by Nancy Revell
‘Would the godparents come out and join us, please?’ The vicar held out his arms in a welcoming gesture.
There was a shuffling of feet. Helen and Dr Parker stood up and walked towards the font. From the right, Bel and Dr Billingham appeared.
‘Two doctors as godparents,’ Lily whispered to Charlotte, who was wedged between her and George. ‘Little Artie’s definitely going to have the best medical care a child could hope for.’
Charlotte heard Lily but was keeping her eyes firmly on the main stage – Polly was wearing a lovely burnt-orange dress and a vibrant green shawl. Her hair was piled high, with just a few curls dangling down, framing her face. She put her hand to her own thick brown hair and resolved that it would be her style for the Christmas Day celebrations tomorrow at Vera’s café.
‘And with Helen as one of the godmothers,’ Lily continued, muttering more to herself than to anyone in particular, ‘the little lad will want for nothing either.’ She felt an elbow dig her in her ribs and turned to see Rosie glaring at her.
Lily looked behind to see Martha and her parents watching proceedings as though they were at the flicks. Next to them were Hannah and Olly. They were holding hands and would have looked the epitome of a carefree young couple were it not for the dark bags under Hannah’s eyes. With her parents in one of Hitler’s notorious concentration camps, it was hardly surprising. In the pew in front was Gloria. Hope was perched on her knee. She was growing up at a rapid rate. Was it really two years since she had sat in this very church and watched Hope undergo the same ritual? Kate was next to them and was doing a good job of keeping Hope entertained. Lily knew Kate had been desperate to make a christening gown for Artie, but Agnes had put her foot down and insisted he be baptised in the family heirloom. From what Lily could see, it was looking a little raggedy. She’d got the impression Polly would have quite liked a new one, but she had the sense to realise when to go against her ma and when not to. Next to Kate was Rosie’s friend from way back, a skinny little scamp of a girl called Georgina, and further along were Vera and Rina.
None of them looked like they’d heard her, or if they had, they were pretending not to have.
Lily forced her attention back to the proceedings. The vicar was telling baby Artie that Christ was claiming him as his own and that he was to receive the sign of the cross. There were a few coughs and the odd sneeze, but other than that the vicar had an attentive audience. Lily braced herself for an ear-splitting scream as the vicar dipped his hand into the font and made the watery outline of a cross on Artie’s brow. There was a shriek rather than a scream as Artie reached up to the vicar with his pudgy little hands. He obviously thought this some kind of game.
Dr Eris watched Helen as she smiled. There was no denying the woman was too glamorous for words. This was pure purgatory. And afterwards they were going to have to endure drinks with her and her doting spaniel, Matthew.
It had to be said, though, that Matthew was a very good-looking spaniel, and of good pedigree according to what she’d picked up. The Royces were a well-known shipbuilding family – and very obviously moneyed. Matthew, wearing what looked to be a Savile Row suit, had managed to drop it into the conversation that he was Eton-educated and, thanks to his father’s ill health, had clambered up the ladder at a rate of knots and was running the Pickersgill’s shipyard.
Why, it had to be asked, wasn’t Helen waltzing him down the aisle? He might be a widower, but he was still a great catch.
But of course she knew why. Helen wanted John, not Matthew.
Well, she damn well couldn’t have him. She’d missed the boat. And Claire was going to make sure it didn’t sail back into port.
Polly looked down at Artie as she held him over the font and the vicar sprinkled holy water onto his forehead. Artie’s little expression was one of pure joy. He turned slightly in her arms, looking for the water. Her baby boy, she was sure, would have been happy to have been in the font splashing around. So like his father, thought Polly. Happiest when he’s immersed in water. His great-granddad too. Polly suddenly had an image of the old man smiling down at them. He, too, had lived a good part of his life submerged in the waters of the Wear. She’d lay money on her son following in their footsteps.
‘I baptise you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’
The congregation automatically repeated, ‘Amen.’
Polly conjured up an image of Tommy, which wasn’t hard, as every time she looked at Artie she saw the man she loved.
Look what we created.
See how happy he is.
See how healthy he is.
See how loved he is.
Suddenly Polly felt tears sting her eyes.
Now all he needs is his da.
So, just you make sure you come back to us, Tommy Watts.
Come back to us.
And soon.
Just as Polly was thinking of the man she loved, so too was Gloria.
The christening was making her relive the drama of Hope’s christening, a little over two years ago, when Jack had burst through the church doors, dripping wet, with Arthur behind him, and had seen his daughter for the first time.
Gloria kissed Hope’s mop of black hair. So like her dad’s. And so like her sister’s. She looked at Helen as she walked back to her place with Dr Parker. She took hold of Hope’s little hand and waved at her. Helen smiled and waved back as she sat down again. Gloria hoped she was holding up. She looked perfectly fine, but that was Helen, she hid her torment well – of losing both her own baby and the man she loved.
And, of course, Helen missed her father dreadfully.
As did she.
As would Hope, if she knew who her father was.
‘And now for the reading from the Gospel According to Luke, chapter two.’
Reverend Winsey looked up at his attentive audience. There was row upon row of red noses and the prayers had been speckled with a good trumpeting of nose-blowing.
