Chapter Six
Dear Danny and Joe,
I hope you have settled in by now and that all is going well for you. I think about you all the time and I’d like you to write and tell me all about Haven House; whether it’s comfortable, whether you are well fed and what sort of lessons you are doing. You know our mother was proud of you both and the progress you were making at school so I hope you will continue to work hard. Does that sound bossy? Sorry.
Have you made any friends? I hope you have, because although you’ll always have each other, it’s good to have other people, too. Remember Mother used to tell you that you should both have a life of your own instead of behaving like carbon copies of each other. Even though you look so alike you don’t always think and behave the same way, do you? And that’s a good thing. Everyone should be an individual with a personality of his own. Do you know what I mean? Or will you just say, ‘There goes our Helen spouting from the dictionary again!’
If you’ve been wondering about Elsie and me I’d better tell you that we are not both living with Aunt Jane. After you had left for Haven House a rich lady called Mrs Partington came and took Elsie away with her. It was the same lady who came to the church on the day of our mother’s funeral. Do you remember her? She sat in the back pew and then she talked to Aunt Jane after the service. She found out that we would be alone and she wanted to help. In fact it was her husband who got you places in Haven House. As for Elsie, you mustn’t worry about her. This lady has no children and she wants Elsie to be her own little daughter.
Now don’t start worrying about this. The lady is really kind and Elsie seemed happy to go with her. And although I miss her as much as I miss you I believe she’s better off with the Partingtons than with Aunt Jane. I went along to see where Elsie is living and I could see that she was happy and well-cared for. And I promise you I’ll always keep an eye on things. And one day we will all be together again.
As for me, I’m living in Aunt Jane’s posh house and I’m going to school as usual. And here’s a thing: Aunt Jane doesn’t want me to come home at lunchtime so the old skinflint actually gives me ninepence a day to get something for myself. Imagine ninepence! I’ve found a nice little café not far from school. It’s called the Cosy Café, which is a good name for it, because it’s a friendly place. I treat myself just about every day to a proper dinner and sometimes a pudding too. Imagine your big sister sitting in a café like Lady Muck ordering dinner from a menu and having her meal brought to the table by a waitress!
I’ve got to know the waitress, who is called Margery. She has one daughter, Dorothy, who is also a waitress but she’s working in London.
Some of the regular customers are quite interesting and one or two have started to say ‘hello’ to me. The office girls think it’s funny to see me sitting there in my school uniform but they are quite friendly.
I don’t spend much time with Aunt Jane but I have made friends with Eva, her maid-of-all-work. She’s a funny sort of girl. Sometimes friendly, sometimes sulky, but I really like her and we often have a laugh together. She says she doesn’t mind coming to work so much now that I’m here to have a good old chinwag with and we certainly can talk when we get started!
Helen put her pen down on the blotting paper. She was sitting at the table in the kitchen. The skies outside were dark and when Eva had opened the back door to go home a gust of wind blew in, bringing with it the smell of soot mixed with something else. Eva said it was the smell of snow. She was convinced there would be snow by morning and she had shovelled more coal on the fire in the range than she ought to have done so that Helen would be warm and cosy.
Neither of the girls thought it likely that ‘the missus’ would venture into the kitchen that evening, not now that she had instructed Helen to answer the call of the bell just like Eva did. It suited Helen very well to stay in the kitchen on her own. She could spread her school books on the table and get on with her homework.
She got up and warmed a pan of milk. It was time to take Aunt Jane her cup of cocoa. She also made one for herself and, duty done, she returned to her letter. She had mixed feelings about what she had written. She knew she had not been entirely candid. She had led her brothers to believe that she was happier about Elsie’s situation than she was.
Everything their old neighbour Mrs Andrews and her new friend Eva had said was true. Elsie would be much better off with the Partingtons than with Aunt Jane. But this would never compensate for the fact that she missed her little sister dreadfully and she believed with all her heart that she should have found a way for the family to remain together.
