Christmas Eve at Piccadilly Circus

by Kelly Matthews

  Jess was hovering around the table. ‘I could design the dress? In fact, I’ve got something I’ve already started that would suitable.’ She put two glasses on the table.

  Surprised to hear this news, Trudy looked at Darcy, a flash of confusion on her face.

  ‘Trudy, this is Jess, my barmaid and fashion designer extraordinaire.’

  Trudy stuck out her hand. ‘Are you? Well, I might just take you up on that. We’ve only got a few weeks mind.’

  ‘I may already have something that may interest you. I’ll fetch it around tomorrow if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘What happened to the dresses you picked out?’ Darcy asked. ‘You’ve spent a fortune on them.’

  Trudy waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry about them. The more I look at them the more I see what’s wrong with them. Maybe having something designed, a one-off, is what I should’ve gone for in the first place.’

  ‘I’ve never known a bride to leave the dresses so late.’

  ‘You know how fussy I am. No, I’m happy with something original.’

  ‘Well that’s that then,’ Darcy raised her glass to toast. ‘And talking of World War Two, I found the key to the attic. Fancy coming up and looking?’

  ‘Yeah, come on.’ Trudy drained the rest of her wine and rose to her feet.

  As they went around the bar, Mr. Jones shouted for them to be careful. ‘I don’t want you coming through the roof now, ladies. Be careful.’

  ‘We will.’ Darcy shouted behind her as they made their way out of the bar.

  Darcy got a chair from the kitchen, climbed on it and reached to the lock.

  The door swung open, spitting dust everywhere. She pulled the ladder down and jumped down from the chair, coughing and spluttering. ‘Why do I always get the worst jobs?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Trudy said and went to get her handbag. She came back wearing a scarf over her head. ‘I’ve just had it dyed and I don’t want dust settling in it.’

  ‘You’re looking the part of a 40’s housewife,’ Darcy laughed and climbed up the ladder. She poked her head around into the cool darkness. ‘Yeah, I think I’ll need a torch. I think there’s one in the sideboard, will you pass me it?’

  Trudy handed her the torch and she flicked it on, panning the beam of light around the room.

  ‘What’s up there?’

  ‘Boxes and boxes of stuff.’ She pulled herself up. ‘I can’t believe my father never came up here.’

  She pulled the closest box towards her and then handed it to Trudy. ‘Take this in the living room. I’ll see what else I can find.’

  She got down on all fours and put the torch in her mouth, yanking another box close and spat out the torch. ‘Hey, I’ve found a box full of 40’s clothes, too. I bet they’re full of moth holes, though.’

  ‘Any wedding dresses?’

  ‘We should be so lucky. Here,’ she passed her down another. ‘Let’s have a rummage through these first.’ She got down and brushed the dust off her top. ‘Find anything interesting?’ She joined her on the rug.

  ‘Darcy!’ Trudy exclaimed, excitedly wiping the dust off a picture frame. ‘Why on earth was this kept in the attic? I think you have a piece of history right here.’ She turned the frame around revealing a black and white picture. Darcy leaned in for a closer look and gasped with shock. The picture was of Winston Churchill and a woman that looked like it could be her great grandmother standing behind the bar.

  ‘So, the legend was true. He did come here.’ She took the photograph. ‘I need to find somewhere to hang this.’ She said, excitedly.

  Chapter Six

  Standing behind the bar, swaying her hips to Glenn Miller’s In the Mood that blasted from the speakers, Darcy received a notification on her phone. She picked it up from under the bar to find an email confirmation from the window repairman. He said he would be around in the week but would call her to confirm the time.

  ‘We’re getting there slowly.’ She said to Mr. Jones sat reading the sport’s section of the newspaper.

  ‘Well, that’s good news.’ He looked behind him. ‘And you have a few new customers, I see.’

  ‘Yeah, I think most of them are students from Gareth’s college.’ She replied, wiping a glass with the towel slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He’s supposed to come by later. He said he wanted to look at the postcards with me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s a history professor. I mean, what are the odds in me renting the flat to a history professor?’

