Christmas day was an ordeal for Maisie and little Em. Maisie found the conversation dull and abysmally slow. She wondered how the elderly couple could make what should have been a brief comment stretch so far. She found it frustrating to sit while they ambled on, while choking back her response. A response she had been ready to impart before they were a quarter of the way through their statement. Most of their conversation was about food.
“I remember how difficult it was to get a turkey or a goose, during the war years,” the old man said on one occasion. His voice was slow and under cover of retrieving her napkin, Maisie whispered to her daughter, “If he was a gramophone I’d wind him up!”
“After all, farmers must have bred them,” Mr Jenkins went on. “But could we get one? No we could not. And how people manage without a large bird I can’t imagine. It provides all the meat one needs for the family and the staff.”
“Remember that measly piece of pork we had in nineteen forty-three?” Mrs Jenkins piped up. “Illegally bought from that Hywel Griffiths person. There was hardly enough for us, and the servants had to make do with spam.”
“No, it isn’t the same without a good large bird, is it my dear?” He turned to his wife and Maisie sighed inwardly. They’d been talking about the absence of turkeys for hours, or so it seemed. Since they had sat down to enjoy the present one, she had been told tedious tales about past successes and failures on the part of their cooks.
“This is the first turkey I’ve ever tasted,” she said into a brief lull as the old couple filled their mouths. “We considered ourselves lucky if we had a scrawny chicken.”
“Really? How very odd,” the old lady replied with obvious surprise.
One of the guests was the elderly man whom she’d previously met only briefly. She was introduced to him as Edward and Margaret’s grandfather. Maisie thought he must be about eighty. Old Mr Jenkins they called him to differentiate between himself and Edward’s father. He was quiet but not in a vague way, he seemed aware of what was happening, and politely made sure Maisie and little Em had all they needed, passing dishes for them to replenish their plates and offering little Em extra chestnuts, which she obviously enjoyed.
Food spilled down his waistcoat and fell to the floor unheeded. And to Maisie’s amusement he kept patting his pocket to make sure his pipe was still there. He was obviously wishing he could leave the table and find a quiet corner to enjoy it.
Although attempts were made to bring him into the conversation, he rarely roused from his quiet contemplation. Edward looked at the rheumy old eyes and guessed that his conversations were taking place inside his head. Was he hearing voices long gone? Christmases so different from today? Remembrances of youngsters grown to manhood, moved on from uncomplicated joy to cynicism? A cavalcade of ghosts? Somehow the old man’s private dreams spread a melancholy that no one could define but everybody felt.
It was a relief to them all when Margaret brought in the flaming pudding which was followed by coffee and a dish of mince pies. After these they could all make their excuses and leave.
“I wondered if you and Emily would like to go for a short drive?” Edward asked and after a glance at her daughter’s face Maisie declined.
“Thanks, but I really think we ought to be getting home. The fire will be out if we stay any longer, and I don’t want the bother of relighting it.” She pushed her dish towards the side as she saw the others do, and stood up. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you and sharing your meal. It was very kind of you all.”
“Thank you very much for inviting us,” little Em chanted, clearly rehearsed.
“I’ll drive you home,” Edward said.
“You aren’t forgetting you’re dealing with the dishes, are you, Edward?” warned Margaret.
“Of course not.” He stood silently as Margaret gathered her coat and scarf and set off for her walk.
“Tell you what,” Maisie said as they were handed their coats. “We’ll stay and give a hand. Eh, little Em?”
Edward seemed pleased and led them at once to the kitchen where Margaret and he had piled the dishes, rinsed and ready for washing.
Emily settled down to read a book she had found in the drawing room that was now the restaurant, and while Edward prepared afternoon tea for the guests, Maisie began on the dishes. She hadn’t realised there would be so many, having forgotten about the hotel guests who had eaten earlier, bur she tackled the task with her usual cheerfulness and was soon singing away, accompanied by the percussion of china and cutlery.
Edward stood in the doorway and watched her. His eyes were gentle, filled with admiration for her. It was strange to think of how different their lives had been. His had been one of privilege until the war had turned everything on its head and their way of life had disappeared. While Maisie’s life had been one in which every day had been a challenge; basic survival mainly, and an attempt to reach some goal, however lowly. Every day she’d had to fight to give a purpose and a reason for her existence, in spite of everything being against her.