She did not feel guilty about making light of her own situation. All she had said was true. She had found a friend in Eva, and although Aunt Jane could sometimes behave like a wicked stepmother in a fairy tale, she wasn’t actually cruel in any physical sense. She was simply totally uncaring. Helen suspected that the Partingtons were paying her aunt some sort of allowance and that might explain the ninepence a day for her lunch. If that were true she ought to be grateful. She was grateful, she supposed.
Ninepence a day was more than ample. She had begun to put a little bit by towards buying Christmas presents. Her list was small: her brothers, Mrs Andrews, Eva, and her school friend Eileen. She had agonized over whether she could send anything to Elsie and had decided that she couldn’t. Then finally she had added Aunt Jane’s name. After all, Christmas was Christmas.
Helen picked up her pen, dipped it in the bottle of ink, and resumed writing. She sent the boys her love and urged them to write to her as soon as they could. To encourage them to do this, she slipped a couple of pages of writing paper and a stamped envelope in with the letter. Not wanting to risk more conflict with Aunt Jane, she had gone back to the telephone kiosk to find the address of Haven House. She would post her letter on the way to school in the morning.
Helen wiped the pen, put it in her pencil box, put the top back on the bottle of ink and put them in her schoolbag along with the writing pad, blotting paper and her books. She put out the milk bottles, banked up the fire and went to bed. She did not say goodnight to Aunt Jane. Eva would deal with the used cup in the morning.
Her brothers’ answering letter came only a few days later. Helen blessed the fact that the postman called long before her aunt was up in the morning. She didn’t have time to read it before she went to school and at break time she was on cloakroom duty, so the letter had to wait until she was seated at her usual place in the Cosy Café.
The writing on the envelope was near perfect. Danny’s, Helen guessed. Even though the younger twin was left-handed, his writing was much neater than impetuous Joe’s. Maybe it was because Danny had had to try harder when learning to write from left to right across the page. She opened the envelope and had to tug at the pages to get them out. The boys had filled not just the sheets of writing paper she had sent for them but had obviously torn pages from a school exercise book, too. Helen hoped they wouldn’t get into trouble for it.
She glanced through the letter quickly and smiled when she realized what they had done. They had taken turns, and even if the handwriting had not been so different it would have been easy to tell which boy was writing at the time.
Dear Helen (Joe began)
We were really pleased to hear from you. Well, you needn’t worry about us. No, not at all. The beds are clean, there’s plenty of grub and the lessons are just like at our old school. The teachers are pretty much the same as teachers anywhere but the headmaster, Mr Ridley, is a bit of a curious old coot. He wears his gown all the time just like the beaks in the comics and he never seems to know quite what is going on, or what he’s supposed to say. Sometimes he opens the door of a classroom, everybody stands up, but he doesn’t say anything. He just blinks and stares for a moment and looks as though he’s forgotten why he’s there then he leaves again. What a hoot! That rhymes with coot!
Mr Ridley is what you would call an eccentric. (Danny had taken over.) I think he is one of those very clever people who don’t quite fit into everyday life. He leaves a lot of the running of the school to the deputy headmaster, Mr Jenkins. Mr Jenkins is the chap who came to collect us. He’s OK most of the time but he has a problem. He likes a little tipple and when the drink takes him it’s almost as if he becomes a different person. He can get quite nasty. But don’t worry about that, Helen. It’s never anything personal, and the other boys here have learned how to deal with it. Personally I think it’s because he’s very unhappy. I don’t think this is the sort of life he planned for himself.
Yeah, (Joe again) Jenkins is one to avoid when he’s been shut up in his room with his friend the bottle, but we’ve all learned to scarper when we see him coming and we make extra sure that he won’t find anything to complain about. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that! Now over to Danny who wants to tell you a bit about the surroundings.
