A Christmas to Remember

by Katie Flynn

  Tess stared at the older girl in complete bewilderment. ‘What do you know about my mother?’ she enquired. ‘Whatever it is, I don’t know it, so you’d best enlighten me.’

  Marilyn’s admittedly pretty face was promptly pulled into a most horrible sneer. ‘Your mam was no better’n she should be, an’ your perishin’ gran must know what her daughter was like . . .’ she began, but that was all she managed to say before she found herself being attacked by a furious Tess, who had dropped her bag and launched herself at Marilyn with such force that she knocked her to the ground. The margarine went one way, the bloater paste another, but Tess neither noticed nor cared. She just wanted to make the older girl eat her words.

  In less than a minute there was a melee on the pavement outside Mrs Thomas’s corner shop, for all Marilyn’s friends, seeing their leader punched in the stomach and unable, for a moment, to free herself from her attacker, attacked in their turn. Tess was definitely getting the worst of it, for though Marilyn had disengaged herself and got shakily to her feet her friends continued to thump and kick at any part of Tess which came within range.

  As her rage cooled, Tess began to realise that she had best escape before any serious damage was done, but just as she delivered a parting thump on her nearest aggressor, someone seized her collar and she was dragged upright.

  ‘What the devil’s goin’ on here?’ said a reproving voice. ‘Anyone ‘ud think the third world war had started. What’s goin’ on?’

  Tess looked up. Her captor, or perhaps rescuer would be a better word, was a tall, fair-haired boy she vaguely recognised as someone she had seen on the way to his school whilst she was heading for hers. She did not know his name, but he was looking from her to Cynthia, the girl she had been fighting, as if waiting for a reply from one of them. Tess took a deep breath and rubbed her left eye, which was watering and felt suspiciously tender, then opened her mouth to tell him that it was nothing much, but before she could speak he had turned to Marilyn. ‘I know you wouldn’t start a street fight, Marilyn, so what’s it all about?’

  Marilyn shrugged. ‘No idea, except that one started it,’ she said, indicating Tess. ‘She’s a rare troublemaker, Snowy. But I weren’t involved. If you want to know more, you’d better ask her.’

  The boy stared at Marilyn for a long moment, then scrutinised Tess and raised a brow. ‘Well? That puts the ball in your court, chuck. So what’s your version?’

  Tess took a deep breath and looked across at Marilyn, and for the first time saw a look of pleading in her enemy’s eyes. For a moment she was tempted to give the other girl away, to say that though she herself had indeed struck the first blow, it had been Marilyn’s cruel and totally unjustified taunt which had got under her skin. She thought quickly. If she told, she would probably be disbelieved, and life at school would become even more difficult. If she did not tell, then even if Marilyn never became her friend she might stop being her enemy. But how to invent a reason for the fight? She took a deep breath. ‘It was my fault. I’d been into Mrs Thomas’s shop to get some rations and as I came out I collided with Cynthia here. We’re in the same class at school. She – she doesn’t like me much, and next thing I knew we were fighting.’

  The boy released his hold on the two girls and turned to Marilyn, standing cool and composed as though she had never so much as thought a bad word, let alone used one. ‘Oh, well. I reckon girls is just like us fellers sometimes!’ He ran a hand through his crisp fair hair and grinned at Marilyn.

  Cynthia picked up her shoulder bag from where it lay on the icy pavement and began to peer at it. ‘If me handbag’s ruined you can bleedin’ well pay for a new one, Tess Williams,’ she said viciously, glaring at Tess. ‘It were all your fault. Marilyn were right when she telled us in school to steer clear of you.’

  The boy called Snowy looked questioningly at Tess. ‘I’m gettin’ confused,’ he announced. ‘If it were an accident, like what you said, then how come it’s your fault if the bag’s busted?’ His glance went from Tess to Cynthia and then to Marilyn. ‘Come on, Marilyn, you weren’t involved. Whose fault is it if the bag’s busted?’

  Marilyn was about to reply when Tess gave a squeak of dismay. ‘Oh my God, my shopping!’ she wailed. The bloater paste was still whole and appeared undamaged, but she pointed a trembling finger at the tiny packet of margarine, or rather what had once been the packet of margarine. In the melee someone had trodden on it and it was smeared right across the pavement. ‘My gran will be that upset . . . oh, whatever shall I do?’

