by Gwyn G B
Everyone had made a big effort to spoil Sophie this year, there were loads of presents from Phil’s parents as well as her own and Alison made a mental note that they must make a visit to see his family in the new year. After all, Sophie was all they had left of their son. Her only concern was that they might be very disapproving about the fact Alison was pregnant, but in the long run they were bound to find out, so she might as well face the music now.
Sophie had made Alison some scented sachets with her name embroidered on them, to put amongst her clothes. Plus she’d bought her a box of her favourite chocolates, but Alison couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that she’d not registered the new baby’s impending presence. There were gifts to ‘the bump’ from the other members of her family, but Sophie had pushed all these to one side and wasn’t at all interested when her mother went to open them.
Once all the presents were unwrapped and the huge pile of crumpled gift paper stashed in a bin bag, it was time for breakfast and for them to both miss Phil even more. Every year he’d insisted on making them Christmas breakfast because Alison always made the lunch. He’d also be in charge of the wrapping paper disposal, usually making a little bonfire in the garden. This year Sophie and Alison went to the kitchen alone and as they sat down on the table, Sophie began to cry.
‘I wish daddy was here,’ Alison who’d been thinking the same thing couldn’t control her feelings anymore and the sight of Alison’s tears brought hers.
‘Oh Sophie, so do I. I miss him so much too,’ and she held on to her daughter tightly, the two of them sobbing, rocking backwards and forwards in each other’s arms. ‘He’s watching us Sophie,’ said Alison at last, ‘I know that and I know he’d want us to be happy not upset on Christmas Day. Think how hard he used to try to make you laugh if ever you were upset about something.’ Sophie’s tear filled eyes looked at her mother and she nodded.
‘He used to tell me stories about Milly the blind mole and her friend Fatty the bat,’ Sophie said.
‘Yes,’ laughed Alison, ‘too fat to fly and both too blind to see, so they used to sniff everything like this,’ and Alison stuck her nose to her daughter’s neck and snuffled and sniffed.
‘Yes,’ giggled Sophie squealing as she tickled her. Then they both stopped.
‘You see,’ said Alison, ‘we’ll never forget daddy, he lives on in our memories and I bet you that you’ll be telling stories of Milly the Mole to your children and you children’s children.’
‘Mummy, I’m sorry for having been naughty.’
‘Naughty sweetheart? In what way?’
‘Just thinking you didn’t love daddy, or me anymore.’
‘Sophie, I will never stop loving daddy and most especially I’ll never stop loving you. There is nothing you can do that will change that - and there’s nobody else who can change that either. Even the new baby.’
Sophie hugged her mother tightly, she was so glad her mother had realised about Charlie and her daddy, but she was very confused about the new baby. With Charlie gone how could he replace her with his child, her mother said she’d never stop loving her. She’d have to ask Martha, get her to explain. Her deliberations were interrupted by the telephone ringing, it was Granny and Grandad Wright calling to wish them merry Christmas.
Martha arrived about half an hour later and much to Alison’s relief, proved a worthy playmate for Sophie. While Alison prepared vegetables and roasted turkey in the kitchen, Sophie and Martha kept themselves amused by playing with all the new presents.
Alison gave Martha some things for the garden, some new gloves and one of those padded things you kneel on to prevent your knees from hurting. Martha gave Alison a talisman to hang over the front door.
‘It’s for good luck and good health,’ she explained.
Alison looked at the piece of polished metal shaped into a pentacle. One side was convex and the other concave and mirrored. On the non-shiny side were some symbols.
‘What do these mean?’ she asked Martha.
‘It’s the Kamea of Saturn with your name imposed over it using magical numerical values.’
‘Wow,’ exclaimed Alison. She thought it was a sweet present, not your usual run of the mill smellies or calendar and she went immediately to hang it over their front door.
As she did so she glanced over at Martha’s cottage, sadly she couldn’t see inside and up the stairs to Martha’s bedroom, where a large black book is opened at a page titled, ‘Talisman Magic’. Under the Hours of Saturn are written the words:
‘For causing evil, bringing destruction and giving death and to sow hatred and discord.’
28
Michaela always dreaded Christmas time because all her schoolfriend would get excited in the days running up to it about their presents and all the great food they would eat. After Christmas was even worse, they’d come back with stories of happy family times, TV movies and presents; and many would bring in their new gifts to show off. Michaela could make up tales and lies of her dream Christmas, but she’d have nothing to show them. This year her father had even threatened to leave her on her own. Neil Best, his friend, was going away to the Philippines and he’d wanted to go with him. For a while, Michaela had been very jealous of the Filipino children and she even wished she’d not been born a girl because her father said Neil was off to play with little boys. She thought that maybe her father would love her more if she too had been a boy.
In the event, and unbeknown to Michaela, Martha had banned her father from going and so Neil had gone alone. As she woke up shivering in the cold on Christmas Day, she had visions of Neil playing football with Filipino boys in the warm sunshine.