‘And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.’
Bel looked at Lucille, who had been remarkably well behaved. Perhaps because she was now no longer the baby of the household.
‘And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.’
Lucille’s head snapped round to her mammy at the mention of the inn.
Bel smiled as her daughter pointed to her chest proudly.
As Bel listened to the story of the nativity, she sighed. There was no escaping babies. They were everywhere she turned. Everywhere she looked she saw either expectant mothers or babies in prams. And now, with the onslaught of Christmas and the incessant chatter and references to the Baby Jesus, she felt as though she was having a huge tub of salt rubbed into a wound that felt increasingly raw with each passing day.
All she wanted was to be a mother to a brood of children. It was what she’d always wanted. To create the family she’d never had. But even that had been denied her.
It seemed like just about any woman who wanted to was able to get pregnant – as well as a good load of those who didn’t.
Bel laughed bitterly to herself as the vicar ended the reading.
Even Mary had managed to get pregnant – and she was a bloody virgin!
‘Thanks be to God …’
Just as the vicar was finishing the service, those at the back of the church heard the click of the latch on the main door, followed by a gust of freezing cold air.
Angie and Dorothy automatically turned around.
‘It’s Quentin!’ Angie spoke out of the corner of her mouth in a half whisper.
Dorothy didn’t say anything, just watched as Que
ntin had a quick look around before finding the person he was looking for.
Then his face lit up.
Angie and Dorothy were staring at him as he walked quietly across the flagstones to where they were sitting.
Angie’s face showed surprise and the beginnings of a smile.
Dorothy’s showed absolutely no surprise, and she was beaming like the Cheshire Cat. She was pleased to see that Quentin had done his best to look as dapper and as handsome as possible. He had on a smart black suit with a starched white shirt and a silver-grey tie. A scarf was hanging around his neck, and his strawberry-blond hair, which was almost identical in colour to Angie’s, had been Brylcreemed back. Dorothy thought he looked a little like Fred Astaire.
And just as with Fred and Ginger, Quentin only had eyes for Angie. And she for him.
Reaching his hand out as he approached her, he cocked his head back towards the door and mouthed, ‘Come on.’
Angie hesitated, turning to look at Dorothy, who hissed in her ear, ‘Go!’
Grabbing her bag and gas mask from the floor, Angie slid out of the pew.
She looked back at Dorothy, who was waving them both off as though this was their maiden voyage, which in a way it was.
‘What are you doing here?’ Angie asked as soon as they were out the main doors. As she spoke, she stopped still in her tracks and gasped. It must have snowed from the moment they’d all gone into the church and stopped just before she and Quentin had stepped outside. It was a winter wonderland. The grey urban landscape was now crystal white.
‘Wow! It’s beautiful!’ Angie said, taken aback.
‘Isn’t it just!’ Quentin said, not once taking his eyes off Angie. How could he have? She looked amazing.
Angie looked down at Quentin’s hand, which was still holding her own.
‘You can let go of my hand now,’ she said.
‘Perhaps I don’t want to.’
As Quentin looked at her, a few snowflakes that were still floating in the crisp, icy air landed amidst the small smattering of freckles on her face.
Angie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She allowed him to keep hold of her hand.
‘Come on, I’ve booked a table at the Palatine. It’s my Christmas present to you. An early one because, unfortunately, I’ve only got a twenty-four-hour pass and have to leave early tomorrow morning – very early.’
Angie felt a shiver of nervous excitement as they walked down Suffolk Street.
‘You cold?’ Quentin stopped, took off his scarf and tied it loosely around Angie’s neck like an oversized tie.
‘What’s going on, Quentin?’ Angie said.
‘Everything’s going on,’ he laughed. ‘Now come on, let’s get this tram. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
Chapter Fifty
The Tatham Arms, Tatham Street, Sunderland
Mr Clement and Georgina were sitting with their cameras on the table, deep in conversation. Georgina had been shadowing Mr Clement as he had taken the photos of the christening. Knowing they were being done for Tommy’s benefit, and with a small amount of rationed film to use, Mr Clement had taken one of Polly and Artie, and one with family and friends next to the font. He had warned Georgina that not all babies were as willing to pose for the camera as Artie.
‘Looks like Mr Clement has found a protégé,’ Rosie said to Polly as they each took a cup of tea from the tray on the bar. The pub had been turned into a tea room for a few hours to celebrate Artie’s christening.
‘Oh, I almost forgot.’ Rosie opened her handbag and pulled out a white envelope with Artie Watts in swirling handwriting on the front. Lily had asked her to give it to Polly, along with their apologies for having to leave so quickly after the service. Rosie didn’t have to explain that Christmas Eve was always a busy time, and that Maisie and Vivian hadn’t made it to the church as they were holding the fort.
‘It’s from Lily and George.’
Polly looked at the envelope and knew that it contained money.
‘Honestly,’ she said. ‘Please tell them that they shouldn’t have. As if they haven’t given us enough already.’
‘I will, but it’ll fall on deaf ears,’ Rosie said. They both supped their tea and looked around at the mix of guests.