He felt a little ashamed for inviting her to lunch, to sit there listening to his parents complaining about the difficulties of managing Christmas without a turkey. Maisie had never tasted one until today. She would have been justified in being angry at their insensitivity, reminded them of their good fortune, but no, she had simply pointed out the fact.
She had missed so much that he and his friends and family had taken for granted. He looked at her, her arms deep in soap suds, a foot tapping to the tune she was quietly humming, and he wanted to make it up to her, give her a few of the things she had missed. Would she allow him to, he wondered? He would have to tread carefully, and make sure she knew he wasn’t going to demand favours in return for any small kindnesses he would perform.
He drove them home when the kitchen was finally clear and, thanking them profusely, walked with them to their lane entrance. Little Em went up the steps to the flat, and Maisie stopped to exchange a few last words. Edward leaned forward, intending to kiss her lightly on the cheek and wish her goodnight, but she turned at that precise moment and instead of her cheek, he found her lips and they were responsive. The brief salutation became something meaningful and he closed his eyes to better savour the moment.
Emily stood on the back doorway and glared. “Mam!” she shouted before going inside and slamming the door so the building rattled.
“I’d better go, I expect the fire’s out or something,” Maisie said moving away slowly and with obvious reluctance.
“I’ll call and see you tomorrow,” Edward said.
As he walked to the car he heard the sound of something smashing, and not a single item either. It sounded like a trayful of china. Was it an accident? Or Emily demonstrating her displeasure?
As Edward drove away from Temptations, another car all but hit his at the junction. He recognised Lewis Lewis, who had his foot down and seemed oblivious to the possibility of other traffic on the road. Edward watched as the car took the corner widely and disappeared leaving a thin trail of exhaust smoke. He’s in a right old temper. His Christmas has obviously gone wrong, he mused. From the way he was driving that car, he was hardly full of the Christmas spirit of goodwill and kindness.
His own contentment was shattered and his mood was far from placid the moment he stepped in to Montague Court and realised that Margaret hadn’t returned. The excitement of Maisie’s kiss was locked away to savour later and he glared around the neat kitchen. If she didn’t come soon, he was faced with the preparation of supper for their guests.
He began setting out the sandwiches and Christmas cake and mince pies for four o’clock tea and frustration curled inside him like an expanding snake. He hated his life. He had to get out of this place, away from Margaret and if he could leave her in a mess, well good. That would add to his pleasure. Season of goodwill? Not here. Not for him. Remembering Lewis he guessed it was far from joyful for other people, other places too.
Rhiannon was pleased with the way their Christmas dinner had gone. The meal was perfectly cooked and her father seemed to be getting on well with Charlie and Gwyn. They all ate too much, which made them feel warm and contented.
Even Dora was more amiable because of both the food and the port-and-lemons her father had provided.
Dora sat back as near contented as she could expect to be, and listened sleepily as Charlie and Rhiannon introduced Gwyn to the game of Monopoly. Laughter filled the air and groans of dismay were followed by jeers and teasing. Such a happy sound. In her drowsy, half sleeping state, it took her back to when their children were young, when games and story-telling on Christmas afternoon was a ritual they had all enjoyed.
At five o’clock, Lewis went into the kitchen to make some tea. He sighed and said. “I’ve lost my touch, Rhiannon. I think young Gwyn is going to win. Pity we haven’t got any records down here, we could do with an excuse to stop, eh, Charlie? They’re all in the loft aren’t they, Dora love?”
“I’ve got some, Mr Lewis,” Gwyn said, “shall I go and fetch some? I had them for Christmas.”
Rhiannon and Dora agreed that would be a nice way to end the afternoon, so by the time Lewis had brought in the tea, the sandwiches and pickles Dora had prepared, Gwyn was back and proudly pointing out his favourites.
“Don’t tell me you had a gramophone for Christmas, young Gwyn?” Lewis said, pleasing the boy by sounding impressed.
“Not a gramphone, Mr Lewis. Our Dad got me a radiogram. We can listen to the radio now and we love the comedy shows. I’d never heard them before, see, the one Gran had didn’t work very well.”
“A radiogram?” Lewis’s tone altered and he stared at Charlie. “How on earth could you afford a radiogram? They cost forty pounds or more don’t they?”