It’s really nice here on the coast. About a hundred years ago a rich ship owner built Haven House for himself and his family. The trouble was, all his sons and daughters died before he did, so he left the house to a charity to set up a school for boys. The house is at the far end of the town on the way to the lighthouse and from the upstairs windows there is a marvellous view of the sea. You would love it, Helen. On fine days the water seems to sparkle and on dull days the sky and the sea seem to merge into each other so you can’t tell which is which. And as for stormy days! Joe is just about to snatch the pen. There, he did it! The ink blots are his fault!
Had to stop him before he went all soppy! (Joe wrote.) But he’s right. This is a grand place to live and we’re not exactly prisoners here. We can spend any free time we have exploring the cliffs and the beach and the caves. One fly in the ointment is that once a week we all have to go out for a run, no matter what the weather. Some of the lads are really keen to be first one back. Not because they don’t enjoy the run. They do! It’s because they want to be the winner. The one who gets back first the most times gets a trophy cup at the end of each term. Honestly! Who wants a cup that you can’t keep? And in any case, once it’s handed over Ginger says that they just lock it up in old Ridley’s study again. They don’t even put your name on it. He says that even though we’ll never be toffs, they’re trying to run the place like a public school. Whatever that is. Over to Danny, who will try and explain.
Joe’s friend, Ginger, said that rich boys who go to something called public schools have it much harder than we do. They have to have cold showers and the food is terrible and their parents pay a fortune for this. Furthermore the older boys are allowed to beat them. At least we only get caned by the headmaster. I don’t mean that’s a regular occurrence here! As Joe said before, this is just like any school except we can’t go home at night.
And also we have to work for our keep! (Joe had taken over again.) Well, not exactly our keep. We have to do jobs in the house, like cleaning windows or peeling spuds, and in the gardens. There’s a front garden to keep tidy and a massive kitchen garden. There are greenhouses too. Some of the boys really like this and want to get jobs as gardeners when they leave. Some lads hate having to do anything at all and there’s one lazy waster called Tod Walker who gets away with it. He persuades other boys to do his work for him and then has the nerve to take half the pay as well. Oh, yes, we get paid for this work. It’s supposed to teach us that you work for what you get in life. We don’t get very much, but it’s like getting pocket money. Danny and I are planning to go into town and do some Christmas shopping in Woolworths. I’m handing over to Danny to sign off.
We’d better go now; we’ve got some homework to do. Please write again soon, Helen. We really miss you and Elsie but we’re sure we’ll be together again one day just like you promised.
Love,
Your brothers Danny and Joe
Helen was torn between laughter and tears as she folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Laughter because the different characters of her brothers were so plainly revealed in how and what they had written, and tears because no matter what they wrote they were determined to show her they were making the best of it.
She was glad that they had made at least one friend. Or had they? Danny had referred to the boy they called Ginger as ‘Joe’s friend’, not his own. But of course Danny, for all his quiet ways, had always been the more self-sufficient of the two, content to stay in the background and let Joe lead the way.
Then what was she to make of this boy called Tod who ‘persuaded’ other boys to do his chores and then kept half their pay? That didn’t sound good at all. She couldn’t imagine Joe ever consenting to an arrangement like this and neither would he allow Danny to be bullied. Was this lad a bully? Helen hoped not, and then tried to console herself with the thought that even if he was, Joe would be able to deal with it.
‘You’ve let your rice pudding go cold.’ Helen looked up to see Margery standing over her. ‘Must have been a very interesting letter. From your boyfriend, is it?’
Helen smiled. ‘I haven’t got a boyfriend. It’s from my brothers.’
‘Don’t they live at home with you?’
‘No. After our mother died we were . . . well, we had to be split up.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, pet. Listen, give me that pudding and I’ll pour some warm milk on it. And how about a spoonful of jam to jazz it up a bit?’
Helen smiled her thanks and as soon as she had finished she hurried back to school. She found it hard to concentrate on the afternoon’s lessons. As Joe and Danny had reminded her, Christmas was coming and she didn’t know how she would be able to bear this first Christmas without her family around her.
