A Christmas to Remember

by Katie Flynn

  Janine stared at him, opened her mouth, Albert thought, to repudiate the whole idea, and then changed her mind. She nodded. ‘Yes, Dad, you’ve hit the nail on the head. I’m pregnant. Are you shocked?’

  Albert raised his brows. ‘Why on earth should I be shocked?’ he asked fondly. ‘But when you told Mario, didn’t that soften his attitude? And you will be making Mr Da Silva a grandfather; if I am delighted at the thought of – of grandfatherhood, then surely he must feel the same. When’s the baby due?’

  Janine shrugged. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said sulkily. ‘It could be any time, I suppose.’ She prodded a finger at her stomach. ‘I seem to have been huge for at least a year already.’

  ‘Then you must have known you were expecting in plenty of time to tell the Da Silvas the happy news,’ Albert said. Janine raised her eyes from the contemplation of her drink and met her father’s gaze squarely.

  ‘Oh, Dad, they aren’t like us . . .’ she began, but Albert had heard the syrupy note enter her voice and knew at once that he would not get the truth from her without a struggle. She was beginning to say that Mr Da Silva had several grandchildren already when Albert brought his fist down hard on the kitchen table, stopping her in mid-sentence.

  ‘Janine, I can always tell when you’re lying, and you’re lying now,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m willing to help you in any way I can – for the child’s sake as well as your own – but I won’t let you draw me into a life of lies. Why did you tell Edie that you had modelled gowns? It wasn’t true and it got you nowhere. Why did you pretend you liked animals, when it rapidly became obvious that you were frightened of them? You behaved as if the kittens had claws like scimitars, or as though you thought the tortoises would seize the lettuce leaf you were offering and drag you into their cage with them! My dear child, your mother and I called it fibbing when you were young, but now that you’re an adult we must both acknowledge that you’ve been telling lies. So make up your mind that unless I get the truth out of you I shall simply write to the Da Silvas to ask why they have treated my daughter so badly.’

  Janine had been looking sulky, but now her expression changed to one of alarm. ‘You can’t . . . you mustn’t . . . Mr Da Silva’s a very important man . . .’ she began, her voice rising to a wail. ‘Oh, Dad, I’ve been such a fool! I never did get married, because when I reached Silverpeak I discovered that Mario had lied. He was married already; and though he had told me the truth in one respect – the Da Silvas do own a sizeable property, a cattle ranch just outside the town as well as the soda fountain and the diner – it was about the only true thing he had said. Oh, Dad, it was dreadful! I was so far from home and I was still more than half in love with Mario even though I knew he didn’t love me. I should have left the area, gone somewhere far away where I could have licked my wounds and recovered my self-respect. But Mr Da Silva offered me the job of manageress of the soda fountain and said I could have the flat above it rent free. I should have turned him down but I still hoped that Mario would grow tired of his fat little wife and turn to me. I worked real hard, Dad, bringing the soda fountain into profitability, and Mr Da Silva really had made it plain that he would hand the business over to me . . .’ She stopped speaking for a moment and shot Albert a quick, sly glance from under her lashes. ‘Please say you understand,’ she said pleadingly. ‘I expect you can guess what happened next . . .’

  Albert looked at his daughter’s pale, mascara-smeared face and his heart went out to her. Of course he could guess what must have happened, but he felt that it was essential to hear the truth from her own lips. If she and I are to remain friends there must be truth between us, he told himself. He fixed Janine with an unfaltering stare, and though he spoke kindly it was also firmly. ‘No guessing; you must tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

  Janine had begun to cry but now she hiccuped, blew her nose on her handkerchief and spoke more calmly. ‘Mario’s real wife, Madalena, became pregnant. It affected her strangely. She became bad-tempered, cried a lot and refused Mario his marital rights; at least that was what he said, though he put it a good deal more crudely. He turned to me for sympathy at first, and then for – for other things. I should have denied him, but I didn’t. I was lonely, far from home . . .’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Albert said angrily. ‘But it’s no good repining now that the damage is done. Tell me, have I got this right? Madalena Da Silva had her baby and regained her sweet nature. You tried to persuade Mario to leave her and told him you were in the family way. He was not unnaturally horrified, as was Mr Da Silva, senior. They gave you money for your fare home and probably some extra for lying-in expenses, and back you came, having no alternative.’

