Comfortable in that cosy little parlour, Jim Bolton laid out his work before him – two small pairs of boots to mend, a bag of tacks, some large, some small, a half dozen strips of leather, and the hobbling shoe left him by his old dad. ‘D’you know, lass, I’m never more content than when I’m tapping away with the leather,’ he told Sylvia. ‘There’s a kind of pride for a man, in mending his childers’ shoes.’
When Sylvia didn’t answer, he glanced up, saw that she was resting in the armchair and chatted on. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I feel tired. Staying up chatting till the early hours takes it out of a man my age,’ he chuckled. ‘If you recall, there was a time when I could stay out half the night, then come home and make love with you, right here on the rug afront o’ the fire. Can you remember, lass, that time when young Larry caught us at it on the floor? He were eight year old an’ innocent as the day were long.’
He laughed aloud at the memory. ‘We told him we were play-fighting and he believed us, bless his little heart. I don’t mind admitting, it gave me a real fright, him coming up on us like that. After that we were allus very careful. “It won’t do for the lad to see the wrong thing”, that’s what you said, and you were right.’
Her mind elsewhere, Sylvia didn’t hear a word he’d been saying. For some inexplicable reason, she had been on edge all day. There was something troubling her, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something that would not let her rest.
So now, while the house was quiet and she had time to gather her thoughts, she sat beside the fire, her mind far from easy, her troubled gaze following the leaping flames in the grate.
‘Hey?’ Jim’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘Wake up, m’beauty!’
Startled, she looked up. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I was thinking.’
Ever patient, he shook his head. ‘Musta been summat pressing, ’cause you’ve not heard a bloody word I’ve been saying.’ He peered at her, curious. ‘Look, lass, I know it’s Christmas Eve an’ you’ve been run off your feet, but you’ve only to ask an’ I’ll help where I can, you know that.’
Sylvia thanked him, but: ‘It isn’t that,’ she told him tenderly. ‘I love Christmas, you know I do.’
‘So, tell me what’s plaguing yer. You’ll feel better if you get it off yer chest.’
Hesitating, she wondered if he would understand. ‘Have you ever felt afraid,’ she began, ‘only you don’t know why?’
Frowning, he shook his head. ‘No, lass. Can’t say I have. Ee, you’re a funny little thing an’ no mistake. Happen your old grandma were right when she said you had a bit o’ the gypsy soul in you… seeing things where others can’t, an’ all that.’ Still, gypsy or not, he loved her like no man ever loved a woman.
‘Jim, can I ask you something?’
‘Ask away.’ He didn’t look up. Marrying the tacks to the leather took a measure of concentration.
Getting out of the chair, she dropped to her knees before him. ‘Can you stop what you’re doing, just for a minute?’ Glancing up from beneath his eyebrows, he breathed in a great noisy sigh, held it for an age, then blew it out in a series of loud tuts. ‘Can’t it wait, lass? I’m almost done.’ Leaning over the hobbling shoe he was in the process of stretching a square of leather over the worn sole. ‘A few more tacks in place and I’m ready to cut it to shape.’
‘Please, Jim! A minute of your time, that’s all I ask.’
He seemed not to have heard. ‘When I’ve finished, it’ll be good as new, you’ll see. And I’ll have saved you a shilling into the bargain.’
‘Huh! Blowing your own trumpet now, is it?’ Yet she was so proud. Jim was a good man, hard-working and handsome with it. And she considered herself very fortunate.
‘I reckon I’ve earned the right to blow my own trumpet,’ he chuckled. ‘In twelve years since the lasses were born, we’ve only ever bought them one pair o’ boots, and even they didn’t last as long as the ones I make.’
That said, he resumed his work but continued chatting. ‘Mind you, I don’t suppose it’ll be long afore they’re gazing in shop winders, wanting summat prettier than their old dad can create. More expensive too, I’ll be bound.’ He paused, his gaze falling on Sylvia, and his eyes filled with love. ‘Bonny lasses the pair of ’em.’ He gave a wink. ‘But then, what else could they be, with a mammy as lovely as you?’
Sylvia remained silent for a time, content to watch his quick fingers as they felt their way along the rim of the leather, tapping here, smoothing there; until out of chaos emerged the creation.
