A Christmas to Remember

by Katie Flynn

  Tess hefted her shoulder bag and headed for the small post office where she would get directions to the Sheraton farm, which she knew to be half a mile outside the village. She entered the shop and five minutes later was out again with the postmistress’s precise instructions ringing in her ears. ‘Miss it you cannot, cariad,’ the wizened little woman behind the counter had said. ‘Go straight along the road till you reach a muddy little lane. The Sheratons’ place is amidst the trees on your left.’ Her eyes had gleamed with curiosity. ‘Goin’ to see them fancy rabbits, is you? Eh, old Mr Sheraton would ha’ laughed his son to scorn, but already young Aled is doin’ all right with ’em.’

  Tess, not wishing to spend half the morning gossiping, thanked the woman for the information and set off along the road at a brisk pace. But now her thoughts had turned from Snowy to Jonty and she found herself remembering her time at Bell Farm with real nostalgia. When she had first gone there she had been a miserable, awkward child whose bed-wetting habits had already caused three prospective foster-mothers to reject her. She had begged to be allowed to return to the city, promising good behaviour, dry beds, anything, if only she could go back to her own home, but her mother, summoned from Liverpool to remove her from the third household, had grown cross and Tess remembered wincing back as her shoulders were seized and she was given a spiteful shake. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. I’ve applied to join the ATS and I don’t intend to back out because you’re a selfish little beast,’ her mother had said. ‘My war work will be with the army and yours will be to make a success of your next posting, so don’t let me hear one word of complaint.’

  No wonder I wasn’t upset when I was told she’d been killed, Tess thought now. I was afraid of her; she was always quicker with a slap than a kiss. Then her mind returned to her first three foster-mothers. How were they different from Mrs Bell? It was a question she could not answer; she just knew that within forty-eight hours of arriving at Bell Farm and being accepted without ceremony or fuss by the family the hard knot of misery and rejection had melted and she had begun to feel, if not at home, at least not unwanted. It was not Mrs Bell’s way to cuddle or caress, but Tess’s vague memories of her mother were that she too had not been a particularly loving or demonstrative parent. And then, of course, there had been Jonty. Right from the moment she arrived at the farm he had made it plain that she was his pal. He was older than she, and when Mrs Bell had told him to take Tess to school and see that she was not what she termed ‘put upon’ the small Tess had expected to be dumped as soon as they reached the playground. But Jonty had taken her to meet her teacher, introduced her to the rest of her class, many of whom were evacuees, and without once raising his voice he had told her classmates that he would chop them into little pieces if they tried to bully her.

  Tess had wanted to hide, or run away, until she heard the laughter and saw the friendly smiles, the desire not to beat her up but to get to know her. Yes, Jonty and the Bells had been her true friends, and as soon as she could arrange matters she would leave the shop for a few days and jolly well go down to Norfolk and spend time with the people who had been so good to her. She realised she had held back partly for Snowy’s sake and partly because Jonty’s girlfriend Pamela Davies might have resented a visitor from her boyfriend’s past. But now she decided that Pamela must be a nice girl, or Jonty wouldn’t have looked twice at her. Pamela would greet her as a friend.

  As Tess reached the gate of Sheraton Farm and turned into the yard she was smiling to herself. When she got home she would write to Jonty suggesting that she might visit Bell Farm just as soon as she felt Mitch and Gran could cope for a few days without her.

  She crossed the yard, which again reminded her pleasantly of Bell Farm, and knocked on the door.

  Tess arrived home late and tired but feeling considerable satisfaction. She had bought four baby angora rabbits and meant to buy more if these sold easily. She went into the shop and saw the new acquisitions comfortably settled, and then ascended the stairs, though rather more slowly than usual, and beamed at Gran as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Get on all right without me?’ she asked, slinging her coat on a hook, slumping into a chair and accepting the offered cup of tea. ‘It’s a lovely farm and the young chap, the farmer’s son, is really nice and treats the rabbits just the way I would.’

