Even though the threat of war was hanging over us, we had a lovely Christmas. I always missed Daddy on Christmas morning. I missed the way that he was always up first. I missed the way he couldn’t wait for me and Brenda to wake up and come downstairs – I think he was more excited about Christmas Day than any of us. Me and Brenda still had the dolls’ house that he had made out of Uncle John’s apple box and the pieces of furniture he’d glued together from his fag packets. Christmas would never be quite the same without him.
We may have left the Catholic Church, but every Christmas since Daddy died, Brenda and I made our way there and we knelt in front of the Nativity and we lit our candles. I prayed for two doors down’s dead dog, I prayed to the Baby Jesus to take care of my daddy, and I prayed for my good friend Nelson, who might have to go to war.
We walked home in the cold morning air, calling out a merry Christmas to the people we passed. As we passed Jack’s house I remembered Nelson, on a Christmas morning long ago, cold and wet on the doorstep. He had looked so sad and alone that day that my heart had broken for him. I hadn’t known what was going to happen to him and I was so scared. It had seemed like a terrible thing to learn that he had to go and live in the home for destitute boys but it was there that he had found kindness and his life had gradually got better. I was proud of Nelson.
Mum loved her lilac scarf and gloves. She put on the gloves, wrapped the pretty scarf around her neck and waltzed around the kitchen, laughing.
‘These must have cost a fortune, girls, the label says Hannington’s.’
‘Ah,’ said Brenda, ‘you have to take into account the discount.’
‘Discount?’ said Mum.
‘It’s what they give to rich people, Mum.’
‘So why did they give it you?’
‘They didn’t,’ said Brenda, ‘they gave it to Mrs Bentley. Hannington’s don’t give discounts to poor people.’
I winked at Mum and she didn’t press Brenda any further.
‘Well, they are the most beautiful Christmas presents that I have ever had and I shall forever be indebted to Hannington’s and their very generous discount. I shall wear them the next time I go round to your Aunty Vera’s and I shall make sure that the label is in full view,’ she said, grinning mischievously.
Our house looked lovely with the sweet-smelling tree in the corner and a roaring fire in the grate. The usual decorations that were brought out year after year were strung across the ceiling and bunches of dark green and red holly decorated the mantelpiece. Daddy should have been here. There were still times when I was angry with him for leaving us; I missed him so much.
Mum had bought a big, plump chicken and Aunty Marge and Uncle John had provided the fruit and veg. Mum presented Brenda and I with a wristwatch each. We had never owned anything like it before and we were delighted. Brenda kept pestering everyone to ask her the time. I worried about how much they must have cost, but I guessed they came off the tallyman and Mum was paying for them on the never, never, along with the three-piece suite. Aunty Marge loved the tea strainer and Uncle John looked suitably shamefaced.
We pulled crackers and toasted each other with sweet red sherry. After dinner Mum, Aunty Marge and Uncle John fell asleep so Brenda went to Molly’s house and I called round to see Monica. I waited on the doorstep while she got her coat because I was scared of her dad.
We walked up onto the Downs. The wind was blowing a gale but we didn’t mind. There was something about the wildness of the Downs that we both loved. We only saw one family who were bravely battling the high winds; we said hello as we neared them.
‘This seemed like a good idea half an hour ago,’ said the man, ‘but I’m not so sure now.’
‘We needed to walk off the dinner,’ said the woman.
I smiled and wished them a happy Christmas.
We’d only gone a short distance when the heavens opened, so I grabbed Monica’s hand and headed for the only shelter I knew – the barn.
We were soaked by the time we got to the bottom of the hill. We pushed open the big wooden door and went inside.
‘You look like someone’s poured a bucket of water over your head,’ giggled Monica.
‘You don’t look so great yourself,’ I said, wiping the rain out of my eyes.
We sat down on the floor in one of the stalls and that’s when we heard the noise. A rustling, some movement.
‘There’s someone else in here,’ whispered Monica.
We stayed very quiet, then we heard it again, a definite rustling.
‘Perhaps it’s a rat,’ I said.
‘A rat!’
‘Or a bird,’ I answered quickly. ‘Probably a bird.’