  Janine had been snuffling into her handkerchief but now she burst into floods of tears once more. ‘How could I guess he wouldn’t stand by me?’ she wailed. ‘You’ve only left out one thing, Dad, and that is that I truly love Mario, and always will. If only he’d not lied to me right at the beginning none of this would have happened. Oh, Dad, I’m so unhappy, tell me you understand and forgive me!’

  Despite himself, Albert could not resist such an appeal. ‘Of course I do,’ he said soothingly. ‘And we’ll stick to your story, since no one in America is likely to hear how you’ve been blackening the Da Silva name. So now we must decide what is best to do. It’s a great pity that the smell of tobacco affects you, but if it reaches the flat and becomes too much we’ll see about renting you a couple of rooms . . .’

  This led to the loudest wail so far. ‘Oh, Dad, don’t turn me out, don’t reject me,’ Janine said between sobs. ‘The smell isn’t likely to reach the flat and I’ve learned to keep house, cook and manage on a small budget. We can be very happy, you and I, only I don’t see any need for you to spend time in the pet shop, or with that Mrs Williams. I dare say she’s very nice, but now you’ve got me you won’t need anyone else.’

  Albert opened his mouth to disabuse her, then changed his mind. She was upset enough already and now that he knew the truth he thought that further explanations could be put off until she had calmed down. Then there would be all the other things which expectant mothers had to do. He imagined she would need to visit Brougham Terrace to explain her predicament and become a patient on a doctor’s panel, and he rather thought she might be eligible to apply for some sort of financial help whilst she was unable to work. He knew there were clinics and classes which prepared young women for the birth, but all that was for the future. Right now he did not even mean to tell her that nothing would persuade him to give up his friendship with the Williamses. Perhaps it was natural that she should resent the closeness which had grown up between himself and Edie, but natural or not she would simply have to accept that she could not possibly take the place of his dearest friend.

  But she was staring at him across the table, her lip trembling, her eyes filling with tears once more, so Albert hastened to reassure her. ‘All right, that’s enough talking for one day! I’ll make you a hot water bottle while you trot along to your room and get into your nightgown. Tomorrow will be quite soon enough to decide what other action we need to take.’ He got to his feet, went over to the stove and filled the kettle, then held open the kitchen door. ‘Off you go! You’ll feel all the better for a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Tess? Where on earth . . .? Ah, there you are!’

  At the sound of Jonty’s voice Tess backed out of the pantry, carrying a large loaf of home-made bread and a full butter dish. She gave a squeak as a blast of icy air blew into the kitchen, and was begging him to shut the door and not let in the snow which had begun to fall when she saw that he was not alone. A slim girl muffled up to the eyebrows in a hooded coat with a scarf wound round her throat was entering behind him.

  ‘Sorry,’ the girl said, pushing the door closed. ‘That’s mortal cold out there.’ She began to unwind the scarf from round her neck and then to unbutton her coat. ‘I say, it’s lovely and warm in here.’ She smiled brightly at Tess, who could now see that she was fair-
haired and blue-eyed and very slim in her navy blue dress. Not a nurse’s uniform, but something perilously close to it, Tess thought.

  Smiling, she held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I don’t need anyone to tell me that you must be Pamela Davies, and I expect you can guess that I’m Tess Williams.’

  They shook hands. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Pamela Davies said. She turned to Jonty and put a proprietorial hand on his shoulder. ‘I do trust you warned Tess that I’ve been invited to tea. I’m afraid I’m not much use when it comes to cooking a meal, because my mother has always spoiled me and I’ve never learned to cook. But I’ll give you any help I can. I can lay the table, or cut bread and butter it, or do any other menial task which occurs to you . . .’

  ‘Thanks. It would be nice if you laid the table, but apart from that everything is more or less finished,’ Tess said politely. ‘And whilst we wait for Mr Bell and the farmworkers we can get to know one another.’