‘Oh, there’s Dr Billingham,’ Polly said, putting her tea down. ‘I best introduce him to everyone.’
‘And I better save Charlie,’ Rosie said, nodding over at Mr and Mrs Jenkins. Charlotte was shuffling about from one foot to the other, something she did when she was bored.
‘Helen …’ Dr Parker managed to squeeze through a group of lively locals. ‘I just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas before we headed off.’
‘Ah, that’s nice,’ Helen said as Gloria quickly turned away and started talking to Dorothy.
She leant in and gave John a kiss on the cheek. Sensing that someone was watching her, she turned slightly; out of the corner of her eye she could see Claire watching their every move.
Dr Parker returned an equally chaste peck on the cheek.
There was a moment’s awkwardness.
‘You look like something’s on your mind,’ Helen said, thinking he seemed ill at ease; it wasn’t surprising, considering he had eagle-eye watching his every move.
‘Yes, actually, there is,’ John said, loosening his tie, which all of a sudden felt tight. ‘I know we haven’t seen much of each other lately,’ he continued.
Helen batted away his apology. ‘You’ve got work – and a girlfriend.’
‘I know,’ he agreed, ‘but I want you to know …’
Looking into Helen’s emerald eyes never failed to mesmerise him.
‘Yes …’ Helen cajoled.
Suddenly there was a roar of laughter from the revellers behind and someone knocked into her, causing her to almost fall into John’s arms.
‘Sorry,’ she said, stepping back.
John laughed. ‘Looks like everyone’s getting into the Christmas spirit.’
‘What were you saying?’ Helen could feel herself flush at having been so close to him, even if it had just been for a matter of seconds.
‘Well, lately I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘thinking how close we have become these past few years.’
Helen smiled and nodded. Her mind flashed back to when she’d first met John at a charity do she’d attended at the museum, and how she had gone to him for help when she had found out she was pregnant. How much water had gone under the bridge since then.
As if reading her thoughts, John touched her arm briefly.
‘We’ve been there for each other,’ he said, his face earnest.
Helen let out a short burst of laughter.
‘Well, I think it’s been more a case of you being there for me, John,’ she said, thinking of how he had supported her when she was pregnant – and saved her life when she had miscarried.
John knew what was going through Helen’s mind.
‘You’ve been there for me too,’ he said, wanting to add that she had been the light in his life these past few years. When his work at the hospital became so dark he felt it was going to overwhelm him, it was Helen who had brought him light and laughter. And love.
‘But now you have Claire,’ said Helen. She glanced over to see that Matthew was chatting to Dr Eris; she no longer had her beady eye on them.
It was on the tip of John’s tongue to say, ‘And you have Matthew,’ but he didn’t. This was not about Claire or Matthew but about his relationship with Helen.
‘Regardless of that,’ John said, ‘I still want us to continue to see each other – to be friends.’ He paused. ‘I might be sounding a little sentimental here,’ he looked at Helen, who was looking back at him, her green eyes encouraging him to go on, ‘but I think it would be a great shame if we lost the friendship we have – I think we’ve got something special.’
Helen smiled.
‘I totally agree with you.’ Her smile widened. ‘I’m glad I’m not losing you.’
John laughed, out of relief and because he felt happy. He really didn’t think he could imagine a life without Helen in it. Even if it was just as a friend.
If John had read Helen’s mind at that moment, he would have realised she felt exactly the same. And if he had, there was no way he would have left the pub with Claire.
But John was not a mind-reader.
And so they wished each other a Happy Christmas and parted as friends.
Over the next hour, everyone chatted, drank tea and ate sandwiches, and little Artie was passed around like a parcel and didn’t seem to mind one bit. Gradually, the guests left and were replaced by the pub regulars, who didn’t object to their local being invaded as Bill had told them they could finish off what was left of the sandwiches.
As Dr Billingham had the entire day off and wasn’t on call, he’d swapped his tea for brandy and was in good spirits. When he said his goodbyes, he thanked Polly for making him Artie’s godfather – something, he said, he hoped she wouldn’t regret when he began trying to persuade the little boy that a life in medicine was the one to have.
Polly laughed, telling him that was fine by her.
‘And one day, hopefully, I’ll meet Mary,’ she said, giving him a farewell hug. ‘You’re welcome to bring her to the house to meet Artie any time.’
Polly saw what she thought was sadness cross his face as he wished her a Happy Christmas and made his way a little unsteadily out of the pub.
Dorothy had been in high spirits, which was not unusual, but what was surprising was that she had left earlier than she’d have done normally, so determined was she not to miss the return of the ‘lovebirds’ – or rather, a couple she hoped had become lovebirds since leaving the church.
Vera and Aunty Rina were not far behind as they were set on making tomorrow’s Christmas dinner the best ever – or at least the best to be had during a war and with an ever-increasing list of rationed goods. Everyone had enjoyed a good chuckle on hearing that Aunty Rina had recently been introduced to Albert and, on learning about his allotment, had offered him a place at the table if he allowed her to raid his vegetable patch. Albert had, of course, agreed, but warned Rina that in December there was not much to raid – apart from sprouts and potatoes, which Rina said was exactly what she wanted.