  ‘Stranger things have happened,’ Mr. Jones replied. He straightened out his newspaper grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘I think it’s such a romantic story though, isn’t it? Tragic too. I wonder if my gran ever thought about him after she married my grandpa.’

  ‘Probably did. We never forget the people we love, do we? Even if we’ve moved on to someone new.’

  ‘True that.’ She thought about her ex and blinked the image away when Gareth walked into the pub. She didn’t want to think about Scott. Not after what he had put her through. He had told her that he loved her, that it was a stupid mistake. But more than once wasn’t a mistake. How could he love her if he was cheating on her? She felt like an idiot, believing all the lies about working late.

  The students cheered his arrival. Somewhat embarrassed, he walked up to the bar, putting his rucksack down on the empty stool. He nodded hello to Mr. Jones and took a seat.

  ‘I see they took my advice on the excellent service, then.’ He thumbed behind him.

  ‘Thanks so much, I appreciate it.’

  ‘No bother. Just don’t tell them I live upstairs,’ he laughed. ‘Can I grab a pint?’

  Darcy felt her heart quicken. ‘Sure,’ she reached to the top shelf for a clean glass aware his eyes were still on her. ‘I’m glad you popped in actually. I have something to show you that you’ll be interested in.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ His interest was piqued.

  She handed him his pint and took the picture off the shelf. ‘I found this in the attic earlier.’

  Gareth was taken aback. ‘Jesus! Sorry, pardon my language, will you? This is extraordinary. I have never seen this picture of Churchill before,’ he pointed to the picture at the woman standing next to him, ‘and this is your grandmother?’

  ‘Yes, my great grandmother, the one who wrote the postcards. It's mad to think she didn’t even have my gran at that point.’

  ‘Amazing,’ he said to himself, looking closely at the photo. ‘Mind if I snap a picture of it with my phone? I’m sure my colleagues will be interested.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘It must be why she called it The Churchill,’ he said, handing it back to her.

  ‘I never thought of that,’ she exclaimed. ‘I was only pondering that very question this morning while I was cleaning the windows.’

  ‘I thought there was something different about them when I passed,’ he joked.

  ‘Oh thank you,’ she took the tablecloth and playfully swiped him across the arm.

  ‘While I’m here can I have a look at the postcards, too? I may be able to help in tracing the fellow your gran was involved with.’

  ‘Of course. So you really like your history, huh?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Well there’s a heap more stuff back there you can look at later. I went up to the attic and found boxes of stuff from World War Two.’

  ‘Really? Oh, I’d love that. I’ll tell you what. How about I’ll pick us up some food from the takeaway when you’ve finished here and we can look at it together. Is that okay?’

  Darcy saw Mr. Jones smirk behind his pint glass and rolled her eyes at him. ‘That’s fine.’

  ‘Chinese, okay?’

  ‘Perfect. Just tell them you know me and they’ll knock off twenty percent,’ she laughed.

  Darcy rang the bell for the last orders and checked on her takings for the day.

  ‘I think we did alrigh
t,’ said Jess. ‘We had a coach group in while you were sorting through the attic, I meant to tell you.’

  ‘Brilliant. That reminds me too, I found a load of old forties clothes upstairs if you’re interested in them. They’re no good to me.’

  ‘Do you mean that? Oh wow, thanks, Darcy. I’ll look tomorrow if that’s alright or I’ll miss my bus.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said and went back to totting up the total on the calculator.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Jess said excitedly. ‘Why don’t we go the full hog and wear forties clothes behind the bar? It’ll give it a more authentic feel when it’s transformed.’

  Darcy thought for a moment and nodded her approval. ‘Splendid. I love that idea. Okay then, we’ll do that starting tomorrow.’ She held out her hand. ‘Let’s shake on it. We make a good team.’

  ‘Great. I’ll bring the designs around for Trudy. I’ve already adjusted it as we’re short on time, so I hope she approves.’

  ‘Trust me. She will. In fact, she has no bloody choice anyway, changing her plans so late.’

  Jess laughed.