“Not this one,” Charlie said. He was trying to smile but his lips were stiff, guessing what Lewis was thinking. “We were given it. It wasn’t my gift to Gwyn. I bought him a new saddle for his bike and a dynamo lighting set.”
“Someone gave you a radiogram?” Lewis raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, a friend of Dad’s he was,” Gwyn said excitedly. “He brought it on a wheelbarrow. And he gave me these records. Look at this one, Rhiannon. It’s old but you can still hear it ever so clear. When Father Papered the Parlour, you couldn’t see Pa for paint. It’s a real laugh, isn’t it, Dad?”
“It’s great, son,” Charlie was still staring at Lewis. “A kind gift from someone who knew how little we had.”
“Someone you met ‘inside’?” Lewis asked softly as Gwyn began to play the record on Dora’s machine.
“Dad!” Rhiannon hissed.
“Who told you about it?” Charlie asked. “You knew, didn’t you? That’s why you suggested we play records.”
“Barry saw one of the local riff-raff delivering it late at night.”
“The man who gave it to me hasn’t a criminal record. I didn’t meet him inside.” Charlie’s face was calm, his voice even.
“Cleverer than you then, eh? Who was it, Percy Flemming by any chance?”
“Dad! Stop this! Mam, tell him to stop! Charlie didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking! He’s finished with all that!”
“Sure about that, are you? Sure that he didn’t steal it or steal the money to buy it? It’s an expensive item, a fine wooden cabinet so I was told.”
“I am sure, Dad!”
Charlie stood up and went into the hall to collect their coats. “Thank you very much, Mrs Lewis, that was one of the best meals I’ve tasted. Gwyn and I really appreciate your kindness, don’t we, Gwyn?”
“Can’t we stay a bit longer, Dad?” Gwyn looked at Dora who seemed to be about to burst into flames so red was her face. His father nudged him and he capitulated, his shoulders drooping in disappointment. “All right, then. Thank you, Mrs Lewis. It’s been a smashing day.”
“Just one moment, Charlie,” Dora spoke at last, her voice low and threateningly calm. “Lewis is just leaving. Best you don’t get in his way because he’s leaving in a real hurry!”
“What? But I thought I was invited for the day?” Lewis looked at Rhiannon for support but there was none. “You don’t want me to go as early as this, surely? I was only looking out for our daughter,” he added in a hissing whisper.
Dora held up his coat and pushed it against him like a battering ram. Opening the door with one hand, she stopped Charlie and his son leaving with the other arm outstretched. “Hurry up, Lewis, you’re making the house cold, standing there dithering and us with the door wide open.”
Lewis handed Dora two small packages he took from his pocket. “I was saving these until we were on our own, one for you and one for Rhiannon.”
Dora responded by pushing them back in his pocket and opening the door wider.
“I knew it was a mistake to invite him,” She snapped at Rhiannon when the door closed behind him and they heard the aggressive gunning of the car engine. “Another of your stupid ideas.”
“We’ll be off, then,” Charlie said, utterly embarrassed by the events of the last few minutes.
“No need, Charlie,” she said firmly as the sound of squealing brakes reached them from the direction of the corner. “I’m going for a walk. Fancy coming with me, Gwyn? I’ve got some sweets in my pocket and I bet your dog could do with a run.”
“Your Mam doesn’t mess about, does she?” Charlie said as he sat again where a few minutes before they had all been happily playing monopoly.
“I knew it would end in a blazing row,” Rhiannon sighed. “I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”
“I didn’t steal the radiogram, or the money to buy it. Your dad was right, though, about who it came from. It was Percy Flemming who gave it to us when he bought a new autochange model for his wife. He saw Gwyn one night when he should have been in bed, wandering around looking at toys in shop windows, and he felt sorry for him.”
“You’ve already told me all this. I believe you, Charlie. You don’t have to convince me, or Mam. It’s only our Dad being over protective. He knows how fond I am of you,” she added shyly.
“I wonder why Barry told him about the radiogram?” Charlie frowned.
“Barry might have thought he was being protective too.” She looked thoughtful for a moment and Charlie was afraid she was thinking with regret of the time she and Barry Martin had been planning to marry.
“You miss him still?” he asked apprehensively.