‘Well, whatever it is, I’m getting out of here.’
‘Shush!’ I said. ‘Wait a minute.’
‘Why?’
‘Listen.’
We sat there in the darkness, terrified, listening to the rain belting down on the roof of the barn.
‘Perhaps it’s just the rain,’ said Monica hopefully.
Then we heard whispering. I stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ said Monica urgently.
I ignored her and walked towards the door to let in some light. The rain was coming down in torrents, blowing across the entrance of the barn and thundering down the grassy hill. It blew into my face, soaking me again.
‘Maureen,’ called Monica. ‘What are you doing?’
I saw movement in one of the stalls, then I heard a girl let out a giggle. I recognised the voice: it was Marion bloody Tucker.
Then a deeper voice. ‘Shush!’ he said.
I flung open the door and started running, with Monica behind me.
‘Maureen!’ she was shouting. ‘Wait for me.’
But I kept running. The rain was stinging my face but I kept running – I had to get away from there. Monica caught up with me and pulled at my arm. I stopped. I was struggling for breath, so was Monica.
‘What the bloody hell’s the matter?’ she gasped.
‘Didn’t you hear them?’ I screamed.
‘Hear who?’
‘That was Marion bloody Tucker in there.’
‘Was it?’
‘And she was with Jack.’
Monica looked at me as if I had three heads. ‘How do you know it was Jack?’
‘I heard his voice.’
‘For God’s sake, Maureen, whoever it was only said “shush!”. It could have been anyone.’
I started walking away from her. ‘It was Jack,’ I said quietly.
Monica slipped her hand through mine. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘There’s a tea room at the top of the hill, let’s go there and dry off.’
‘It’s Christmas Day,’ I said, ‘it’s probably closed.’
‘Let’s see,’ said Monica.
We were both cold and wet.
‘OK.’
To our surprise it was open and a few people were sitting at the tables, including the family we’d met earlier. It was hot in there – steam was rising off the coats hanging on the backs of the chairs. Everyone looked soggy and wet and miserable.
We sat down at a table overlooking the hills; we couldn’t see much because the windows were all steamed up. A waitress came across to us. She was holding a little notebook and a pencil. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked. She was a pleasant-looking girl with a wide, round face and eyes that looked permanently surprised.
Monica looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Have you got any cocoa?’ she asked the girl.
‘We’re having a run on the stuff,’ she said.
‘How come you’re open today?’ asked Monica.
‘I was working yesterday and I left my bag behind. I only popped in to get it but there were all these people standing outside, soaking wet, so I opened up. I can’t serve any hot food, but cocoa I can do.’
‘It was good of you,’ said Monica, smiling at her.
‘Well, they’re all asleep at home, snoring their bloody heads off. Quite honestly, I’d rather be here. Christmas can be a funny old time, can’t it? Everyone determined to have a nice time with people they’d rather not be with. My aunt and uncle and three cousins are there, we only ever see them at Christmas. I never got on with them but I was forced to smile at them as they shovelled food into their mouths. No, I’d much rather be here. I’m going to volunteer next year. Listen to me going on. Two cocoas, is it?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Monica.
I rubbed at the window with the sleeve of my coat. It was still pouring with rain, lashing against the glass; it looked as miserable out there as I felt. Jack had been with Marion bloody Tucker. He was there with her now in the barn, when he should be at his gran’s. The same barn where I’d made a fool of myself. I felt sick.
‘Look, Maureen,’ said Monica gently, ‘you have to tell Jack how you feel because he doesn’t know. As far as he’s concerned, you’re just friends and he isn’t doing anything wrong. You have to tell him.’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t.’
‘You have to. There might be a war and if there is, things are going to change. None of us know what’s going to happen.’
‘But what if he doesn’t feel the same way I do?’
‘Then at least you’ll know. You’ll be sad, but at least you’ll know. You can’t make someone love you, it’s not enough that you love them. I know that Norman feels a lot for me because he’s told me but that won’t make me fall in love with him. Please, Maureen, tell him how you feel. When are you seeing him again?’
‘This evening.’
‘Then tell him. Just tell him.’