  ‘Right, I’m off,’ said Mr. Jones, already standing by the door.

  ‘Alright, Mr. Jones, see you tomorrow.’ She waved.

  He waved them goodnight and left.

  ‘He’s a strange fellow, isn’t he?’ Said Jess, thoughtfully.

  ‘Yes,’ Darcy thought. ‘He is a bit, but in a good way.’

  ‘Do you even know anything about him besides he likes drinking Guinness?’

  ‘Not really. Come to think of it, I don’t even know where he lives. He was here the first day I arrived from Swansea. How he knew the pub was going to be open is anyone’s guess.’

  ‘Was he? Maybe it’s his old haunt, bless him and he couldn’t wait to come back?’

  ‘Possibly. I must find out one day.’

  ‘Goodnight, Darcy, see you tomorrow night,’ Jess said.

  ‘Night, Jess and thanks,’ she replied, thinking about what she had said. ‘His old haunt? Nah.’

  Darcy closed the door, locked up and switched off the lights and as she turned to go back to her living quarters, there was a knock at the door. It was then she remembered that Gareth was calling around and turned back.

  ‘Who is it?’ She asked, to be sure.

  ‘Gareth.’

  ‘One moment,’ she yelled and undid the latch and bolt on the door.

  ‘Sorry, I’m late.’ He stepped inside carrying a plastic bag with the takeaway. ‘I thought you’d forgotten when I realised the door was locked,’ he laughed. ‘I didn’t fancy eating all this to myself.’ He held up the bag as he brushed past her in the darkness.

  ‘No bother, come through. And something smells nice.’

  ‘Oh thank you, I do my best,’ he joked, pretending to sniff under his armpits. ‘No, I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.’

  ‘Great, come through and take a seat.’ She took him through to the living room and gestured to the sofa. ‘Welcome to my home, I guess.’ She sat down on her grandmother’s chair next to the window.

  Gareth removed his jacket and set it down on the arm of the sofa. ‘Thanks. Still has its 1940’s charm, I see.’

  ‘My gran, Dad’s mother, wasn’t the type who liked decorating. She was always busy with the pub and everything else fell by the wayside.’

  ‘So you’re happy here then, I take it?’ He asked, with keen interest as he served the rice on to two plates.

  Darcy nodded, and opened the wine, pouring into glasses. ‘Yes. I’ve been here two months now. My Dad wasn’t keen on coming back to London and asked if I wanted to take over the pub instead. It was that or put it up for sale.’

  He handed her a plate. ‘So you’ve always been in the industry?’

  Darcy laughed. ‘No. I was working as a chef in a local hotel and as luck would have it, my contract ended, so I decided to accept his offer without giving it much thought. I just packed a few bags and hopped on the train. Just like my great nan who came from Wales just before the war started.’

  ‘On the subject of your great grandmother, do you have the postcards?’ He asked, wiping his hands on a napkin.

  ‘Yeah, just here,’ she reached to the sideboard. ‘Is history something you’ve always liked to study? I mean, you don’t look like the typical history geeks I’ve known...’

  He laughed. ‘Is it my hair? My clothes?’ He joked. ‘We come in all shapes and fashions these days. But yeah, history has always fascinated me, especially World War Two. My mother was a teacher, in fact, she was a secondary school history teacher. So I suppose you could say it also runs in the family.’

  ‘So where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘Dorset. I studied in London though and since then I’ve been taking a teaching post here and there. I haven’t found a permanent position yet. In fact, this job came at the last minute. I’ve just finished my doctorate and was reluctant to take it as I couldn’t find anywhere to live. I don’t know whether it was luck or fate, but a friend of mine sent me your details and here we are.’

  ‘Oh, right. So that’s why you’re only here for three months?’

  ‘Yep, and then I move on until I can get somewhere permanent. It would be nice to settle down into a routine.’ He went through the postcards jotting down notes. ‘I think it’ll be nice to find out what became of...’ he checked the name on the card again. ‘Walter.’ He looked at Darcy for approval.

  ‘Definitely. It’s such a shame they never met on Christmas Eve. It’s so romantic...’