It was a fascinating thing to watch. Comforting somehow. Yet even now in this cosy parlour, with Jim beside her and the thought of her two lovely daughters warming her heart, she could not settle.
‘Jim?’ She tugged at his sleeve.
He paused, looking at her from beneath his long dark eyebrows. ‘All right, love, I can see you won’t give me no peace till I’ve heard you out.’ Making sure the boot was still pressed down hard over the hobbling shoe, he placed it aside. ‘Right then.’ Taking her face between his large work-worn hands, he kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘I’m all yours.’
For a long moment she didn’t speak, and he didn’t urge her to. Instead, he was content simply to look on her loveliness. After a while though, he grew apprehensive. ‘Look, lass, I promised young Ellie her boots would be ready for Christmas morning, and in case it’s slipped your notice, that’s tomorrow. You asked me to stop work, and I’ve stopped. So what’s on your mind?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m worried about something.’
Drawing his head back in surprise, he studied her for a brief moment. The rising heat from the fireplace had bathed her face in a warm, pink glow; her green eyes shone up at him, her beauty taking his breath away. ‘What d’you mean, lass?’ he said fondly. ‘What’s to worry about?’
Sylvia looked away, her quiet gaze going to the fire-grate, where she was momentarily mesmerised by the flames – long, licking tongues of red, dancing up the chimney in a frenzy. She answered in a whisper. ‘I can’t explain. I just feel troubled, that’s all. I’ve been like it all day.’
‘I hope yer not gonna tell me you’re having another bairn!’ His eyes widened. ‘Three’s enough to be going on with.’ When she merely smiled, he took her by the shoulders. ‘Yer not, are yer?’
She laughed. ‘Not as far as I know.’
Reaching out, he took hold of her hand. ‘Are you feeling poorly, is that it?’
‘No.’
‘The children all right, are they?’
‘You know they are,’ she said fondly. ‘They’re in the front parlour, gathering the presents for the tree.’
‘You haven’t got yerself another bloke on the side, have you?’
She dug him playfully in the ribs. ‘Don’t be daft! One’s enough, thank you.’
‘There you go then!’ He kissed her soundly on the mouth. ‘Like I said, there’s nowt to worry about. You and me are still daft over each other. We’re all disgustingly healthy. I’ve a good job, with good money coming in. The larder’s full, and the rent’s paid up.’ He chucked her under the chin. ‘Unless you’ve been squandering it away behind my back, have yer?’
‘’Course not!’
‘Right then.’ He took up his tacks and hammer again. ‘Happen you might let me get back to me work now? After which I mean to go and get meself a well-earned pint down the pub.’
While he tapped away at the leather soles, Sylvia remained on the rug, eyes closed, the heat of the fire warming her through. Jim’s plain, honest words had made her realise how lucky she was.
‘I’ll tell you what though, lass.’ Once again, Jim’s voice cut through her thoughts. ‘I’ve been thinking about it for some time now. You, me and the twins should get away for a few days. Oh, not yet, but when the weather turns – Easter mebbe – we should get off to the seaside. It’ll do us both good, and the twins will love it. Larry’ll be all right on his own. I mean, he’s a capable enough fella, and I’ve no doubt he’ll welcome a bit of peace and quiet, after the twins an’ all. Besides, with him looking after it, at least the house will still be in one piece by the time we get back.’
Once an idea took hold he wouldn’t let it go. ‘Look, as I’m off to the pub tonight, I’ll ask the landlord if we could rent a room in his cousin’s pub on the coast. What d’you say?’
‘Why not.’ It was an age since they’d been to the seaside.
‘Right then, lass. Consider it done!’ He kissed her softly on the mouth, his fingers walking down the opening in her blouse. ‘I’ll not be out late, if you know what I mean?’
Smiling knowingly, Sylvia took him into her arms.
‘And now, love, will you stop all this worrying?’
She nodded. He was right, she thought. When all was said and done, there was really nothing for her to worry about.
That night, after she and Jim made love, Sylvia slept like a bairn, and rose to the day a contented woman. By mid-morning she had cleaned the house, plucked and gutted the cockerel and got it in the oven, done all the Christmas vegetables, and finished the ironing, though her mam had always told her you should never iron on a Christmas Day.
