‘This is what I’m going to miss,’ Tommy said as he put his arm around Polly’s shoulders and pulled her close. ‘Just lying here with you, in this bed, warm as toast, feeling your skin next to mine.’
Polly put her arm across his chest, pulling herself closer still so she could rest her head on her lover’s chest.
‘Me too,’ she said simply, tracing the raised scar that ran down the middle of his torso.
‘I keep wanting to say things,’ she said, ‘and then stopping myself.’
‘Say them.’ Tommy kissed the top of her head. ‘You can say anything to me, you know that.’
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but they’re stupid things like, “You will take care, won’t you?” It’s pointless to say that because I know you’ll be careful, as careful as you can be.’
Polly looked up and Tommy kissed her.
‘You know that I will be careful.’ He moved a little so that he could see her properly. Look into her eyes. ‘You know I don’t have a death wish, don’t you?’
Polly felt herself colour.
‘I know. I know,’ she said. ‘I should never have said that.’
‘If anything were to happen to me out there – which it won’t – but if it did, it won’t be because I have some strange inherent desire to end it all.’ He paused. ‘Like my mam.’
Polly nodded.
Tommy shuffled round so that he was now lying on his side, facing Polly.
‘But while we’re on the subject, I need to know that if anything were to happen to me, then you will carry on living?’
Polly knew what he was saying. It was far more likely that, if he didn’t come back, she would be the one who might be tempted to follow in his mam’s footsteps.
‘I will,’ she said. ‘I won’t do anything stupid.’
‘And that you won’t spend the rest of your life in mourning? That you’ll make the most of your life?’
Polly nodded.
‘It’s just,’ Tommy looked serious, ‘if there’s one thing this war has taught me, it’s that life is precious.’
‘I know,’ Polly said. ‘And I promise you, I’ll treasure it, regardless of what happens.’
Tommy kissed Polly.
He knew she meant what she’d said.
‘Now,’ he said, looking over to the clock on the bedside cabinet and seeing it was already eight, ‘we’ve got a wedding to sort.’
‘A cup of tea first, though,’ Polly said.
‘Definitely a cup of tea,’ Tommy agreed as they both snuggled back under the covers.
‘Where yer off to?’ Pearl was still in her salmon-coloured polyester dressing gown but had put her thick winter coat on top to brave the cold and have her morning fag in the backyard.
‘Church,’ Bel said, looking around for her bag and boxed-up gas mask. ‘Are you all right looking after Lucille this morning? Beryl’s gone into town Christmas shopping with Agnes.’
Pearl nodded as she went over to her granddaughter and ruffled her hair. Lucille didn’t look up as she was engrossed in drawing a picture of Santa Claus. The kitchen table was strewn with cut-up cereal packets and crayons.
‘Why yer gannin to church? Yer’ve not got God, have yer?’ Pearl laughed, then started coughing.
‘No, Ma.’ Bel rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I’m meeting Helen there to sort out the flowers for the wedding. You know, the one tomorrow?’
Ignoring her daughter’s sarcasm, Pearl narrowed her eyes.
‘So, it’s “Helen” now, is it? You two getting pally with each other?’
The mother–daughter banter had been dropped.
Bel ignored her mother’s question, instead going over to Lucille and giving her a quick kiss on the forehead.
‘You be good for your nana now,’ she instructed. Lucille nodded quickly before hunching herself back over her masterpiece.
‘Just be careful, Isabelle.’ Pearl followed Bel out into the hallway. ‘That family’s no good. There’s bad blood runs in their veins.’
Bel turned and glared at her ma.
‘Does that include me as well?’ she said, before slamming the door behind her.
Five minutes later Bel had arrived at St Ignatius. It had only been a short walk along Tatham Street and then Suffolk Street, but long enough for Bel to push her ma’s words of warning firmly out of the way.
This was not the time for doom and gloom; it was Christmas and there was a wedding to organise.
Bel smiled as she looked around the normally grey urban surroundings. Everything was starting to glitter with the frost and ice that had appeared overnight. The trees that normally looked eerie and skeletal had been transformed by what looked like a light sprinkling of icing sugar.
