with her husband and two children, had become something of a lifeline for Molly. Not only was she an excellent childminder with seemingly limitless patience and a sure comic timing that children responded to, but the fact that she was genuinely interested in people meant that she not only knew what questions to ask, but more importantly, knew how to listen to the answers. She also thought nothing of having to keep Max longer than had been agreed if Molly got caught up in meetings at the school. Max had lined up all Rosi’s soft toys and was making each of them dance in the hope that he would elicit one of the fruity chuckles she was famous for.
‘He’s been no trouble, as always,’ said Kate, who was wearing a Father Christmas hat and a large net skirt trimmed with stars. ‘We’ve been dressing up,’ she explained unnecessarily.
‘Have you time for a cup of tea?’ Kate often had the sense that Molly was unhappy, but didn’t feel she knew her well enough to find out why. There had been times when it seemed to the other woman that Molly had been close to confiding in her, but then at the last minute, almost as if she was catching herself on the edge of doing something wrong, she would change the subject. Kate didn’t know exactly what had happened between Molly and Rupert but she had her suspicions, which she kept firmly to herself and her kind, bony, husband Dave, who ran a hardware shop in Ely.
‘She turns really strange when you mention her husband, she said, easing her soft curves around his hard edges on their divan bed. ‘I have a feeling he has done something really badly wrong.’ and her husband, who wasn’t one for talking in bed, said she was probably right, because she almost always was.
‘Thanks, but I’ve got a million things to do at home,’ Molly said, gathering up toys and clothes and trying to locate Max’s shoes in the chaotic front room. Kate took Molly aside and said in a quiet voice, ‘I’m absolutely sure that it’s nothing to worry about and it’s practically standard in only children of Max’s age to have imaginary friends, but he has been talking about that other little boy again. He hadn’t for ages, so I thought the phase had passed, but this morning we were making flapjacks and out of nowhere he asked if he could make an extra one for his friend.’
‘Yes, he’s been doing quite a lot of that at home too,’ said Molly. ‘I’m quite worried about it actually. And it’s not just the talking … It sounds really odd but the other day I had the strangest feeling that he was looking at something. Something that wasn’t there I mean.’
‘He’s a child with a very powerful imagination,’ said Kate. ‘I think it’s quite common for children to enter into elaborate fantasy worlds, but sometimes they react to a loss by creating companions. Could it be that Max is missing his father?’ asked Kate tentatively, not wishing to pry. Before Molly had the opportunity to answer, the subject of their discussion emerged from the kitchen with a Tupperware box. With a smile of thanks directed at Kate, Molly ushered him out to the car and as always, Max waved enthusiastically at Kate who stood on her doorstep until their car was out of sight, despite the chill in the air.
As Molly and Max came through the front door, the phone was ringing. Max ran to answer it. He had become very fond of saying, ‘Max Reardon here. How may I help you?’ in his most officious voice. Max held the receiver to his ear, looking increasingly puzzled.
‘Who is it, darling?’ Molly asked, hanging up their coats.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Max. ‘I think it might have been Daddy.’
‘What was he saying?’ asked Molly.
‘He wasn’t saying anything,’ said Max, ‘but I know it was Daddy, because of that little noise he makes when he breathes through his nose.’ When Molly took the phone from her son all she could hear was the ringing tone.
Four days before Christmas Molly took Max into Ely to do some shopping and show him the Christmas tree in the cathedral. Famously huge, it scraped the ceiling of the building and was decorated with white stars and candles woven out of straw. Underneath, a nativity with life-sized sheep and a life-sized baby with a frozen smile were in their allotted places. The temperature had taken another dip. The massive heaters in the corners of the cathedral were producing heat that felt substantial when you were standing right next to them, but which quickly became redundant as you moved across chilly stone. Molly looked upwards at the jewel-coloured octagon and felt the same vertiginous, slightly sick sensation that the height always produced. The building was almost empty, except for some children who were practising carols for the evening. An all-girl choir, they were lined up in white shirts and tiny, irreverent skirts and they were singing ‘Once in Royal David’s City’ as if their lives depended on it.
Max was very interested in the statue of Mary that stood in the Lady Chapel. Dressed in a bright blue dress, she stood with her arms stretched up and her head bowed. She seemed out of place next to the worn stone of the floor and walls, and the unadorned windows.
‘Has she lost Baby Jesus?’ asked Max. ‘Is that why she’s begging?’
‘I don’t think so, darling,’ said Molly. ‘She hasn’t had baby Jesus yet. She’s showing how happy she is that she is going to be a mum.’ In the emptiness of the chapel she again had that sensation of being un-anchored, set loose in a risky way and she touched a wall in an attempt to root herself. She remembered the feeling she had often had as a child, of things moving fast, freewheeling downhill. She had felt this most often at bedtime and the only thing that would make it go away was to come downstairs and sit for a while squashed safely between her mother and father on the sofa.
Molly and Max wandered back into the main part of the cathedral. She helped him to light a candle by the statue of St Etheldreda, otherwise known as Audrey, Fenland Queen, Abbess of the Cathedral and part of a long line of formidable female saints that had been venerated since the tenth century. She placed the candle on the spike next to the others and watched the flame flicker, almost go out, and then recover. Molly didn’t go to church and therefore felt she didn’t have the right to a proper prayer but nevertheless she closed her eyes, and hoped the peace of the cathedral and some of Audrey’s strength would transmit itself to her.
As they wandered back along the nave towards the entrance, Max noticed a group of people kneeling on the floor rubbing at pieces of paper taped to brass plates and pulled at Molly’s hand, eager to join in. Molly was glad of something that would occupy them until teatime and got tape and paper and two fat gold wax crayons from the shop. Max chose a brass of St George and the Dragon, liking the curve of the dragon’s tail and the stretch of its nostrils. Molly chose one of a lady with a wide forehead and patterned cloak and elegant pointed feet. At first it seemed as if nothing would come of their seemingly aimless scratchings across the black paper, but the shape of armour and lance soon began to emerge and then as they persisted, details like the patterns in the fabric lay burnished under their fingers.
‘It’s like magic,’ Max said, his face shining. He sat back on his heels and held the finished product up for Molly to inspect.
‘It’s almost as magic as you are,’ she said, and carefully rolled it up and secured it with a rubber band.