Now, after enjoying the sandwiches which would carry them over until the evening, she left Jim and the twins to their own devices, and returned to the kitchen where she busied herself with the Christmas dinner. There was still much to be done, though thankfully, there was no one to interrupt her for the time being. Larry was having a nap; the girls had gone upstairs to play at dressing up, and Jim was lazing in front of the fire.
From the armchair, he called out to her, ‘I hope you’ve done enough food. What with the five of us, then young Mick and Grandad Bertie, you’ll need a lorryload of it.’
‘There’ll be more than enough,’ she replied. ‘There always is. Come and look for yourself. I’ve peeled a bucketful of potatoes and veg. I’ve made two large brandy puddings, there’s a mountain of a cake I made weeks ago, an army of pork pies from the butcher’s, and I’ve bought an extra chicken, just in case. So, you can stop your moithering, ’cause you’ll not starve.’
The sound of his chuckling filled the kitchen. ‘I’ll tell you what, our Sylvia. If it tastes as good as it smells, I’ll not complain.’ The whole house was bathed in the succulent aroma of mince pies, freshly cooked meat, sausage rolls, and big bumpy scones oozing with raisins and browned with the white of egg.
‘That’s the last batch.’ Satisfied with her day’s work, for that was how long it had taken on and off, Sylvia placed the hot food on wire racks, before arranging the racks on top of the cupboard. ‘Out of reach of you two!’ she told the girls, who by now were hanging around the door licking their lips and hoping to cadge a morsel or two.
‘Oh, Mam! Can’t you even spare one mince pie?’ Betsy groaned.
And back came the answer. ‘No. You’ll be having your Christmas dinner in no time. You don’t want to spoil it.’
‘Surely one mince pie won’t hurt.’ Her bottom lip was thrust out, always a sign that she was about to throw a tantrum.
Ellie suggested a compromise. ‘What if we just have one between us?’ she asked. ‘That won’t spoil our dinner, will it?’
‘Mebbe not.’ Trust Ellie to make the peace, Sylvia thought fondly.
So the twins sat at the table with one mince pie and two plates, and were satisfied.
When they returned their plates to the kitchen, Sylvia told them to get washed at the sink, which they did. She then brought them towels and afterwards they ran upstairs to change for their Christmas dinner. ‘Quick as you can,’ she said. ‘I’ll need your help to get the table set.’
‘And what d’you want from me, lass? ’Jim asked jokingly. ‘A white shirt and black tie, and a look at my nails to mek sure they’re clean?’
‘Away upstairs with you!’ Flicking the tea towel round his ear, she suggested, ‘You might wake Larry and tell him dinner will be on the table in half an hour. He went up there ages since. “I’ll only be having forty winks,” he said, and he’s still out like a light.’
‘Aye well, the lad worked an extra shift yesterday, so he could have today off. It ain’t fair, you know, lass. Most folks have Christmas Day off without having to do extra hours in lieu.’
‘What would you do if I had today off?’
‘What?’ He was taken aback.
‘Don’t you think I should have today off? I worked yesterday, and I’m working even harder today, but I don’t expect I’ll be paid, will I?’ With Jim staring at her like she were gormless, it was all she could do to keep a straight face. When she could no longer pretend, she laughed out loud. ‘By! That made you think though, didn’t it?’
Jim was not impressed. ‘Hmh! All it made me think was you’d lost your marbles. You like cooking and baking, and ironing and all that stuff. I’ve heard you say so yourself.’
‘Maybe I do. But I wouldn’t mind being paid for it.’
He ran at her, making her squeal with delight. ‘You argumentative little bugger! Are you looking for a fight, or what?’ When, still giggling, she sought sanctuary in the kitchen, he ambled off upstairs to get cleaned up, though he mumbled and moaned the whole way. ‘What’s so different about Christmas dinner, eh? One dinner’s the same as the next. It all goes down the same hole, don’t it? Causes the same amount o’ washin’ up, an’ all. But I’ll not be dipping me elbows in no grease, ’cause I’ll be off down the pub, and Larry alongside me. Grandad Bertie too, if I know that old bugger. Anyway, she’s got the twins to help her. They better had an’ all, or they’ll feel the flat o’ my hand against their arses, so they will!’