  Jonty looked across at Tess; it was a wistful look, Tess decided. But whether he was feeling wistful because he could not stay in the warm kitchen or because he wished he could ask her to go out into the cold with him, she could not tell. Then Jonty saw Tess glancing at him and the wistful look vanished. ‘There are cows out there waiting to be milked, but I suppose I’d better do it since you girls will want to chat,’ he said. He opened the back door again, letting in a blast of cold air which made both girls shriek a protest, and went out, slamming the door behind him. Tess stood the kettle over the flame, made the tea, and handed a cup to her companion. The two of them settled themselves comfortably on either side of the fire.

  ‘I believe your young man, Snowy White, Jonty calls him, is serving with the army in Malaya. I understand it’s a dangerous place for our national servicemen,’ Pamela said. She shuddered expressively. ‘I thank God that my man is in a reserved occupation; I’d die if they sent him away.’

  After that the talk became more general, and when Jonty and his father came in Tess was able to examine Pamela more closely. She saw a woman not a lot older than she was herself, with soft fair hair pulled back from her face, steady blue eyes, and an air of self-confidence which, Tess assumed, nursing the sick had given her. She wore no make-up and her skin was clear, her nose commandingly high-bridged and her lips firmly set. Tess simply could not envisage her as the ideal mate for easy-going, fun-loving Jonty. She herself had been at the farm now for two whole days and had begun to believe that she would be very happy as a farmer’s wife, particularly if that farmer was Jonty. But though he was friendly and charming towards her, there was nothing lover-like in the way he behaved. And very soon, when the meal was over and they went through into the parlour with a tray of tea, she was able to see that he showed no ardency in his dealings with Pamela either. Nor did Pamela herself evince any of the signs of young love, which gave Tess hope, for she had found to her dismay that she rather liked Pamela, admired her absorption in her work and her good sense, and did not think she could bring herself to compete with her for Jonty’s affections. Indeed, had either of them shown any deeper emotion she would have dismissed the idea of competing with Pamela in any way, but as it was she was pretty sure Jonty had no stronger feeling for Pamela than he did for herself, so she would be entitled to lure him back to her in any way she could.

  But at the thought of luring Jonty she had to fight a desire to laugh. How ridiculous she was being! The only sort of lure Jonty would recognise would be the one falconers used to bring their birds back to the glove. Jonty’s not in love with anyone; if and when he does decide to marry it may well be to someone he’s not even met yet, she concluded. But thank goodness I’m not jealous of Pamela; in fact I really like her. So, when I get the opportunity, I shall buttonhole her to talk about her relationship with Jonty, a thing I could never do if either of them was in love with the other. But do it I shall, and before I return to Liverpool.

  Albert was making breakfast as his daughter came, or rather slouched, into the kitchen, still in her nightie and dressing gown. The reason she was slouching was probably because she was wearing a pair of his old slippers, but even so she managed to produce a smile before slumping into a chair.

  ‘Good morning, queen. You didn’t have to get up so early, you know,’ Albert said rather reproachfully. He had grown accustomed to a solitary breakfast and enjoyed propping the newspaper up on the marmalade pot whilst eating his porridge or cereal. But now there was Janine, sitting in the creaking old chair which had been Louisa’s and asking rather pettishly whether he had any cornflakes since she supposed he had eaten all the porridge.

  Albert raised his brows. ‘You said you were going to lie in this morning,’ he said mildly. ‘But since you’re here I can always make more porridge; or you could have Weetabix or Shredded Wheat, I’ve got both.’

  ‘Shredded Wheat is lovely; I’ll have some of that,’ Janine said, summoning up a smile. ‘Ooh, hot toast! I wouldn’t mind a couple of rounds, even if you’ve only got margarine to spread on it.’

  ‘I’ve got plenty of marmalade,’ Albert said. ‘I gave Mrs Williams my extra sugar ration and bought several oranges, a couple of lemons and a grapefruit. She made me six jars of the most delicious marmalade; you must try it.’

  ‘I will,’ Janine assured him. She began to eat her cereal, remarking as she did so that housekeeping must be difficult with so many things still on ration and the rest, so far as she could gather, unobtainable.