On Saturday the twenty-first of December Helen got up early and took the tram into the town centre. Eva was put out that they didn’t have time for what she called their regular ‘chinwag’, but Helen wanted to be out of the house before Aunt Jane came down for breakfast and found some task for her to do or an errand for her to run. Mostly the tasks were sewing and mending or going to the shops for such items as buttons, elastic, hairnets, or fancy cakes for the Sunday teatime treat. Aunt Jane had never actually said that Helen couldn’t go out on errands of her own, although she was sure if she asked there would be some objection. So she left the house early to avoid a confrontation.
Helen loved going to the Grainger Market. The huge covered market was an endless source of delight with interesting people in every alleyway and arcade of shops. Even though she had arrived early the market was in full swing. She hurried through the butchers’ quarter with its strong smells of blood mingled with sawdust to the greengrocers’ stalls already stacked high with fresh fruit and vegetables. Helen breathed in the wonderful tang of the oranges and marvelled at the varieties of nuts all ready to be bought for the Christmas table.
Some of the stalls had Christmas trees for sale. Helen remembered one Christmas when their mother had told them they couldn’t afford a tree. They had been disappointed but, not wanting to upset her, they had made the best of the bunches of holly and mistletoe she had bought in this very market. Then, on Christmas morning, they had come downstairs to a wonderful sight. Perhaps it was the smallest Christmas tree ever but there it was, in the front parlour, the light from the fire reflecting on the coloured spheres of glass. Their mother never told them how she had managed to do this. She insisted it must have been Father Christmas who found he had one left on his sledge so decided to leave it for the Norton family.
Helen and the twins no longer believed in Father Christmas but they had kept up the pretence for Elsie’s sake. Elsie . . . What sort of Christmas would she have? Helen was sure Mrs Partington would do her best to make it a wonderful time for her. And what of Joe and Danny? From their letter Haven House didn’t sound such a bad place. She hoped there would be a party of some sort and that the boys might even be given presents. They would certainly get presents from her.
Reluctant to go back to Aunt Jane’s house, Helen mingled with the crowd and found herself listening to snatches of conversation and imagining the stories behind them. She decided to treat herself to a cup of tea and a toasted teacake in the mezzanine café, and as soon as she was settled at a table where she could look down on the busy scene below she took her notebook and pencil from her pocket and started making notes about anything or anyone who interested her or caught her eye. She couldn’t remember when she had started doing this, but often these snippets developed into full-blown stories.
Her mother had encouraged her in this and would often say things like, ‘Go on, Helen, what happened next?’ or ‘What was she wearing? Was she really beautiful?’ Or ‘No, I didn’t think she would do that.’ She used to joke that listening to Helen’s stories was as good as going to the pictures and that she could enjoy them in front of her own cosy fire.
When she realized a queue was forming for the tables, Helen reluctantly drained her cup and set off to do her shopping. She had her list and she knew where she was going. First she would go to Marks and Spencer’s Penny Bazaar and then she would go to the book stalls where she would have time to linger just a little longer.
On Sunday after lunch Helen told her aunt she was going for a walk. There was a moment of silence when Helen could see Aunt Jane was trying to think of some reason why she couldn’t go, but eventually she said, ‘Well, just make sure you help Eva with the dishes first. It’s her half-day today, you know.’
On Sundays Aunt Jane and Helen had lunch in the dark little dining room at the back of the house. ‘Get along with you,’ Eva said as the two girls cleared the table. ‘I’ll have these washed up in no time and I can see you’re dying to break out of here even on a day like this.’
It was bitterly cold. ‘Too cold for snow,’ Eva said, although Helen failed to see the logic in that. She walked briskly and by the time she reached the old familiar streets her cheeks were glowing.
‘How bonny you look,’ were Mrs Andrews’ first words as she welcomed her into the house next door to where Helen had grown up. They went straight through to the kitchen where Mr Andrews was snoring gently by the fire. ‘Don’t mind him,’ their old friend said. ‘And don’t worry. We won’t wake him up with our chatter. He’s as deaf as a post.’