  ‘Well, that’s grand,’ Gran said vaguely. ‘You’ve got some post; want to read it now, or save it till later? It looks like young Bell’s writing to me.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll read it now,’ Tess said, taking the envelope eagerly, slitting it open and producing a single sheet. She stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment, then turned to Gran. ‘It’s – it’s from Jonty all right,’ she said. ‘The Bells are having a little celebration for their ruby wedding and Jonty would like me to be there. He says it would be an ideal opportunity for me to meet Pamela. It’s not for a while yet, but Jonty’s let me know in plenty of time because he guessed I’d have to arrange for someone to keep an eye on the shop.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that lovely?’ Gran said, but Tess thought her glance was far too searching. ‘You’ll go, of course?’

  ‘Of course,’ Tess echoed. She stood up and had the oddest feeling that the room was whirling around her. She went over to where her coat hung and fished in the pocket, producing a card of the angora wool which young Mr Sheraton had given her. She put it down on the table rather blindly. ‘Take a look at this,’ she invited, and then gave a loud and unconvincing yawn. ‘I’m awful tired, Gran. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go straight off to bed. You can tell me how you and Mitch managed in the morning.’

  Feeling very guilty, Edie had let her eyes scan Tess’s letter as the girl had held it rather helpelssly in one hand, and now she sat at the kitchen table, her mind buzzing quite as actively as she guessed Tess’s must be. Poor girl, poor little Tess, Edie mourned, for she had read the despair in Tess’s expression as the child had stared blindly in front of her. What a mess, what a muddle, and how many lives would be ruined if Tess refused to admit her own feelings and if Jonty, believing her to be unobtainable, actually married this Pamela girl.

  But there’s nothing I can do, because it truly is none of my business, Edie told herself miserably. All I can do is be there for Tess after she’s seen Pamela and Jonty together. Oh dear, young love! How complicated and how sad; yet sometimes how happy and beautiful!

  Edie stood up and carried her empty mug over to the sink, reflecting that she and Albert were lucky; their friendship was warm and close but, as she put it, without strings. They had none of the uncertainties which were part and parcel of young love, yet the warmth of their companionship was a real comfort, something to cling to when life’s storms broke. Edie rinsed her mug, stood it on the draining board and checked that the fire was banked down, and the table laid for breakfast next day. Then she left the kitchen, closing the door softly behind her, and went into her own bedroom to prepare for bed. Albert had been in earlier and they had discussed the day’s work in the pet shop and the tobacconist’s and had decided that it was high time they booked another coach trip. Tess and Mr Clarke were more than capable of managing without them for a day.

  If we were married, we could be talking about Tess and her young men now, Edie thought as she began to undress, and felt an entirely unexpected shiver of pleasure at the thought. You’re nothing but a ridiculous old woman, Edie Williams, she told herself, climbing into bed. You and Albert are just good friends, which is the way it should be. I’ve had a happy marriage and so has Albert. You know what they say: never go back, because that way disappointment lies. We’ve had young love with all its trials and tribulations, all its highs and lows; now we’ve got friendship, respect, and . . . yes, I suppose a sort of love. We must be content with that – no, no, no, we are content with that. And now, Edie Williams, will you stop all this nonsense and go to sleep, because that’s what beds are for.

  Edie turned over and buried her face in the pillow. I will not worry a
bout Tess, or Snowy, or Jonty, let alone this Pamela girl whom neither Tess nor I have even met, she resolved, and presently fell asleep, only to dream about a ravishing blonde who looked remarkably like Marilyn Thomas and came triumphantly into the pet shop to inform Edie that the rules were different in Malaya and she intended to marry both Jonty and Snowy, which she thought would be a nice Christmas present from herself to herself. Edie tried to smack her, saying that English rules were different, but in the way of such dreams this one faded away and Edie found herself on the beach, walking hand in hand with her beloved Fred, only when she turned to look at him and smile it was not Fred but Albert, and she was surprised and a little shocked to realise that she was not disappointed when Albert squeezed her hand . . .