As he went upstairs, the girls came down. ‘Can we put the presents round the table now?’ That was Betsy, being impatient again.
Sylvia poked her head round the door. ‘No. You know very well we get our presents after we’ve had our main meal of the day. It’s family tradition – allus has been.’
‘Oh, Mam!’
Out came the bottom lip again, and this time it was Sylvia, not Ellie, who put a stop to the threatened tantrum. ‘If you’re going to keep moaning, mebbe you’d better go back upstairs and stay there.’
It was only a quiet suggestion, but it did the trick. ‘Well, can we pile them all together, ready for afterwards?’
‘I thought that was what you were doing before?’
‘We were, only we smelled the mince pies.’
‘Go on then, and be careful with your Grandad’s. It’s breakable.’ As she turned back into the kitchen Sylvia warned, ‘You’d best be quick about it, because everything’s cooked and waiting to be strained. I’ll need you to help in five minutes.’
In fact it was ten minutes before she called them.
Betsy insisted on putting the best tablecloth over the big old table. Ellie set out the knives and forks, while her sister arranged the spoons and condiments. ‘Don’t forget to put the block of wood in the centre of the table,’ their mother called out. ‘I think your dad said it was in the stairhole cupboard.’
As always there followed a little argument about who should fetch it out and, as always, Betsy won the day. ‘It’s too heavy for you to carry,’ she told Ellie importantly. ‘You’re too skinny and you’ll only let it drop.’
‘Stop arguing, you two!’ Sylvia came in with the plates, and handed them out, three to Betsy and three to Ellie; the seventh one she set down in their father’s place at the head of the table. ‘Now, see if you can do that without arguing!’
She did the same with the crackers, and the napkins – an old white towel cut into squares, each square sewn neatly round the edges.
When Grandad Bertie arrived half an hour later, the meal was on the table. Taking off his coat he flung it on the nail behind the door, sniffing at the air like a dog after a bone. ‘By! I couldn’t have timed that better if I’d tried.’ Reaching over Ellie, he squeezed a small brussel sprout between his finger and thumb, and promptly popped it into his mouth. ‘Done to perfection,’ he told her with a wink. ‘Like everything else you turn your hand to.’
Sylvia rapped him sharply on the knuckles with the serving spoon. ‘I’ll turn my hand to you if you don’t keep your fingers out of the food,’ she warned. ‘What’s the use of me telling the girls not to touch, if you go and do the very opposite?’
Like a scalded boy, he went and sat by the fireside, making faces at the girls and causing them to laugh out loud. One severe glance from Sylvia soon put a stop to that. Larry showed his face, then Mick, and five minutes later, Jim came down from having a short nap. ‘Right, lass. Lead me to the cockerel.’
The two of them went into the kitchen and a moment later they came out again: Jim in front carrying the cockerel, and Sylvia behind with the carving knife. Manoeuvring the block of wood so it was central enough to take the big plate, she reminded Jim, ‘Don’t forget last year, when the plate was lopsided and the chicken almost landed on the floor.’
‘By! That’s a real beauty.’ With eyes like saucers, Grandad Bertie was slavering at the mouth. Basted brown and dressed with bacon strips, the cockerel was big enough to feed an army on the march.
Soon all seven were seated round the table. ‘I’ve not seen a spread like this since our Mam…’ Mick’s voice tailed off miserably. ‘All water under the bridge,’ he said with a brave smile. ‘You’re a good cook an’ no mistake, Mrs Bolton.’
‘Well, thank you.’ Sylvia glowed with pride, though her heart went out to him. Twenty years and more he might be, but he was obviously still missing his mam.
‘Don’t heap too much praise on her,’ Jim warned. ‘You haven’t tasted her cooking yet.’
Sylvia gave him the ‘look’. ‘No – and neither will you if I get much more of your cheek!’
Everybody laughed, and Jim set about carving the cockerel. ‘There’ll be no fighting over the legs,’ he announced. ‘Being as we’re the eldest, there’s one for me, and one for Bertie.’ Giving his father-in-law a cheeky wink, he added, ‘I’m sorry an’ all that, but I’ve yet to see a chicken wi’ four legs.’