“Miss him? I shudder when I think how close I was to marrying him. He must have told Dad about the radiogram hoping to cause trouble. I did love him, once. I thought I’d never get over it when he left me and married Caroline. I thought my only hope of happiness was bound up in him.”
“And now?” he coaxed. “You still feel something for him?”
“Now I don’t even like him.”
“Will you marry me, Rhiannon? I can’t offer you much yet, but we could carry on renting the house and gradually adding things to make it more comfortable.”
“Charlie!”
“Don’t say no, at least think about it. I’ll work for you and I’ll love and care for you. You’ll never regret it, I promise you that.”
“Of course I wouldn’t regret it! Charlie, marrying you would be the best thing that’s happened to me.” She snuggled into his welcoming arms and kissed his waiting lips, oblivious to everything but her love for him.
“There’s still Gwyn, though,” she warned softly. “I think we ought to talk to him first, before we tell anyone else, except Mam of course.”
“He seems very happy about you and me, apart from the outburst the other day, which I think was because he’d been teased at school. But yes, we’ll tell him when he gets back. Right?”
When Dora and Gwyn returned, they were sitting side by side on the couch and Rhiannon’s lipstick was suspiciously freshly applied.
“Ai ai, what’s this then? Anything to tell us, have you?” Dora grinned. So their plan to break it to Gwyn gently was forgotten, but his reaction was all they could have imagined. He gave a great whoop of delight and jumped on his father’s lap and hugged them both. “Smashing, our Dad. Now we’re a real family!” he said, his face rosy with delight. “A Mam, a Dad and a dog.”
“You are happy about 1t?” Charlie asked seriously. “There’s nothing worrying you?”
“There is something,” was his heart-stopping reply. Charlie held his breath, reached out to hold Rhiannon’s hand, then laughed in relief as his son said seriously, “I’m starving – can we eat the sandwiches now?”
“Where’s our little star then?” Janet called as she saw her son Basil approaching with his young family. “Where’s our little Tommy who stole the show at the Christmas concert?”
“Thomas, Mam. We want him called Thomas,” Basil said as he handed the sleeping child to his mother.
“Nonsense, boy,” Hywel growled. “Thomas Griffiths? It sounds almost as daft as that Maisie Vasey woman! Tommy fits much better.”
“It’s all right,” Janet smiled. “We’ll call him Thomas, of course we will. Come on Thomas, come and meet your rowdy family.”
The small room was filled with lively chattering people and, even now, when the meal was ready to be served, Janet wasn’t sure how she would seat them all. The table was comfortably large enough for six and there were twelve places set. Planks had been placed across chairs. The usual sawn tree trunks had been brought out to provide seats on the corners or wherever someone thought they could squeeze in.
There were a few extra this year as Ernie’s intended, Helen Gunner had joined them, with her parents Gloria and Wilfred. Janet glanced at them and wondered what they would think of Christmas lunch, Griffiths style. They seemed bewildered by the crush and she saw Gloria’s lips move as she tried to count the seats and the bodies. What would she think of the unceremonious way they enjoyed their celebration?
“They’ll love it,” Hywel assured her as she whispered her fears to him in the kitchen. “Give them something to talk about for months, it will.”
“I bet they won’t have tasted better,” Ernie whispered. “Or been as well fed. Believe me, Mam, the helpings you get at their place wouldn’t fill young Joseph!”
Besides the turkey, Janet had cooked a leg of pork and when the plates were filled, she put the remainder of the meat and vegetables on the table for people to help themselves. Janet watched Helen’s parents anxiously and saw to her satisfaction that they ate all they were given and more. Gloria was leaning across the table saying something to Frank and they both laughed in a relaxed manner. For all her boastful ways and her criticism of others, Gloria was slowly accepting the easy contentment of the Griffiths clan, and even enjoying it.
When Janet went into the kitchen to take out some empty dishes, she was pleased when Helen and Gloria followed and helped carry through the puddings. When the three women appeared carrying two large steaming puddings and a jug of custard, even Frank groaned.
“Mam, wait a bit won’t you? I’m as full as an egg.”
“Me too as well,” Hywel burbled happily.
When the meal was finally over and the table cleared, Janet and Caroline began making sandwiches ready for the evening. They had no idea how many would come, but they doubted whether the four loaves they used, or the seven pound sweet jar filled with pickled onions would be wasted.