‘Hi, Bel!’ Helen waved as she strode out of the church’s side entrance.
A young lad in a light brown overall coat was tailing her.
‘The church looks amazing,’ she beamed. ‘Even if I say so myself.’
Sensing the young lad behind her, she swung round.
‘Be gone! Your work here is done!’
The boy looked disappointed and turned to make his way back to the little blue van that Bel had just noticed was parked on the corner with its rear doors open. There was a trail of what looked like green fir leading from the van to the church entrance.
‘Oh, blast! Wait there!’ she shouted to the boy’s back.
Helen hurried into the church, returning seconds later with her purse. She took out a note and pushed it into the boy’s hand.
His face lit up.
‘Thank you, ma’am. Thank you.’ He tipped his oversized tweed flat cap at Helen.
‘Tell Beatrice she’s done a wonderful job,’ Helen said, ignoring the boy’s words of gratitude. ‘And that I can rest assured the bridal bouquet will be delivered as arranged?’
The boy nodded vigorously before shutting the rear doors and climbing into the driver’s seat. Bel was surprised he could see over the wheel, never mind drive the thing.
‘Come on,’ Helen beckoned to Bel. ‘Come and see!’
Bel could hear the same excitement in Helen’s voice that she herself felt about Polly’s wedding.
Walking through the thick wooden doors and into the dusky interior of St Ignatius Church, it took Bel’s eyes a few seconds to adapt to the change in light.
When they did, she took a sharp intake of breath.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Bel stood rooted to the spot, staring.
There, on either side of the altar, were two magnificent floral displays made up of ivory roses and cream-coloured freesias, a few sprigs of holly and a scattering of mistletoe.
But what had taken Bel’s breath away – and was something she had not expected – was the sight of the most perfect, luscious Christmas tree she had ever seen.
And it had been beautifully and very tastefully decorated with a smattering of silver baubles. Strips of glittering tinsel had been hung from its branches like sparkling icicles and a large silver star had been placed on the top.
‘This is amazing,’ Bel said. ‘I really am stuck for words.’
Helen looked at Bel, then back at the two magnificent floral displays and the picture-perfect Christmas tree. Her mother was going to go mad when she realised what she’d done.
‘I’m rather pleased, even if I say so myself,’ Helen said, starting to walk down the aisle.
‘How on earth did you manage to get all those flowers? You must have raided every florist in town?’ Bel said.
‘Not far off,’ Helen laughed. ‘But when you’ve got money – and when people realise that you’re Mr Havelock’s granddaughter – then just about anything’s possible.’
Bel picked up the slightest hint of bitterness.
‘Anyway,’ she turned to Bel, ‘I best go and tell the vicar the wedding flowers are all in place – and break it to him that I’ve also added a Christmas tree to the display.’
Helen chuckled.
‘Do you think he’ll mind?’ Bel asked, genuinely concerned. She had been amazed he had agreed to have the wedding on Christmas Day in the first place, never mind now having a fir tree within spitting distance of the altar.
‘Well,’ Helen said, dropping her voice, concerned that the church’s acoustics might make her voice travel, ‘he should be cock-a-hoop his parishioners will have something interesting to look at during midnight Mass rather than his ugly mug. Although I’ll bet my boots he has a good moan about it belittling the true meaning of Christmas – before mentioning the fact they need donations for the repair of the roof.’
Helen turned and went to fetch her handbag and gas mask from a pew.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘And good luck with everything. Polly’s lucky to have you.’
Helen let out a guttural laugh.
‘If I ever get married, I’ll be sure to ask you to organise it all.’
Bel watched as Helen sashayed down the aisle.
Something told Bel that Helen had no expectations of getting married.
Or perhaps no desire to.
As Bel hurried back home, she felt so excited.
Was it because it was Christmas?
Was it because she was well on her way to making Polly’s wedding the best ever?
Or was it because she was getting to know her ‘other’ family?
Her ma was wrong.
Mr Havelock might have bad blood coursing through his entire body, but that wasn’t to say it had infected the rest of the family.