When the cockerel was sliced and the meat dished out, it was time to send round the bowls of vegetables; all piping hot and steamed in their own juices. Next came the gravy, rich and brown. ‘I’m looking forward to this!’ Clapping his hands, Grandad Bertie would have tucked in there and then, until Sylvia discreetly reminded him. ‘We haven’t said grace yet, Dad.’
‘Sorry.’ Lowering his gaze, he joined his hands and closed one eye, while the other continued to stare appreciatively at the food on his plate.
Jim didn’t have much to say, except, ‘Thank You, Lord, for what we’re about to receive.’ He glanced from one to the other. ‘Amen,’ he concluded, and no sooner had he finished, than Grandad Bertie was already cutting up his meat.
The crackers were pulled and everyone put on their hats, and made short work of their meals. Sylvia was praised, and then the teasing started. ‘How come we only ever get napkins on a Christmas night? The rest of the time it’s the cuff of your sleeve.’ That was Jim, full of mischief and cockerel.
‘And why isn’t there a bowl of fruit on the table, like they have in the big houses?’ Larry asked, tongue in cheek.
The bantering went on with young Ellie enjoying every minute, though Betsy got annoyed when her cracker fell into the gravy. ‘I don’t want it now!’ she whined, quickly smiling through her tears when Sylvia gave her the one remaining.
Next came the brandy pudding and custard, and, when that was eaten, the girls gave out the presents, which were torn open to cries of delight. ‘Just what I wanted!’ Larry received the same tie as last year but was too polite to say so.
Jim was given a box of men’s hankies with the initial ‘J’ from the girls and a smart cravat from Sylvia. ‘It’s grand, love,’ he said. ‘I’ll wear it every chance I get.’ As good as his word, he promptly put it on.
Sylvia was given a cameo brooch in return. ‘It’s not a real one,’ Jim apologised. ‘Mebbe next year, eh?’
His wife gave him a fond kiss. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and meant it.
Larry and the girls had clubbed together to get her a beautiful vase, which she adored. Grandad Bertie gave her a scarf and socks. ‘They’ll keep you warm on a cold night,’ he said gruffly. ‘If you don’t like ’em, the shopkeeper said you could tek ’em back and choose summat different.’
Sylvia put a smile on his face when she protested, ‘I wouldn’t dream of changing them, Dad! They’re lovely.’ The brown clay pipe she had bought for him was accepted with a cry of, ‘Oh, lass! It’s just what I want. The old one’s cracked wide open, as you know. By! That must have cost you a pretty penny!’
Turning it over and over in his hands, he admired the short stubby bowl with its fancy carvings and long flat stem. ‘By ’eck, lass!’ he kept saying. ‘By ’eck!’ And he gave her a big sloppy kiss that left her with a face full of spittle.
‘I wasn’t really sure what to get you.’ Mick handed her a small, square box. ‘My mam used to like this kinda thing, so I thought it might suit.’
Opening the parcel, Sylvia found the prettiest table decoration. With a base of polished wood and a cloth robin perched on a branch, it brought a gasp of wonder from the girls. ‘Oh Mam, it’s so bonny!’ Ellie held out her hands. ‘Can I hold it, Mam? Please?’ Though, when Sylvia passed the bird carefully from one girl to the other, they were too excited about their own presents to hold it for more than a minute.
They had a thick roll-necked sweater each from Sylvia and their dad. To Sylvia’s relief, Betsy seemed delighted with hers; red and wide-ribbed, it suited her colouring a treat. Ellie’s was blue; her favourite colour. The girls also received a game of Snakes and Ladders from Larry and Mick, and a pack of Snap cards from Grandad Bertie. ‘I bet I can beat you at Snap!’ Betsy could never accept being a loser, even to the point of being the occasional cheat.
‘Come on then!’ Ellie never shrank from a challenge.
While the girls enjoyed their Christmas presents, the young men cleared the table. Sylvia went into the front parlour, where she got out the glasses and a bottle of mulberry wine that was left over from Jim’s birthday a month back. Placing that on the mantelpiece, she then collected a big, brown earthenware jug from the cupboard. Giving it a wipe with the tail end of her apron, she made certain there was no dust inside. That done, she made her way back.