  ‘Perhaps... no, doesn’t matter.’ He shrugged, pushing around rice on his plate.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought, maybe you’d like to come to the war rooms with me sometime in the week. Don’t worry, it won’t be a date or anything...’ he said. ‘Well, it could be...’

  Darcy shied away and focused on her plate of food, feeling her cheeks flush just a little. ‘You know, I haven’t been there yet. So, okay, yeah. I think it would be nice.’

  ‘Great. We can talk more about your grandmother’s, see what you already know.’

  Chapter Seven

  Sitting in the cold, empty bar, Darcy switched on her laptop before she opened for the day with an idea to bring the pub into the twenty-first century. She opened her Facebook page and created a business page for the pub now it was getting its much-needed repairs.

  The Churchill, Paddington London.

  A pub where history is alive.

  She uploaded pictures of the pub’s exterior and interior, and included the Churchill picture with her gran, hoping that it would entice people to come. She sat back, pleased with her efforts and took a moment to sit and really appreciate what she had inherited. She looked at the bar, imagining the people who once stood there, and her gran behind chatting and serving them. How many of those people would be alive today, she wondered.

  A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts.

  ‘Just a minute,’ she hollered and went to open the door, half expecting it to be Mr. Jones.

  Gareth stood on the doorstep. ‘Sorry, I know it’s early...’

  ‘That’s okay. You could’ve just used the other door,’ she laughed.

  ‘I’ll remember that next time. I just wanted to tell you I’ve paid you this months’ rent.’

  ‘Thanks. Do you want to come inside?’

  ‘I must get to work. We’ll catch up later, yeah? I may have news on our Walter. I went through the war records online after we spoke last night.’

  ‘Brilliant, I’m excited to hear more, so I’ll see you later then.’ She waved him off as he walked down the street.

  ‘Taken a shine to him, I see?’

  Darcy jumped back. ‘Mr. Jones, you bloody scared me then. Where did you come from?’ She looked up and down the busy street. ‘I’m not open yet, but oh okay, seeing as it’s you, come on in and I’ll pop the kettle on.’

  ‘Any biscuits?’ he asked, cheekily.
r />   ‘I’ll have a look.’

  BEFORE SHE OPENED, Darcy went into her living quarters and rummaged through the pile of clothes she had found and washed, hoping to find something that would fit her. She found a blouse and a skirt and then pinned her hair in victory rolls. She stood back from the mirror to appraise her appearance, thinking Trudy would approve of her new style as she always moaned at her for wearing jeans.

  When she went out to the bar, Mr. Jones and Jess, who had just walked in to start her shift, gasped.

  ‘You look stunning, Darcy. But don’t forget the classic red lips. Here.’ She rummaged through her bag. ‘I have a red lip liner you can borrow.’

  ‘Gosh, that takes me back,’ said Mr. Jones thoughtfully.

  ‘You looked the part yourself,’ she joked, thinking she hadn’t seen him wear anything different the past couple of months. ‘So Jess, did you design the clothes yourself?’ She asked.

  ‘No, I found these in a charity shop on my way to college yesterday.’ She twirled around.

  There was a tap at the door and Darcy looked up.

  ‘I’ve come to sort out your windows, love,’ said a man standing in the doorway wearing overalls that were stained with splotches of different coloured paint.

  ‘Okay, great. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s getting there. So what are you going to do about Christmas?’ Asked Mr. Jones.

  ‘One thing at a time,’ she said, noticing the delivery van outside. ‘I’m too busy to even think about Christmas, Mr. Jones.’ She walked to the bar to greet the driver at the door.

  The afternoon brought more customers into the pub. Darcy was busy wiping glasses behind the bar when a man that came in with the group came over and introduced himself.

  ‘Darcy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. How can I help?’

  He produced a business card. ‘I’m Jack from the Daily News. I write for the entertainment section and I saw on Facebook that you’re planning an opening night here?

  ‘Yes, that’s right for my World War Two re-opening’

  ‘Brilliant. It sounds like something I’d like to write an article on. Is that okay with you?’