Father Christmas didn’t visit Michaela, he hadn’t done so for years and she presumed this was all part of the punishment for driving her mother away. She often thought about her mother on Christmas Day, almost being able to remember her warmth and softness or the sound of her voice as she called her name. Christmas has been a nice time, a happy time. But these were distant memories and the harsh reality was that her father lay snoring off the booze in his room and there was no turkey, just some scrawny chicken she was expected to cook for their lunch.
She was sitting in the living room watching the TV when he finally stumbled down the stairs. He still stank of booze and stale cigarettes and his breath was rancid with the stench of puke. He thrust his face close to Michaela’s and shoved a paper bag into her lap.
‘Merry Christmas daughter dear,’ he leered. Michaela was surprised, he’d never bought her anything before, she couldn’t know that Martha had still demanded he make an effort to keep the social services at bay. Gingerly she opened the bag. The first thing she saw was a box of chocolates, she couldn’t believe her eyes, she’d never had a whole box to herself before. Then she pulled at the thing that was left. It was a silk and lace top.
‘That’s for wearing in bed,’ her father had gruffly said in response to her expression. He flicked the TV over, cutting short the Muppets in full song. ‘Ain’t it about time you got the dinner on?’
‘The chicken is cooking,’ replied Michaela, crossing to the sideboard and taking something out. ‘I made you a present at school,’ she continued timidly, ‘I couldn’t wrap it,’ and she offered up her gift. It was a small brown clay ashtray with the word, ‘Daddy’ etched onto it. She’d spent hours slaving away, trying so hard to make it a perfect round shape.
Robert West looked at its irregular outline and rough craftsmanship.
‘What’s that?’ he asked knowing full well what it was.
‘It’s an ashtray,’ replied Michaela studying his face for any sign of pleasure.
‘Nuffin wrong with empty tins,’ he’d continued, but lit up and snatched his present off her anyway, flicking ash into it as he did so. Michaela’s heart skipped a beat, he must be pleased, he was using her gift and with half a smile forming inside of her she went to check on the chicken.
29
The trouble with Christmas dinner, thought
Alison, is that you eat so much all you want to do afterwards is sleep. At least the adults want to sleep, the Sophie’s of this world are too full of excitement to ever want to close their eyes. Christmas Day for most kids, is to be savoured, for every moment to last as long as possible and so sleeping the time away is a definite no-no. Alison had, however managed to catch a few minutes snooze and woke to the chorus of the Muppet Movie end credits and a view of Martha and Sophie huddled over some crazy boardgame Phil’s parents had sent her.
Alison had just suggested she make a cup of tea when the phone rang. She decided to continue kettle-bound and picked up the cordless phone in the hallway, walking into the kitchen with it.
‘Hello,’ she said reaching out for the kettle.
‘Hello Alison, it’s Charlie.’
‘Charlie,’ she exclaimed, her heart jumped and she abandoned the kettle at the sink while she sat down at the kitchen table in shock. Shock because he’d called and shock because of the reaction his voice had set off in her.
‘How are you Alison?’
‘Well, I’m very well thank you,’ she was a bit breathless and struggling hard to regain her composure.
‘And Sophie and the baby?’
‘They’re both fine too. It’s been a long time since we heard from you.’ His voice reminded her of the great times they’d had together, of his support for her through the difficult months and inside she cried out for his loss.
‘I stopped trying to call you because you’d never answer and you never replied to any of my letters so I thought I’d give you some time and space.’
‘Letters? I never received a single letter from you.’ Suddenly she switched back into reality, this was the man who’d slept with a prostitute and now here he was trying it on again.
‘But you must have, I wrote at least ten.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ Alison’s betrayed mind assumed he was lying.
‘I don’t understand…’ Charlie thought that maybe she was bluffing just because she’d never written back. He decided that more importantly, at last he had her ear and was going to make the most of it. Nearly four months of emotional torment poured out of him, for Alison there was no mistaking the emotion in his voice.
‘Alison, I’m so truly sorry for what happened, but I swear I did nothing wrong. I loved you, I still do, it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding. You’re carrying my baby, don’t you have any wish to see me? Can’t we just try again in the interests of our child, if not for our own sakes?’
Alison closed her eyes and put her hand to her stomach. How she wished it could have all been different, he sounded so sincere, but then he always had.
‘Charlie I’m sorry, it’s too late. You can’t turn back the clock. I’d never be able to trust you again. I’m sorry.’
‘Alison please, at least just let me come and see you.’
‘Things have settled down with Sophie and I, we, are happy the way we are. I just can’t…’
‘But you’re carrying my child. I’m the father. I have rights too you know.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, look we’ll have to sort something out but you can’t just expect to be able to walk back into our lives. Nothing has changed, you did what you did and I’m really sorry but I can’t just forget that.’ She began to go on the defensive, relieved to be feeling anything other than the aching longing which had hit her at the sound of his voice.
‘Ok, Ok,’ sighed Charlie, ‘but think about what I said, you’re going to have to see me sometime because of our baby.’
‘Yes, well, I’ll think about it,’ replied Alison. An icy chill had come over her, she hadn’t thought about this situation at all. After not hearing form Charlie for months she’d assumed he was out of their lives. Now here he was again saying he wanted to be a father to his unborn baby.