Strangely, once they were seated at the table they didn’t chatter very much. In fact both found it hard to say anything at all as they sipped the hot sweet tea and gazed pensively into the glowing flames.
Eventually Helen roused herself and asked, ‘What are your new neighbours like?’
‘Nice young couple. He works at the bakery, comes home covered in flour and looking like a ghost. She’s a dressmaker of a sort. Alterations and mending. She’s expecting. It’ll be nice to have a bairn next door again.’
Helen couldn’t speak.
‘Eeh, I’m sorry, lass. That was thoughtless of me.’
‘No, it’s all right. Life moves on.’
Mrs Andrews gazed at her speculatively. ‘Yes, it does, and whatever happens I have the feeling that you will cope with it.’
They fell into a reflective silence again and after a while Helen had the urge to go. It wasn’t that she wanted to leave her old friend so much as that she no longer felt at home here. It nearly broke her heart to acknowledge this but it was true. Before she left she took a small packet wrapped in Christmas paper from her pocket and put it on the table.
‘Oh, no, Helen,’ Mrs Andrews said. That’s not for me, is it? I haven’t got you anything this year.’
‘I wasn’t expecting anything. And it’s not really from me. It’s something my mother would have wanted you to have. Go on, you needn’t wait until Christmas Day. Open it now.’
Mrs Andrews’ work-roughened hands were trembling as she tore off the wrapping paper. When she saw what was inside she cried out, ‘The little blackbird!’ She stared at the pie funnel with delight.
‘You always liked it.’
‘Yes, I did. He looked so cocky there in the middle of your mother’s pies, just as if he was saying he’d done it all himself. But how did you manage to save it from – I mean . . .’
‘Aunt Jane wouldn’t have wanted it. I took it from the drawer in the kitchen table even before she had a look around.’
‘I can’t take it, Helen. You should keep it yourself.’
‘No. I want you to have it. And I know my mother would want that too. Every time you make a pie you’ll remember old times and happy days.’
Helen didn’t get much sense out of their old neighbour after that and soon she left to go back to Aunt Jane’s house and see what Eva had left for her to serve up for tea.
On the Monday, the day before Christmas Eve, the school term came to an end. Although the teachers insisted that lessons should go on as usual until the last minute, the atmosphere was light-hearted with the girls finding any opportunity to laugh and some of the younger teachers joining in the fun. School friends exchanged presents before they left for home, including Helen and her friend Eileen. Sitting on the shoe lockers in the cloakroom, they agreed to open their presents then and there and laughed when they saw what had happened. They had bought each other identical pairs of red and white Fair Isle woollen mittens.
‘I know where you bought these!’ Helen exclaimed. ‘The Penny Bazaar!’
‘Well, I certainly didn’t knit them!’ Eileen replied and they laughed until their smiles faded.
‘I suppose I’d better be going home,’ Helen said reluctantly.
‘You must come to our house whenever you want to,’ Eileen said. ‘You don’t have to wait to be asked.’
‘I will,’ Helen replied, but again she had that strange feeling that life was moving on.
Once outside it was too cold to linger and they hurried away in different directions along the pavements where frost sparkled in the fading light of the winter’s day.
On Christmas morning the postman called with a small parcel for Helen. Aunt Jane was still in bed so Helen took it up to her room to open it. Joe and Danny had sent her a box of vanilla fudge and it had got squashed in the post. Each square had merged into the next one, but Helen knew she would enjoy it more than any fudge she had ever eaten. She left it on top of the dresser and went down to help Eva in the kitchen.
Helen wondered what Aunt Jane would have done if she had not been living there. Would she have had her Christmas dinner all alone, waited on by Eva and greeted by no one?
‘Last Christmas the missus invited a friend along from her bridge club,’ Eva told her, ‘but a few days later the woman died.’