  Albert struck his head with the palm of his hand. ‘I knew there was something I wanted to discuss with you,’ he said. ‘Ration books! I don’t suppose you’ve got one. If you attend the clinic for expectant mothers you’ll be given all sorts of stuff – well, perhaps not given, but if you have to pay for it it’ll be very cheap. You’d better get along to Brougham Terrace as soon as you can, and whilst you’re there you could ask where you should apply for a ration book. You’ll probably need identification – your passport and your birth certificate should be enough.’ He eyed her critically, though in her large, loose-fitting dressing gown it was difficult to see her shape. ‘You aren’t showing much yet, but by Christmas there’ll be no hiding your condition. Not that we want to hide it,’ he added hastily.

  As he spoke he was taking his coat off the hook and the interested expression on Janine’s face turned suddenly to annoyance. ‘Don’t you go running off to that bleedin’ pet shop to gab about me and my secrets,’ she said, her voice sharpening with every word. ‘I told you, Dad, I’ll keep house for you – and I’m a real good cook. I’m a good manager too, so why do you need to go chasin’ after that Mrs Williams?’

  Albert put his coat on, wound a muffler round his neck, jammed his hat upon his head and picked up his umbrella. ‘It’s a proper blizzard out there,’ he said. ‘Since an addition – you, Janine – to our circle will affect each and every one of us, right down to Mitch and little Elsie, I intend to tell them that not only do we have one new member but very soon it will be two. What fault can you find with that, queen?’

  ‘I don’t want folk to know too soon,’ Janine mumbled. ‘And when we talked yesterday I thought I made it plain that you and I didn’t need anyone else, didn’t want the perishin’ Williamses in fact. We’ll manage better alone, honest to God we will.’

  Albert buttoned his coat and reached for the door, handle. ‘If you want to muck in with the rest of us and become one of our extended family, as Edie calls it, then we’ll start as we mean to go on. No more lies or evasions, just the plain unvarnished truth.’ He opened the door, and despite the fact that the staircase led into the storeroom and not into the open street the cold wind swirled in, making him catch his breath. But he turned back for a moment nevertheless. ‘You silly child! Very soon now you won’t be able to button that smart coat, or fasten the zip at the side of your tweed skirt. So why lie, when the truth will out? Come to the pet shop when you’re ready to go up to Brougham Terrace, and I’ll show you the way. After all, Liverpool has changed considerably since you went away.’
He opened the door whilst Janine was still muttering, shut it on her complaining voice and clattered down the stairs. At supper the previous evening he had returned to the subject of finding a couple of rooms or even a small flat for his daughter, meaning it as an enticement, a way of giving her some independence. But it was soon clear that she had seen it as a threat, and now Albert decided that if she tried to make trouble or interfere in any way between himself and Edie then he would use that threat to good effect. Smiling grimly to himself, he crossed the stockroom, turned on the lights, for it was indeed a nasty snowy day, and began to open up. He unlocked just in time for Mr Clarke, who looked like a mere bundle of clothes as he entered the shop almost at a run and began to unwind his layers.

  ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘Horrible day, Mr Payne, sir. You’re lucky you don’t have to go out to get to work . . .’ He eyed his employer thoughtfully. ‘Or do you? I see you’re togged up for the weather. I take it you’re off somewhere?’

  Albert nodded and thought of the warm pet shop, where the heating would have been on all night. ‘Blow the expense, it’s a necessity, not a luxury,’ Tess had said. And, Elsie had added, it would also prevent the tortoises from hibernating.

  But Mr Clarke had shaken and furled his umbrella and was staring at Albert, plainly waiting for a reply to a question which Albert could not even remember.

  ‘Are you off out?’ Mr Clarke repeated. ‘It ain’t a day for customers, not even them who’ve not yet bought all their Christmas cheer, so I doubt we’ll be very busy, even if the snow eases up.’

  ‘I am,’ Albert confirmed. ‘Oh, you’ve met my daughter; she’ll be down later and will probably go straight to the pet shop. All right? The float’s in the till and there’s money in the drawer under the counter in case you have a delivery, though most of our suppliers are paid by cheque.’ He headed across the shop towards the outside door. ‘I’ll be back around one o’clock so’s you can have a bite of lunch,’ he finished, letting himself out into the street.