‘Happy Christmas anyway Alison and send my love to Sophie and your parents. I’ll call you in the New Year, please answer, OK?’
‘OK Charlie and happy Christmas to you too. Bye.’ Alison put the phone down onto the kitchen table slowly and sat staring at it for a while. How dare he call up again after so long, what was she going to do? Would they have to agree some kind of visitation rights, would she be forced to see him again? How would she cope being around him again, being close to him? She returned to the abandoned kettle and filled it with water. Maybe he’d just been overcome by sentimentality on Christmas day, maybe he would leave them alone again afterwards. She got the tea things out of the cupboard and pondered the options.
30
For Christmas day, Charlie had gone to his parents’ house where the whole family had gathered for a reunion and, as his mother called it, a celebration of her and his father getting back together again. It had been in late November that his father finally decided he’d had enough of being out there on the singles cattle ranch and had returned to the homestead and to his wife of forty years. Mrs Theresa Simpson, jubilant that she’d won the war, spared no expense this Christmas. A huge tree weighed down with extra little gifts for her grandchildren, a large drinks party on Christmas eve for all their friends and family, and a Boxing Day party for a few close friends of both her children and themselves. Charlie, however, invited nobody to the Boxing Day get together and so became the new focus of his mother’s worry.
He’d been depressed for months anyway, but Christmas made it worse because this year he’d planned to spend it with Alison, Sophie and the bump. Watching his brother play happy families with his kids didn’t exactly help matters either. Then his mother, worried about how withdrawn and quiet he seemed, kept trying to jolly him along. It took all his patience not to tell her to leave him alone and put a damper on her triumphant Christmas. He didn’t, but by Christmas afternoon, bolstered by a couple of glasses of wine over lunch, he decided he just had to talk to Alison. So while the laughter and children’s voices provided an aural background, he crept upstairs to one of the bedrooms and dialled Dorset.
Afterwards the emotions were just too much for him and he’d sat there and cried. Cried for his lost years of love and companionship with Alison, cried for the fact he wouldn’t be there to see his baby born, or to watch its first crawl, witness the first words, its first day at school; and he cried because his dream had been shattered and he truly believed he would never be able to love anybody else like he loved Alison. He had to fight for them.
31
The day after Boxing Day, Alison received a personally delivered invite to a charity evening on New Year’s Eve in aid of the Romanian orphans. The organiser of the party was, of course, Margaret St Romaine. Alison hadn’t given much thought to what she was going to do to see the new year in. She’d been invited to a friend’s party in London as usual, but to be honest, she just didn’t feel up to it and to all the questions from people she hadn’t seen in ages, about where Phil was, whose baby she was carrying etc etc. So instead, she bought a ticket for Sophie and herself. They’d leave after midnight so neither of them would get too tired. Again Martha declined to go with them, but Sophie was very excited about the prospect of her first New Year’s eve party.
Margaret had obviously, at some point, been to some of the charity balls in London because she’d tried really hard to recreate such an event at the village hall in Deepdene, although sadly not quite pulling it off. The cumbersome decorations and overdressed serving staff were all however, very quaint in their innocent good intentions and Alison decided it was really the thought that counted, not the resource that went into it.
The outside of the hall was swathed in fairy lights and there were brightly coloured banners strung along its facade, all funnily enough, in the colours of the local Round Table group. Inside, somebody had tried very hard to create some of the balloon centrepiece table decorations Alison had seen elsewhere and which were all the rage. However, they’d obviously not been trained properly in the art, or managed to get the right raw materials because they’d ended up looking like bunches of weary grapes that were on the turn.
Alison wasn’t, of course, drinking and so she had a thoroughly enjoyable evening watching everybody else get slowly drunk, while Sophie made friends with the Vicar’s girls. They’d been put on a table with the Vicar, his wife and two daughters, a local garage owner and his wife and a brother and sister who looked like they were in their seventies and didn’t stop bickering all night. The garage owner, Dennis Pride, was an east London man by birth and as down to earth as the ground he walked on. His wife, Sheila, was a local girl and they’d met when they’d both been working as entertainment officers at a holiday camp.
‘First time I saw ‘er, she had frilly white knickers and a lacy camisole on - I thought corr, that’s a bit of alright, so I asked ‘er to dance. Six months later we were married. That was twenty years ago.’
‘We were in the cabaret,’ the slightly embarrassed wife gigglingly explained, but Alison guessed that he’d probably told that story a thousand times before. Still, it obviously hadn’t got stale because even after twenty years, they still looked very much in love and he gazed at her with such a sweet look of pride on his face that Alison couldn’t help but feel just a little envious of their happiness. Less than six months ago, she’d been blissfully happy like that with Charlie.
The Vicar, Simon Dent, explained that of course he wasn’t a drinker, but as this was a special occasion he’d have one or two - and then promptly managed to polish off a whole bottle of red wine on his own, on top of several glasses of champagne. He’d shown the same tendency on Christmas Eve with the mulled wine and his wife had then, as she did this evening, looked on with disapproval throughout. Emily Dent probably said about ten words throughout the whole evening and most of those were ‘thank you’, ‘sorry’ or ‘please’ in response to the waiters.