The start of the Westons’ Christmas Day resulted in rapid changes of plans. Arfon awoke to find Gladys hot, feeling sick and very unwell.
“I have a terrible headache,” she said when he asked what was wrong. “Get me a couple of Aspro, dear, then I’ll be all right. I have to be, we have all the family arriving at one-thirty for lunch at three.”
Arfon went downstairs but he didn’t get a headache tablet, he called the doctor. An hour later he was hurrying down to see his daughter, Sian, intending to ask her to cook the lunch and take the worry of it from Gladys. Sian was out, Islwyn seemed vague about where she had gone or how long before she would return.
“Can’t you come and help until Sian turns up?” Arfon asked his son-in-law and one-time partner.
“I can cook on a range, but that hardly qualifies me to cook a roast dinner, does it? Of course I can’t help. Forget Sian, and ask Sally. She runs a boarding house, doesn’t she, since you sacked her husband and me? She’ll be better used to dealing with a family meal.”
The bitterness wasn’t fading, Arfon thought sadly. Having one more try, he said, “Come on, Islwyn, surely you are still a member of this family? This is an emergency.”
Resentment simmered in the cold eyes as Islwyn replied, “Your emergency, father-in-law. Not mine.”
Exasperated with his uncooperative son-in-law, Arfon got back into the car and started to drive to his other daughter, Sally.
Sally’s house had guests even at this family time and he knew that there were four people staying there and expecting a Christmas lunch with all the trimmings at one o’clock. How could she be at the Westons’ in time to cook another one by three? That was why he’d decided to ask Sian. Now what could he do? Gladys would be so upset if the meal didn’t go ahead as planned.
He knew the turkey was cooking, Gladys had put it in to cook overnight, just as they went to bed. He wished he’d thought to look at it, although he wasn’t sure what he’d have been looking for anyway. So long as it wasn’t black, he supposed, but if it had been, surely it would have smelled a bit more than it had?
Anxiously he started the engine then stopped it. His grandson, Jack, and Victoria were walking towards him, the answer to his problems without a doubt.
Victoria was not looking forward to her first Christmas as Jack’s wife. She had woken that morning with strong misgivings about her agreement to spend the day with her grandparents-in-law. She and Jack would both have preferred to share the celebration with her mother and her brothers and sisters in Goldings Street.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if they were to visit Jack’s parents, Sian and Islwyn. Although even that would have been a trial. Islwyn was withdrawn and had an unpleasant habit of staring at you as if he thought you couldn’t see him. She knew that both he and Ryan, Joan and Megan’s father, were still very angry at losing their easy jobs running the wallpaper and paint shop and they both bitterly resented Viv Lewis’s being given the position of manager, and his success in bringing the firm round from almost certain bankruptcy. To spend hours in the same room as Islwyn, Ryan and Viv was something she would have been thankful to avoid. But, she had promised Jack to do her best and she would.
She had sighed as she took the last of the mince pies out of the oven ready to take to her mother’s when they went there for tea. “Roll on teatime,” she murmured as she dropped the baking tins, to sizzle in the washing up water.
“Ready, my darling?” Jack asked. They were loaded with gifts, as they were going to call in on Victoria’s family on their way to the Westons’ big house overlooking the docks.
It was as they were turning the corner from Trellis Street into Goldings Street that they heard Arfon calling them. “We aren’t late, are we?” Victoria said anxiously. “We said we’d be there at one o’clock, didn’t we, Jack?”
“Your grandmother is ill and can’t cook for you all.” Arfon shouted the news in an agitated way, long before he had reached them. “Victoria, could you take over? I know you haven’t cooked a complete meal for the family before, but you’ve helped prepare, you know how she likes things done. The bird is cooking nicely,” he assured her with fingers crossed, “and the vegetables are prepared, Gladys did everything last night.”
“Of course we will, Grandfather,” Jack said, encouraging his shy wife with a hug. “Better than sitting fiddling our thumbs and trying to look as if we’re enjoying ourselves, eh?” he whispered in her ear.
“Er, how long has the turkey been cooking, d’you know?” Victoria asked.
Arfon waved an arm vaguely. “Hours, I suppose. She put it in last night.”