Awaiting the final Christmas-night treat, Jim and his old father-in-law retired to the armchairs on either side of the fire. ‘The lass allus does us proud,’ Bertie sighed, patting his over-full stomach. ‘I’m not even sure I’ve got room for the wine.’
‘Get away with you!’ Jim replied. ‘It’ll be a sorry day when a man can’t find room for a drop o’ the good stuff.’ With Bertie agreeing, the talk moved on to pubs and darts.
When Sylvia returned, Jim gave up his chair and drew another from the table. ‘Get in here, you two!’ he called out to Mick and Larry. ‘We’re about to warm the wine.’
‘Can’t miss that, can we, Mick?’ Larry emerged from the kitchen with Mick in tow, each of them tugging on the same tea towel with which to wipe their hands.
When everyone was seated, and the two girls watching as always, Jim thrust the poker into the fire. When it was red-hot, he plunged the poker-end into the heart of the wine, making it sizzle and dance. Before it went cool he quickly filled everyone’s glass. They raised a toast and drank it down; then another, and another until it was all gone – except for the small measure Sylvia saved so the girls could have a taste each.
Afterwards, they sat round and listened while the twins gave their usual Christmas treat. Betsy recited a poem she’d learned at school. When she’d finished, everyone clapped and so did she. ‘That were lovely, lass, ’Jim told her, and the others all said the same.
When it was Ellie’s turn, she bowed like a princess and looked like one as well. Her long fair hair hung over her shoulders like sunshine in motion, and her dark blue eyes shone with excitement. There was a pause, when everyone settled again, while Betsy came to sit at her mother’s feet.
When Ellie began to sing, the room was hushed, all eyes and ears on her. The voice was magical, a plaintive, haunting voice that tugged at their heartstrings:
‘Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…’
When the last note of the beautiful Irish ballad died away, the silence was thick with emotion. The young men were quiet, heads bowed, while Sylvia and Jim glanced at each other, amazed at the child they had raised.
Grandad Bertie wiped away a tear. ‘Aw, lass, that were beautiful. It don’t matter how many times you sing it, you mek me cry.’ Taking out his hankie, he blew his nose and woke everybody up.
The girls were hugged and praised and the furniture put back where it belonged. ‘I’ve never heard anyone sing so lovely.’ Mick was deeply moved.
‘She gets it off her grandma,’ Bertie murmured, then, when everyone’s eyes were on him, he looked away. ‘By! I’m a lucky man, with two such bonny grandchildren.’ Discreetly changing the subject, he took them one in each arm. ‘I’m proud o’ the pair of youse.’ He gave them each a kiss and sent them back to their games.
Aware that her father had come close to mentioning her mother, Sylvia watched him for a moment, but he never once glanced her way, and she knew the moment had passed.
Her mind still singing with Ellie, she went to the kitchen where she made a start on washing up the rest of the dinner things, while the girls could be heard laughing and arguing from the other end of the parlour.
The young men sat at the table, making plans for the evening. The older men lounged by the fire, talking and laughing, with Bertie puffing at his old pipe and filling the room with smoke.
To Sylvia it was a wonderful scene; the cheery fire in the grate, and everyone so content. It seemed too good to last, she mused. No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than she felt the same disturbing sense of danger that she had experienced before. ‘Take a hold of yourself, Sylvia,’ she said bossily. ‘You’ve had too much wine. It’s got you imagining things.’
Jim’s voice sailed through to her. ‘Talking to yourself now, is it?’ he chuckled. ‘I can see I’ll have to fetch the men in white coats.’
A moment later, her dad came into the kitchen. ‘All right, are you, lass?’
‘Of course I am.’ And, after Jim’s light-hearted comment, so she was.
Dipping his finger into the custard pan, Bertie licked it clean though at the same time keeping a wary eye on her. ‘You’re not still worried about that Peeping Tom, are you?’
‘No, Dad.’ Wiping her hands, she filled the kettle and put it on to boil.
‘Will it be all right if I stay here tonight?’ he went on.
Sylvia smiled at him. ‘You feel the need to protect me, do you?’