The two girls stared at each other through the steam rising from the pudding pan and tried not to laugh. It was no use. Eva cracked up first. ‘And before you say anything it wasn’t my cooking!’
‘I wouldn’t even suggest it,’ Helen said. ‘But has my aunt no other friends?’
‘They come and go but she’s always picking quarrels with them. If she’s not careful she’s going to be a very lonely old woman.’
Aunt Jane insisted that Helen accompany her to church and it was true that not many people greeted her cheerily. They did not stay to gossip after the service.
When they got home the table had been set with the best damask tablecloth, the best silver-plated cutlery, and there was even a cutglass vase in the centre holding a sprig of holly. There was also a bottle of port wine and two glasses. When Eva had brought the food and gone back to the kitchen Aunt Jane poured herself a glassful of the wine and filled half a glass for Helen.
‘Well, then, Helen,’ she said with an air of smug complacency. ‘I’m sure this will be the best Christmas dinner you’ve ever had.’ She set about carving slices from the capon and indicated that Helen was to help herself to the vegetables and the gravy.
They ate in silence. By the time Eva came in with the pudding Aunt Jane had had another two glasses of wine and her face was flushed. ‘That was very nice, Eva,’ she said and her maid-of-all-work raised her eyebrows at the unexpected praise. ‘Now make yourself up a plate of dinner from what’s left of the vegetables and take yourself a slice of the capon. Put the rest in the pantry for tomorrow.’
Eva wasn’t coming to work on Boxing Day. Aunt Helen had given her the day off – without pay, of course. She said Helen and she could manage perfectly well on their own. She meant Helen, naturally. She would probably sit by the fire as usual reading her magazines and being waited on hand and foot.
‘When you’ve finished, wash up what you can,’ Aunt Jane added. ‘Helen will do the rest.’
Before Eva left Helen slipped into the kitchen to give her her present. ‘You shouldn’t hev!’ Eva said as without waiting to be told she tore off the wrapping paper. Her eyes shone as she stared at her gift. ‘A bottle of scent. What is it?’
‘Muguet des Bois.’
‘Come again?’
‘Lilies of the Valley. But it’s not Coty. It’s a copy, I’m afraid.’
‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about, but thank you, anyway. I’ve never owned a bottle of scent in me whole life.’
‘Everybody should have a little luxury now and then. That’s what my mother used to say.’
‘She was a wise woman,’ Eva said. ‘But now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be off to the madhouse to help me ma with all those dratted kids.’
Eva was only pretending to complain. Helen could see how eager she was to get home and she envied her, for Helen herself faced a long, dreary day with her aunt. She was to make sandwiches at teatime and put up a couple of plates of cold meat and pickle for supper. By the time she had finished in the kitchen Aunt Jane had taken herself and her bottle of port wine to the front parlour.
‘Do sit down, Helen,’ she said. ‘Although, wait a minute, you’d better see to the fire first. It’s chilly, isn’t it?’
Personally Helen thought her aunt kept this room far too warm and the rest of the house too cold, but she did as she was told and sat at the other side of the hearth. Her aunt had already nodded off and Helen had to restrain her giggles at the little piggy noises she was making. She stared at her mother’s sister, the coarse features and the network of broken veins on her cheeks, and wondered how on earth they could have been related. Perhaps her mother had been a changeling, a child substituted for another by the fairies. Or perhaps a wicked witch had left her own daughter in Aunt Jane’s cradle.
She stared at the woman glumly and remembered how that morning she had given her aunt her present at the breakfast table. Her aunt had raised her eyebrows as she opened the wrapping paper and gazed at the pair of embroidered Swiss handkerchiefs. There was a moment’s silence. Perhaps Aunt Jane had actually been embarrassed, but if so she didn’t give it away when she said, ‘Very nice, Helen, and I’m sure it’s right for you to show your gratitude, but we don’t give presents in this house.’