“Heavens, we’d better get there fast!” Victoria looked at the front door of her mother’s house where her brothers and sisters were waiting for them, spilling out onto the pavement, some still in their pyjamas.
“Best we give them these first.” Jack grinned, gesturing towards the boxes, bags and flowers they carried. “We can’t disappoint that lively lot. If the bird is over-cooked another half an hour isn’t going to make much difference.” Promising Arfon that they would be there as soon as they could get away, Victoria and Jack walked towards Victoria’s mother’s house and were swallowed up in the excitement. Arfon looked at his watch and frowned. Best if he went back to tell Gladys that everything was organised, and hope that Victoria wouldn’t let them down. Somehow he knew she would not.
Sally Fowler-Weston was in a temper, which was unusual for her, although it was happening more often these days. Of the older twins, Sian was the one with the quick temper. Sally could usually be relied on to take the role of peace-maker. But today was the very end. Besides having to attend to breakfast then a complicated lunch for her guests, while trying to instil in the strangers something of the mood and spirit of the season, Ryan was refusing to go to her parents’ house for their lunch at three.
Ryan never helped her, even to clear a table or attend to the fires. He comfortably excused himself by insisting the idea to turn their home into an hotel was her decision, and she had to deal with it herself.
Besides refusing to help his wife, Ryan refused to find a job either. Apart from a few brief forays into the work-place he spent his time reading, walking and grumbling to his friends about the unfairness of life.
“I no longer work for your father,” he said this morning. “So I don’t have to run to do his bidding. I don’t want to go and sit around the table with your family, so I won’t.”
At her sister’s home, Sian was having the same trouble. Islwyn was holding a book up to his face although he wasn’t reading it.
“I’m not going to sit there eating my dinner and being treated like a naughty boy, while your mother and Old Man Arfon tells us all how well Viv is doing in my job!”
“At least it’s the truth,” Sian snapped. “Viv Lewis and Joan are making a real success of it, which is more than you and Ryan did!”
“You see? Why go to Gladys’s when I can get all the nagging I need here in my own home!”
Sally’s daughter Joan was getting ready to go to her grandmother’s but her mind was on her absent twin sister. Since Megan had left with Terrence she hadn’t heard a word. Although their mother and grandmother had received cards from her, Megan hadn’t contacted her sister at all. Joan was worried.
“It must mean she’s in trouble and too proud to tell me,” she was saying to Viv.
“Try not to worry, love. Your Megan would have the sense to let us know if she was in real difficulties, you know she would. She’d kick that Terry where it hurts most and get the next train home. I bet there’s a letter at your grandmothers’ telling you how well she’s doing.” He struggled with a tie that seemed determined to twist to one side. “Help me with this, will you?” he asked and Joan exploded.
“Viv! You can’t wear that thing. It’s so old you probably wore it to school! Where’s your new one?”
“I can’t wear a Christmas present tie and a Christmas present shirt.”
“The others will be doing just that!” She handed him the tie her mother had bought him.
“I’ll look like Burton’s tailor shop window!”
“Your suit is Hector Powe, not Burtons,” she reminded him, “and your shirt, like the rest of your clothes was bought at Austin Reed in Piccadilly!”
She was pensive for a while, wondering whether her sister would somehow miraculously appear in time for Grandmother’s Christmas lunch.
“Let’s demand the wishbone, and wish for news that Megan’s coming home.”
“Let’s not wait. Let’s wish it now.” They linked little fingers and both screwed up their faces in a silent, urgent wish.
Victoria and Jack took out the over-cooked bird and began checking the vegetables. Within half an hour of their arrival, two puddings were simmering in the washing boiler, and the saucepans for the vegetables were in place on the stove. Although she was nervous, cooking for a large number held little real fears. With six brothers and sisters, many of whom had reached the age when appetites were at their peak, she was used to judging the right amounts, and quantity was a most important consideration.
She tried not to think about cooking for Gladys, who was upstairs and too ill even to keep ringing her bell for attention, a habit she had enjoyed when Victoria had been her maid. Today she was simply cooking a family meal and Jack was there to reassure her if she had a twinge of panic.