  No one spoke for a moment, then Snowy addressed Marilyn. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you get your mam to give Tess here a little pot of homemade jam? You can’t do nothin’ about the margarine ’cos that’s on ration, but I know your mam makes jam sometimes. Wouldn’t that do?’

  Tess looked at her enemy and saw that Marilyn was nodding, though she also saw that there was a strange glitter in the older girl’s eyes. Still, it was a generous offer and she accepted it immediately. ‘Gosh, thanks ever so much, Marilyn,’ she said gratefully. ‘Are you sure your mam won’t mind?’

  Marilyn shrugged. ‘Your gran’s a good customer; I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But come with me into the shop so that I can explain what happened to the margarine.’ She turned to the boy. ‘Were you goin’ to call for me, Snowy? Or were you just passin’?’

  ‘Just passin’,’ the boy said; he grinned lopsidedly at Marilyn. ‘School starts in a couple of days and there’s a perishin’ great hole in my satchel, caused, no doubt, by the weight of books. Go on, you two. Mrs Thomas will understand that accidents happen.’

  Tess wished she could suggest that Snowy came into the shop as well, but knew this would be a real giveaway, revealing the fact that she feared Marilyn’s attitude might change as soon as they were out of Snowy’s sight. However, Tess reasoned, it was up to her to make the most of the present situation, so as they entered the corner shop she touched Marilyn lightly on the arm and whispered: ‘I’m sorry I hit you, Marilyn. I won’t do so again. Only you did say . . . well, you did say . . .’

  Marilyn gave her a wide smile. ‘Shut your mouth,’ she said very slowly and distinctly. ‘And be thankful Snowy White came along. He’s me feller, if you hadn’t already guessed. And I won’t have you tellin’ my mam a pack of lies, so just shurrup and let me do the talkin’.’

  They had joined the end of the queue, and when they reached the head of it Mrs Thomas smiled at her daughter. ‘Back already, dear?’ she said. ‘Have you changed your mind about takin’ a break?’

  ‘No-o, not exactly,’ Marilyn said. ‘Mam, this is Mrs Williams’s granddaughter. When she come out of the shop just now with her margarine, she slipped on the ice and landed on her shoppin’. I know you can’t give her no more margarine, ’cos it’s on ration, but if you could spare a bit of jam in an old jar she’d be ever so grateful.’

  Mrs Thomas, who was a tall, somewhat stringy woman, with grey hair pulled into a hard little bun on the nape of her neck, a large and commanding nose and a pair of very shrewd brown eyes, nodded briskly. ‘I’ll fill an old honey jar,’ she said. She smiled at Tess. ‘You wait here, queen, while I fetch it through; me daughter will serve the customers whilst I’m gone.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Thomas,’ Tess murmured. It was a pity that Marilyn did not mean to make peace, but it seemed that Mrs Thomas, at any rate, did not share her daughter’s view of the Williams family. I don’t believe Marilyn had any reason to say what she did about my mother, Tess thought, as she stood to one side of the shop and watched Marilyn dealing with the customers. She had to admire Marilyn’s efficiency, and found herself wishing that she too was a tall, slender blonde who could take on the task of serving a line of customers with such apparent good humour. Of course Tess knew that the good humour was an act, or at least she supposed it was, but in any event by the time Mrs Thomas returned with several spoonfuls of jam in an old honey jar the queue had disappeared.

  Outside again, Tess turned hopefull
y to the older girl. ‘Can we call it pax?’ she asked. ‘I’ll try to forget what you said about my mother.’

  Marilyn stared very hard at Tess. ‘You’re goin’ to have a black eye, and serve you bloody well right,’ she said nastily. ‘As for cryin’ pax, I don’t do that with the likes of you. And don’t think just because . . . Oh, hi, Snowy. So you did wait after all!’