With those words she had dampened any Christmas joy there might have been before the day had properly begun. Well, at least, Helen thought, I can escape into a book for a while. Sighing with an emotion that was akin to contentment, Helen settled back in her chair and opened The Constant Nymph by Margaret Kennedy, one of the books she had treated herself to from the bookstall in the market.
Soon, along with the book’s heroine, fourteen-year-old Tessa, Helen was living in a rambling chalet high in the Austrian Alps and falling in love with Lewis Dodd, a gifted composer, and worrying dreadfully that her beautiful cousin Florence was going to steal him away . . .
On Christmas morning, straight after breakfast, Joe and Danny were among a small group of boys summoned to Mr Ridley’s study. Straight away Joe’s eyes were drawn to the pile of brightly wrapped presents on the headmaster’s desk.
‘Ah . . . um . . . Merry Christmas, boys,’ Mr Ridley said.
‘Same to you, sir,’ the boys replied in unison.
‘As those of you who have been with us for some while know, most of the boys here do not get Christmas presents sent from outside. There is – ah – no one to send them. But a lucky few of you do have people who remember you.’ He paused and eyed the pile of presents sadly. Joe wondered if he was going to tell them that they could not have them. The headmaster’s next words seemed to confirm the suspicion. ‘We have discussed whether in all fairness we should pass these on to you . . .’
So why show them to us? Joe wondered.
‘But we decided that we should.’
Then why not get on with it?
‘However, as in previous years I must ask you not to flaunt these presents,’ Mr Ridley continued. ‘You may take them up to your dormitory and put them in your lockers. But be quick about it. You can open them later. You must come down and join the other boys in the hall as soon as possible.’
Mr Ridley handed out the presents and the boys hurried upstairs as they were told. Once in the dormitory not one of the boys could resist opening their presents and there were exclamations of delight and disappointment. Joe could see from the shape of the parcels that Helen had sent them a book each – he knew the presents would be from Helen; who else was there to remember them?
‘What have you got?’ he asked Danny.
‘Coral Island.’
Joe grinned. ‘I’ve got an island too. Treasure Island.’
‘We can read them and swap.’
‘I’m sure Helen meant us to.’
‘What have you got here then?’
Joe looked up to see Tod staring at them. He didn’t answer.
‘Books, is it? Don’t see the point of books.’
‘Well, why would you when you can’t read?’ Joe said and saw the flicker of dismay in Danny’s eyes.
‘What did you say?’ Tod asked.
‘My brother was joking,’ Danny said.
‘No, he wasn’t,’ Tod retorted. ‘He was suggesting that I’m ignorant. Well, let me tell you I’m not.’
Joe would have retorted further but Danny took his arm and tried to pull him back. He might have succeeded if Joe had not noticed that Tod was carrying two Christmas presents. ‘How did you get those?’ he asked.
Tod grinned. ‘Sent to me, weren’t they? Some kind person remembered me just like someone remembered you.’
‘You’re lying.’
Tod’s small eyes narrowed even further. ‘I’m what?’ he asked quietly.
‘You’re lying. You didn’t come to Mr Ridley’s study with the rest of us. You’ve stolen those from two other boys.’
‘So now you’re calling me a thief?’
‘It’s as good as thieving, what you do. So yes, you are a thief and you’re a bully, too.’
The two boys stared at each other and Joe was aware that Danny had become very still. Oh, no, he thought. I should have kept my mouth shut. Whatever Tod does next he’s bound to take it out on Danny, too. He was ready to defend his brother physically when to his surprise Tod simply shrugged and walked away.
When they went down to the hall they found that a long queue of boys had formed to receive presents provided by the charity board and handed out by Mr Ridley. There were jigsaws, board games, sketch pads, boxes of crayons and some totally unsuitable presents in Joe’s opinion, like socks and handkerchiefs. The distribution was indiscriminate and once the parcels were opened a lot of swapping went on.