Bertie didn’t answer. Instead, he told her, ‘I’ll have to go back and fetch the old dog, if that’s all right. He’s never been left on his own at night afore.’
‘’Course it’s all right, Dad,’ Sylvia told him. ‘Besides, it will be nice to have you stay over. Larry won’t mind sharing with you.’
Bertie shook his head. ‘No, love, I won’t disturb the lad. I’ll be happy enough bedding down on the sofa.’
Jim was consulted, and the arrangement was quickly made. ‘I’ll be going to the pub in a while,’ he told Bertie. ‘The landlord’s son’s got himself a little car; it spits and bangs and frightens the life outta the cats, but it goes forrard and backarrd and that’s all as matters. Show him a bob or two, an’ he’ll have you out to your place and back again afore you can say “How’s yer father”.’
Having got ready to go out, Larry suggested, ‘If you like, I’ll ask him. Me and Mick are off there now.’
Getting out of the chair, Jim gave a long, noisy stretch. ‘Aye, go on then, son. Tell him me and your grandad are on our way, an’ he’ll be needing to leave in the next hour.’
Sylvia was astonished. ‘What’s all this?’ Looking from one to the other she asked, ‘Since when has the landlord opened his pub of a Christmas night?’
‘There’s a darts match… private like. There’ll not be any old Tom, Dick or Harry invited, I can tell you that.’
‘Me and your Larry have been asked to make up the numbers,’ Mick chipped in. ‘With a bit o’ luck, we’ll give that lot from The Navigation a run for their money.’
Hands on hips, Sylvia looked at Jim with narrowed eyes. ‘You never said you’d be going out tonight,’ she teased. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve been asked to play as well? Because if you have, they’ll not stand a cat in hell’s chance of winning.’
Grabbing his coat, her husband retorted, ‘’Ere! Less o’ that, my girl. I might be rusty now, but in my prime, I could throw a dart through the eye of a needle.’ Turning to Bertie, he urged, ‘Get your coat, Grandad, afore we’re made to finish the washing up.’
Sylvia persisted. ‘You didn’t answer me… have you been asked to play as well?’
Shoving the other three men out the door, Jim said, ‘Well, as it happens, I haven’t, no. But the lads need somebody to cheer ’em on, don’t they?’ With that he grabbed a quick kiss and was down the passage and out the door before she could catch her breath.
Going after them at the run, she called out, ‘Tell that landlord’s son to mind how he goes wi’ my dad!’
A smile and a wave, and they’d already rounded the corner. ‘Little boys at heart,’ she sighed and went back to see what the girls were up to.
‘Betsy won’t come down the snakes,’ Ellie complained.
Betsy had a complaint too. ‘It’s not fair when she keeps landing on the ladders. How can I win if I have to come down the snakes every time!’
Sighing, Sylvia left them to it. In truth, the men weren’t half as much trouble as the girls!
Deep in her work, Sylvia’s quiet thoughts turned to Mick and his estranged father. ‘It’s such a pity Mick won’t forgive his dad,’ she mused. ‘Losing his wife must have taken its toll on him. Still, God moves in mysterious ways, they say. Happen He’ll find a way of bringing them back together again.’
Feeling contented in the bosom of her family, and with the business of the Peeping Tom out of the way, Sylvia found herself echoing Ellie’s song: ‘I’ll be here in sunshine or in sha-a-dow. Oh Danny boy… oh Danny boy, I love you so.’
When, from the parlour, Ellie’s beautiful, clear voice joined in, she felt a surge of pride and something else too – something she had never really felt for Betsy. She felt the deepest, warmest bond. From the moment they were born, Ellie first, Betsy next, she loved both girls, but Betsy had never really let her get close, while Ellie was instantly part of her own soul, and always would be.
Going to the kitchen door she looked out across the parlour. Betsy saw her and looked away without acknowledgement. Then Ellie turned, her pretty eyes shining. She smiled at Sylvia, and returned to her game. But that quick, warm smile had lit her mam’s heart, as ever.
Returning to her work, Sylvia wondered how two children – twins, at that – could be so very different.