  Snowy gave Marilyn a long, considering look. ‘If I heard what you said right, I’ve still not got to the bottom of that perishin’ fight,’ he said crossly. He looked from one girl to the other, then jerked a thumb at Tess. ‘You! Didn’t you say you was in Marilyn’s class? You’re a bit small, ain’t you? Don’t try and tell me you’re the same age, ’cos I shan’t believe you. And what’ll your mam say when she sees you’ve gorra black eye? ’Cos it’s turnin’ kind of purple already.’

  Marilyn broke into hasty speech. ‘Tess doesn’t have no parents. She lives with her gran above one of the shops on Heyworth Street. She were at a village school in the war, so she’s way ahead of her year.’

  The boy nodded. ‘Got you. Well, I’m off. Your pals are comin’ back, Marilyn, so I’ll be on my way. See you some time.’ He strode away from them and Marilyn only waited until he was out of hearing before addressing Tess in a low, hissing whisper.

  ‘Just remember what I told you. Snowy White’s my feller and don’t you go tryin’ to make trouble for me, else I’ll make you regret it. Comprenny?’

  Tess had been about to thank Marilyn again for the little jar of jam but this was too much. ‘And don’t you forget that there was nothin’ wrong with my mam, and she’s dead now so she can’t defend herself,’ she said. ‘I’ve tried to be friendly – I never told that feller you’d called me names, and all the thanks I get is more nastiness from you. Well, be like that, Marilyn Thomas; see if I care! People who are nasty for no reason have a way of bein’ paid out. And I’m sure you’re no exception.’

  Marilyn opened her mouth to reply but Tess did not intend to hang around. Snowy White had said Marilyn’s friends were coming back, and her eye was beginning to sting. She did not feel capable of defending herself again and fairly flew along the road. In fact she was so busy looking over her shoulder to make sure that Marilyn and her gang were not following that she didn’t see the tall fair-haired boy barring her path until he seized her and gave her a playful shake. ‘What’s up wi’ you and them other girls? Let’s have the truth now.’

  Tess sighed. ‘It wasn’t anything important. It wouldn’t have happened, the fight I mean, if I’d been looking where I was going.’ She looked up at the boy’s face and realised for the first time how extremely good-looking he was. No wonder Marilyn was so keen not to give him a bad impression, but to Tess his looks were immaterial. All she wanted right now was to return to Gran with the bloater paste and the jar of jam. But the boy was gripping her arm and she realised she would have to produce a more satisfactory reason for the fight than she had done so far, so she took a deep breath and prepared to lie convincingly. ‘All right, all right. If you’re determined to know the truth, they accused me of trying to get into Clackem’s good graces by taking her a Christmas present,’ she said. She looked hopefully up at him. ‘Now can I go home? Only my gran is waiting for the shopping and she’ll worry if I’m long away.’

  But the boy continued to hold on to her arm, looking down into her face with a puzzled expression. ‘But that’s no reason for fighting,’ he said slowly. ‘Look, I’ll walk along with you, so you won’t be late, and you can tell me just exactly what happened.’

  Tess shook her head firmly. ‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘It’s none of your business, you know. Don’t boys fight occasionally for stupid reasons? I’m sure they do. When I was at the village school someone was always fighting and it was nearly always boys. So if you’ll please let go of my arm we can both go on our way.’

  The boy laughed, but let go of her arm. ‘Awright, but just how are you going to explain that black eye to your gran? And there’s a scratch runnin’ from the corner of your left eye right down into the neck of your blouse. You look as though you’ve been shut in a cage with a wild cat . . . and I’m just hoping the wild cat wasn’t Marilyn, because damn it, queen, you’re half her size.’

  Tess chuckled. ‘I don’t know who it was,’ she admitted frankly. ‘Honest to God, Snowy, it could have been anyone. Only not Marilyn.’

  The boy looked relieved. ‘That’s all right then. But why are they so agin you? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You ain’t a local girl – no accent – and you’re bright, which is why you’re in Marilyn’s class. So really it’s you bein’ different which is the trouble. Am I right?’