Ginger was over the moon with his game of draughts and Joe and Danny decided to be content with their socks. After all, they had the presents that Helen had sent them. For the rest of the morning they were given free time. Many of the lads wanted to stay indoors with their presents but one of the younger teachers encouraged a group to go with him for a game of football on the beach. Joe and Danny went along.
‘That’s dangerous,’ Joe said as he stared up at the gash in the cliff face above him. He had been sent to collect the ball when it landed amongst a pile of rocks at the foot of the sandstone cliffs. At first he couldn’t find it and the rest of the boys began to shout impatiently. Danny had come over to help him.
‘Erosion,’ Danny said.
Joe grinned. ‘If you say so.’
‘The sea crashes against the cliff face until it crumbles,’ Danny said as he peered up to where the top of the cliff was hanging over without any visible support. ‘It’s worse than when we went for a run last week. A spot to avoid, I think.’
The Christmas dinner was good and everyone would have been happy if they hadn’t had to join in the ‘party’ afterwards. This started with team games leading up to teatime with sandwiches and mince pies, followed by carol singing before they had the usual supper of hot milk and bread and butter, and went to bed.
‘Well, that wasn’t too bad,’ Joe remarked to Danny as they climbed the stairs. ‘We’ll be able to write and tell Helen that we enjoyed ourselves. We don’t want her fretting, do we?’
Danny didn’t answer. He was staring down at the pieces of paper that littered the top landing.
‘What are they?’ Joe asked but he already knew the answer. They were the torn and crumpled pages of a book.
He knew what he’d find when he picked them up but he gathered them up all the same and followed the trail to their beds in the dormitory. Both of their books had been destroyed. Only the empty covers remained on the beds.
He became aware of the silence and that the other boys were staring at them. Even Ginger didn’t have anything to say.
Then Danny took hold of his arm and said quietly, ‘Pick all the pages up and we’ll put them in our lockers.’
‘What’s the point? We’ll never be able to put the books together again.’
‘Maybe we will and maybe we won’t, but at least we’ll still have Helen’s presents. And listen, Joe, that’s all we’re going to do. We’re not going to say anything to anyone. Right?’
Joe looked at his twin and something about his determined expression surprised him. Danny had changed since he had come here and, he wasn’t sure why, but this time he was happy to follow his younger brother’s lead. He helped Danny pick up the torn pages, ignoring the sniggers of Tod’s cronies – for who else but Tod Walker would have done this? Or ordered it to be done? But when he went to bed he couldn’t sleep for the anger that raged through him, burning almost like a fever. Tod Walker would pay for this. One way or another he would pay.
Selma Partington couldn’t remember when she had had such a happy Christmas. Probably not since she had been a child herself. I mean, it’s been marvellous the way Hugh has spoiled me, she thought, but I’m not the important one now. Elise is. I’m a mother and we have our own darling little daughter to make our family complete.
However, Christmas this year would not be quite the same as Christmases she had planned for the future. Despite the fact that Miss Barton had already taken the matter of Elise’s way of talking in hand, the child was still not quite ‘one of them’.
Next year she would have a party. No, two parties. One for a select group of friends and their children and another for Hugh’s employees’ children. Hugh would dress as Santa Claus and Elise would be a dear little elf to help him give out the presents. Nevertheless this year they would go to the pantomime. Hugh had asked her if she would like to go to their London house for a while and take Elise to the Lyceum to see Puss in Boots.
‘It would be fun,’ he’d said, and although Selma was truly touched by his enthusiasm she had refused the offer.
‘No, darling,’ she’d said, ‘we’ll see what Newcastle has to offer.’
Secretly she was already dreaming of sitting in the box at the theatre and being noticed with Elise. Hugh would be with them and they would smile and laugh like the happy family they were. Everyone who saw them would admire them and would talk about the beautiful child who seemed to be so devoted to Selma Partington.
Selma thought her dreams quite modest for her first Christmas with Elise and they all came true. But even before the tinsel and the decorations had been taken down and put away for another year things went horribly wrong.