Some few miles away, at the north end of Blackburn, a lone man stood by a window. Big in stature, small in courage, he stood, glass in hand, his face haggard from too many sleepless nights. From the way his head was drooped low into his neck, and the forward stoop of his shoulders, it was plain to see that he carried the weight of the world on his back.
As on every Christmas since he and his son had gone their separate ways, Mick’s father was filled with thoughts of what might have been. ‘Will you never forgive me, lad?’ His quiet voice echoed through the cosy but plainly furnished room. ‘Drinking and womanising, sullying your mam’s memory, it’s no wonder you threw me out. But oh, lad. If only you’d find it in your heart to let me into your life now, I’d never let you down again, I swear to God!’
No one answered, because there was no one there to hear him. Freda, his common-law wife, had gone out to the local to replenish their supply of drink.
Raising his glass to the wintry scene outside, he declared, ‘Merry Christmas, son.’ Gulping down the last remaining dregs of booze, he gave a small, cynical laugh. ‘It’s no use feeling sorry for yourself, Ernie Fellowes. If you’ve no life and no family, you’ve only yourself to blame.’ It was a sorry truth and one which he bitterly regretted.
He was still standing there, shoulders hunched and eyes filled with tears of self-pity, when Freda came into the room. ‘Huh! So there you are – I might have guessed.’ Her sharp eyes found him out. ‘Still hankering after that bloody son o’ yours, are yer? Even after he threw yer out on the streets – not once but twice!’ Her flaming red hair was full of pin-curlers with a net over, even though it was Christmas Day, and the look on her face said, ‘I’m after trouble.’
Ernie saw how she was clinging onto the back of the chair, her small eyes glittering with too much Christmas booze. ‘You’re drunk!’ he reproached. ‘You’re always drunk these days.’
‘You don’t say.’ Laughing, she fell into the chair. ‘You’re right, I am drunk. An’ if I feel the need, I’ll be drunk again tomorrer, and the day after that.’ Swallowing the last drop, she then flung the glass across the room. When it smashed on the wall only inches from his face, she laughed out loud. ‘Get us another, will yer?’
He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked away, his gaze and his thoughts going to the world outside. First he had lost his wife, and then, because he couldn’t see straight, he had lost his son. A good son – a lad who was also suffering the loss of that good woman. Now it was too late. His life was here. With her, God help him.
‘Hey! Did you hear me? I said get me another drink.’
He didn’t turn round. Too often lately he had looked at her and been riddled with shame and disgust. ‘Get it yourself,’ he said quietly. ‘And see if you can clean up this mess while you’re at it.’ Shuffling the broken glass at his feet, he limped slowly across the room, his face contorted with pain as he gingerly put one foot before the other.
‘Still hurts, does it?’ her taunting voice called after him. ‘Serves you bleedin’ right, you silly old bugger!’
When he closed the door behind him, he could still hear her ranting at him. ‘What kind of coward are you, peering in windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of him? Instead of believing your lies, how you were only resting for a few minutes after some wall fell on you, them coppers should have locked you up where you belong! I dare say if it hadn’t been so near to Christmas, they’d have took longer in quizzing you.’
‘SHUT UP.’ At the end of his tether, he could control himself no longer. ‘FOR CHRISSAKE, WOMAN, SHUT UP!’
‘And what would your precious son have thought if he’d known you were sneaking about like some old tom cat outside in the dark? That you weren’t all there in the bleedin’ head, that’s what he’d think! And he’d be right an’ all. Lord only knows why I let you persuade me to come here and live with you, paying half the rent an’ all. But I’m here now, and I’ve as much right as you. So if anybody goes, it’ll be you, not me. Have you got that, you gormless bugger?’
Her mocking laughter followed him up the stairs, made him feel more of a failure than he already did. She was right about one thing though. Going to the house in Buncer Lane was a damned stupid thing. Yet he had done a far worse thing when he let that scrag-end come here to live with him.
In spite of all that, Ernie knew he wasn’t being fair. Freda was a good sort in many ways, and it wasn’t her fault he was estranged from Mick. And no wonder she drank like a fish. It couldn’t be much fun, living with a gloomy so-and-so like him.
Ernie gave a deep sigh.
He had made his bed and, for now at least, he must lie on it.