  Tess nodded, feeling considerable relief, and knowing that he wasn’t so far out at that. Had she been in a class with girls her own age she was pretty sure she would have been accepted. She remembered an incident on the Bells’ farm when Mr Bell had come home, triumphant, one market day, bringing with him a pony fourteen hands high to replace the little cob that his son rode. He had let it loose in the meadow where four or five other horses, all known to one another, were grazing, and within ten minutes the new pony was being bullied by its companions. Tess and Jonty, leaning on the gate and watching the goings-on, were worried that the newcomer might be injured, but Mr Bell said that if the bullying persisted he would move the new pony and Rufus, the little cob, into a pasture by themselves. ‘Horses is just like people and rarely take to a newcomer first go off,’ the farmer had observed. ‘But they’ll all settle down in time, just see if they don’t.’

  He had been right, and now Tess, much amused, told the remembered story to Snowy White and was rewarded by his spontaneous laughter. ‘I’ve never thought of gals bein’ like ponies, but I reckon you’ve hit the nail on the head,’ he said, grinning down at her. ‘Tell you what, littl’un, you need someone to give you lessons in the Scouse dialect. Want me to take you on? I’ll only charge you tenpence an hour!’

  He laughed again and Tess laughed too. ‘I wouldn’t mind at that, only I’d have hard work to find your fee,’ she admitted. ‘To tell you the truth, my gran’s job hunting for full time work now that Christmas is over and not having much luck, so if you hear of anyone needing a helping hand, tell ’em Mrs Edith Williams would be happy to oblige.’

  By now they had reached the milliner’s shop and Tess produced the key which hung round her neck. ‘Thanks very much for your company, Snowy. What’s your real name, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, I’m really Desmond – ghastly name – but of course everyone named White gets called Snowy.’ And then, as Tess turned the key in the lock and swung the door wide, he added: ‘Want me to come up with you and explain how you got your black eye?’

  Tess shook her head firmly. ‘Thanks, but no thanks. Me and Gran are going to have bloater paste on toast for our tea and I’m afraid it won’t stretch to three,’ she said. ‘Cheerio, Snowy. I expect I’ll see you around.’ And with that she gave him a little wave, closed the door firmly and ran up the stairs.

  Desmond, alias Snowy White, stood staring at the closed door for a moment, aware of a feeling of pique, for he had confidently expected to be invited up to Mrs Williams’s flat, and to find himself with the door virtually banged in his face was a salutary lesson. After a few moments, however, he turned away, telling himself that she had not meant to snub him. Had she been a couple of years older he was sure she would have jumped at the chance to invite him to meet her grandmother, but she was only a kid, after all. Still, she had said herself that she would see him around, and having made up his mind she meant no harm he strolled down Heyworth Street, then turned and retraced his steps, pretending to examine shop windows as he went, though heaven knew there was little enough to examine. Blast had seen off most of the glass and several of them were boarded up, save for a small square perhaps two foot by four, just enough to let some light in, for glass was strictly rationed and even private houses came under the same rules.

  Reaching the milliner�
�s shop once more, Snowy stood staring at the window, or what had once been the window, contemplating his own future. He had no desire to become a part of the building industry, nor did he intend to work in a factory, or even in an office. An only child, he dreamed of going to university and becoming a member of the medical profession, either a doctor or a dentist for choice. All through the war his parents had put away any money they could spare in a savings account which they referred to as the ‘education account’, and Snowy knew that he owed it to them, as well as to himself, to do sufficiently well at school to gain a university place. He also knew that this would be hard, because many of those who had joined the forces would now be eligible to take the places at university that they had turned down in order to fight for their country, which might mean he would need first-rate exam results to get in. But Snowy was ambitious and hard-working and was quite prepared to fight for his future.

  There was talk of National Service coming in for young men aged eighteen, who would serve in one of the forces, so that the experience built up during the war would not be lost. But that was for the future, not yet settled, and Snowy thought there would probably be some sort of exemption, otherwise the colleges would be empty and medical men would have to be brought in from abroad, which would never do.

  As he continued to gaze at the milliner’s window a woman came and stood beside him, staring at the window as he was doing, then turned to face him. ‘Wotcher lookin’ at, chuck?’ she enquired genially. ‘Don’t say she’s gorra new hat or two to sell? If so, I reckon I’ll be her first customer, ‘specially if she’s gorra blue one.’ She gazed up into Snowy’s face, her little dark eyes blinking rapidly. ‘I’s a trifle short-sighted. Can you see a blue hat in there?’