Brandy butter and home made custard were easily prepared, she had made them several Christmases in the past, although she hadn’t been allowed to partake of them. Arfon would carve, the guests would serve themselves from the large dishes that were warming above the oven, all she had to do was drain the vegetables and put them in the serving dishes then she could take her place at the table and share the celebration.
“You know, Jack,” she whispered, turning the roasting potatoes and parsnips, “I’m enjoying this.”
“You are a remarkable young lady, d’you know that?” he whispered back. “I’m so proud of you I might burst!”
“Ooo, not over Gladys’s kitchen!” she teased.
The food was excellent but the atmosphere lacked joy. The conversations were stilted, each attempt at lightening the mood ruined by a comment from Ryan or Islwyn who had finally been persuaded to attend. They sat like stuffed shirts, ignoring the chatter going on around them, determined not to enjoy themselves and also making sure everyone understood this. After a few half-hearted attempts on the part of their wives to encourage them into the conversation, they were left alone to glower and scowl their way through the meal. They both left separately before coffee was served and their wives each gave a small sigh of relief.
Jack and Victoria escaped to the kitchen after Sian and Sally had dealt with the dishes, and began preparing plates of cold meats and cheeses and bowls of pickles ready for tea time, after which they could go home.
“I am sorry your grandmother is ill, Jack,” Victoria whispered, “but it’s made the day I dreaded a lot easier, hasn’t it?”
“And now we’re off to visit your family and learn what Christmas is really all about,” he said, kissing her flushed cheek. “Pity Uncle Ryan and and my father didn’t stay away too,” he mused. “My father was far from happy and as for Uncle Ryan, his face could have stopped a clock!” Laughing like two conspirators, they returned to the lounge to see that Gladys had recovered sufficiently to join them for an hour.
When the telephone rang, Arfon stood up to answer it. He took the call in his study across the hall and they didn’t attempt to listen. “One of his friends probably, inviting him and Gladys to a party,” Sian suggested.
When Arfon returned, he was carrying his coat and wearing a smile. “Come on, Jack, you and I have to drive to London. Thank goodness I filled the car yesterday.”
“London? What’s happened,” Jack asked scraping back his chair as he stood.
“It’s Megan!” Sally put her hands over her mouth and stared at her father in horror. “Daddy? Is she hurt?”
“No, she’s fine. But she wants to come home. So I said I’d fetch her. Coming Jack?”
There was a period of bustling activity and brief explanations before the two men set off, leaving behind a tearful Sally and a curious gathering.
“I’ll have to go home first, to pick up a few clothes,” Jack said. “It’ll take about five hours to drive to London, won’t it? We have to be prepared to stay overnight.”
“No need,” Arfon argued. “We’ll be late but there won’t be any need for an hotel. Come on, man, hurry up.”
Wondering how much of the ten hours of driving he’d be expected to do, Jack kissed Victoria, waved to the rest and followed his grandfather out.
In the car, Arfon began to chuckle. “They always were a law until themselves those Weston Girls.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Jack asked. “My first Christmas with my lovely young wife and first of all she has to cook the family lunch, then you take me off to London on some mystery trip to bring back my cousin.”
“It’ll be a Christmas to remember, won’t it? Gladys will forget all about flu, once her darling gets home.”
“What happened?” Jack insisted.
“Apparently, that smart-arse Terrence got the sack and didn’t seem keen to find another job. Megan said she wasn’t going to work while he sat around, so she left her job too. They were unable to pay the rent, so, what did they do? They did a moonlight flit! Can you believe that girl? Climbed out of the window early this morning they did and made their way to the main road intending to hitch-hike down in time for lunch. But of course, being Christmas Day, there were few vehicles on the road so they had a long wait.”
“Where is she now?”
“In a railway station in Cardiff.”
“Cardiff?”
“Yes, it won’t take us long will it? We’ll be home before that lot have had time to miss us. I hope they save us some of that cold meat.”
“I thought you said London?”
“I did, just to give them a surprise. Wait till you see your grandmother’s face, do her more good than that stuff the doctor gave her. Her lovely Weston Girls together again!”
“How did she get to Cardiff?”
“Luckily there was a man driving down, after arriving back from France on Christmas Eve. He stopped for her. Good of him, wasn’t it?”
“She was on her own?”
“Oh no. That fool Terrence is with her, but I won’t give him a lift, mind. It’s only eight miles and the walk’ll do him good.”