  Tess too was tired, but the letter had made her think, and think hard. She might tell herself that her affection for Jonty was merely that of an old friend, but she was beginning to wonder whether it was that simple. She had felt a pang of fierce jealousy at the thought of seeing Jonty and Pamela together; surely one would not feel like that over an old friend? But if she did love Jonty, it wasn’t the sort of love the stars shared in the cinema, and anyway how could she possibly admit to making such a terrible mistake? There was poor Snowy for a start, enduring jungle warfare and all the miseries which went with it, whilst believing her to be his own true love and simply longing to come home and claim her. Then there was Jonty himself. He had accepted without argument that there was nothing between them except friendship and, having accepted it, had turned to Pamela Davies. How can I ruin her life – and possibly Jonty’s – by admitting that I’ve changed my mind and want to steal her boyfriend? Oh, dear heaven, I can’t possibly do any such thing. But I will go to the party and see for myself if Jonty really is in love with this girl, and she with him. What I’ll do if Jonty really does love me and is just making do with Pamela remains to be seen, but I won’t make the worst mistake of my life without trying to do something about it.

  She had expected sleep to claim her within minutes, but midnight struck, then one, then two, and still her fretful thoughts forbade relaxation, let alone sleep. At five-thirty she fell into an uneasy doze and a bare hour later a paper boy, whistling down the street, awoke her. After that, she made no further attempt to sleep but must have dropped off anyway, because she slept through the alarm and didn’t wake until Gran called from the kitchen that it was gone eight and the pet shop opened at nine. As she got up and began to wash, she told herself that at least her sleepless night had given her time to think, and those thoughts were no longer chaotic or frightening. She knew what she must do and told herself that she would consult Gran; Gran would know whether the decision she had come to in the night was right or wrong.

  Satisfied, she rubbed herself dry on a rough towel and began to dress.

  Gran was in the kitchen about to dish up the porridge when Tess entered the room.

  ‘Morning,’ Tess said cheerfully. ‘Another nice one judging from what I saw when I drew back the curtains.’

  ‘Good morning, my love,’ Gran said. ‘You had a long day yesterday, so no wonder you slept in.’ She looked shrewdly at Tess, noting her heavy eyes and her pallor, but said nothing. She thought she could guess the reason for Tess’s obvious inability to sleep, but knew it would not do to remark on it. She must wait until Tess chose to confide in her, if she ever did.

  ‘I see you’ve stolen a march on me,’ Tess said. ‘Honestly, Gran, I meant to get the breakfast this morning because it is my turn, but I didn’t have a very good night; it must have been after six before I actually fell asleep, and when you called it was all I could do to crawl out of bed and reach the washstand. But splashing lovely cold water on to my face woke me up just enough.’ She crossed the kitchen, took the kettle off the stove and began to make the tea in the big brown pot. ‘Gosh, that porridge looks delicious. I didn’t have any supper last night, what with the angora bunnies having to be made comfortable . . .’ She sat down at the table and drew her porridge bowl towards her, glancing up at the clock on the mantel as she did so. ‘Oh, dear, I can see I shall be late opening, but there’s never much trade first thing in the morning, and Mitch will be along dead on nine, with Elsie in tow as usual. They don’t have a key, of course, but I can nip down and open up and then leave them to it until I’ve got myself together.’

  Gran sat down opposite Tess and spooned honey over her porridge. ‘I’ll go down when Mitch arrives,’ she volunteered. ‘I’ll start the feeding and filling the water pots, because I can manage that if I’m careful only to use my right hand. If I forget and try to use the other one my grip isn’t reliable. And I’m really keen to see the rabbits you bought yesterday. What colour are they? The card of wool you gave me is bluey-grey, but I understand angoras come in a variety of shades.’

  ‘The four I bought are all bluey-grey, and they’ve got golden eyes; they’re really awfully pretty, but of course it isn’t their looks, it’s their wonderful wool which makes them expensive.’ Tess laughed. ‘They are the luxury end of the market, so to speak. I don’t think many ordinary pet owners will want them, but we’ll have to wait and see.’

  Gran nodded wisely. ‘Wait and see is often the name of the game,’ she said. She began to eat her porridge, finished her helping and reached for her cup of tea. ‘Will Mitch ring the bell when he arrives? Or ought I to go down right now and wait for him?’

  ‘I don’t know, ’cos I’ve never been late before,’ Tess said ruefully. ‘But knowing Mitch, I suspect he’ll simply stand in the doorway and wait.’ She glanced up at the clock. ‘No need to rush down, Gran. It’s not even a quarter to nine, so you’re safe for a bit, and I want to ask you something.’

  ‘I thought you might,’ Gran said shrewdly. ‘That letter, the one from Jonty, upset you, didn’t it?’ She watched as Tess finished her porridge and picked up her teacup, then put it down again.

  ‘It didn’t exactly upset me, but it made me think,’ Tess said. ‘You see, I believe I’ve taken my friendship with Jonty for granted. He was just a boy who had been kind to me when I was a kid, and then a workmate on his dad’s farm. I never truly thought of him as a young man, even when he was grown up. But it was different with Snowy. When I first met him he was Marilyn’s boyfriend, very much a grown-up. And when he took my side it was like a film star stepping down from the silver screen to champion a beggar maid . . .’

  Gran laughed. ‘Some beggar maid!’ she observed. ‘Even in those days you had a lot going for you, queen. But right now I can see you’re in a difficult position. You were always far more at ease with Jonty than you are with Snowy. But you’ve not seen Snowy for the past couple of years and he’s been fighting a war, a man amongst men, which will have changed him. When he comes home it’ll be a different Snowy White from the one you waved off so merrily two years ago. And Jonty too will have changed, though not as radically as Snowy—’

  ‘But I’ve changed as well, Gran,’ Tess cut in quickly. ‘Haven’t I?’

  Gran smiled. ‘Two years changes everyone,’ she observed. ‘Particularly when you’re young. Now, Tess, your trouble is that you’ve been forced to realise that Jonty has a life of his own, as indeed do you. I don’t know whether Jonty is really in love with this Pamela or whether they’re just good friends, but you’re scared you’ve made a big mistake . . .’

  Tess had been gazing into her empty porridge dish as though it were a crystal ball, but now she raised her eyes and met Gran’s glance squarely. ‘I think that Jonty is as muddled and unsure as I am, or that was what I thought until the letter arrived. That’s changed things, put them on a different footing. When I go back to Bell Farm I’ll be able to see at a glance if he really loves Pamela, and if he does then that just leaves Snowy, and I’ll have to be content with him, because he never so much as mentions other women.’

  Gran snorted. ‘You conceited little beast,’ she said. ‘You do have a good opinion of yourself, Tess Williams! We’ve just been discussing how people change and what
a spell in the army may have done to Snowy. Yet you calmly assume that he’ll still want to marry you, regardless of the fact that in effect you are both different people.’ She was laughing as she spoke and Tess, after a moment, laughed too.

  ‘I’m being daft,’ she said remorsefully. ‘Meeting troubles more than halfway, eh, Gran? But first things first; I’ll go to this party and meet Pamela and see how she and Jonty get along. And now let’s go downstairs, open up the shop and introduce everyone to our new acquisitions.’

  ‘Got a fag?’

  Snowy plunged a hand into his pocket and produced a crumpled pack of Woodbines, which he regarded ruefully. ‘Only two left; got a match?’ he asked.

  Already the two young men and the rest of their platoon were beginning to relax, and this, they knew, was dangerous. But ahead of them in the dark, entangling jungle they could see the gleam of metal as sunshine filtered through the canopy of the great trees hundreds of feet above and fell on the truck which would take them into Singapore for a period of R and R. Telling himself that the bandits – communist guerrillas – were unlikely to operate so near a road, Snowy put one of the cigarettes between Capper’s lips, the other between his own, and took the box of matches, lighting up both cigarettes and reflecting with wry amusement that he felt a bit the way he had done as an eight-year-old, filching a cigarette from his father and sneaking off to the tool shed at the end of the garden for his first taste of forbidden fruit – or forbidden tobacco, rather.

  When on patrol one hung on to matches and cigarettes, did not waste either, in case one had to ford a stream. The Malayan jungle was home to a thousand deadly creatures, but the ones which attacked every patrol when it got near water were the leeches. The men never removed their boots to cross any water, stagnant or running, yet it was standard procedure as soon as they were on the other side to shed boots and socks and roll up trousers in order to remove the great fat leeches, firmly attached and greedily sucking their blood. Here was where cigarettes and matches became an essential part of any soldier’s equipment. If one simply pulled a leech off then the head and many-toothed mouth remained embedded, and if left could lead to a deadly blood infection. But if a glowing cigarette end was applied to the creature it would remove itself hastily, dropping to the floor of the jungle with a disgusting plop.