‘Hello,’ he answered.
‘It’s…it’s a bit late to wish you a Happy Christmas’—she waved her hand towards the round table which was covered with packages—‘but…but I’m in time for the New Year.’
‘You haven’t been well, I hear?’
‘No, I had ’flu. I thought the last time I had it was bad enough, but it was nothing like this. One often calls a cold ’flu, but this was the real thing.’
He stared hard at her. Her face was thin and wan, the brown eyes seeming to encompass it. ‘Do you think it wise to come out yet?’ he asked.
‘The doctor said she should stay indoors for another two or three days.’ Peter turned from where he was kneeling and pointing out the merits of the engine in Barney’s train set.
Vincent looked back at Constance and she smiled faintly and said, ‘I just had to get out; the bungalow seemed so small and cramped after the flat and…and I was longing to be up here again.’ She moved her head slowly and looked about the room.
‘I can understand that. And it would be all right if the room was warm, but that fire’—he nodded towards the grate—‘it won’t give out real heat for hours yet. I…if I’d known you were coming I would have lit it this morning; it’s been on most days.’
‘Oh, thank you.’
‘Your best plan is to come below straight away and stay there until we get that fire roaring. Come on, you lot!’ He turned abruptly to the boys and Moira. ‘Take whatever you’ve got to take and get going…Now, what’s to go down?’ He was addressing Peter, and Peter said, ‘It’s these cartons.’ He pointed to the two-foot-high cardboard boxes.
‘Well, leave those to me; you see to your mother. The wind’s come up and it’ll lift you off your feet. Wrap up well.’ He nodded towards Constance; then stooping and picking up a carton in each arm, he went towards the door, and the children, their arms laden, followed him.
‘Shall I leave the lamp on?’ Peter called to Vincent; and he called back, ‘Yes; it’ll be all right. We’ll be up again shortly.’
Turning to Constance now, Peter said, ‘Shall I bring your coat and things downstairs?’ He sounded excited, and she said, ‘No; I want to go up. Light me a candle.’
In her room she slowly took her fur coat from the wardrobe and just as slowly put it on. Then she wound a scarf round her head. She had to stoop to see her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. Framed in the dark fur collar and the deep blue scarf her face looked like that of a ghost, and she said, ‘I’m home; and here I’m going to stay.’
Five
‘It’s the finest New Year’s Eve I’ve ever known,’ said Hannah. ‘Just look at that table. Has this kitchen ever seen anything like it?’ She pointed to where the long, wooden kitchen table was covered with a snowy white cloth and where at each end, standing between plates of food, was a table lamp of like pattern, their cream bowls holding pink satin shades. And even though the flexes were attached to the low ceiling, along which they ran to a socket on the wall, this did not detract from their appearance. ‘And to think,’ said Hannah, ‘that with a mere turn of the switch you can light up the bowl as well. I’ve never seen anything like them in me life. They’re too good for a bedroom. Don’t you think so, Vin?’
Vin, coming in from the storeroom on his way to the parlour, his arms full of bottles, said, ‘What’s that you say?’ and Hannah repeated her words.
‘Well, you wouldn’t be using them on that table every day of the year, would you?’
‘No, of course not; but I can see them adornin’ the parlour.’
‘You were given them for your bedroom, so use them there.’
‘You’re right, Vin, you’re right. But I’ll never go to sleep for lookin’ at them…Listen to them in there!’ she said to Florence.
‘They’re gettin’ going already. By, that’s a fine radio of Peter’s; no hum on that one. Aw, did you ever see a lad as happy? And our Kathy; I’ll never forget her face as it lit up when she came in that door and saw him standin’ there right by the table. And to think of our Vin bringin’ her all that way and never letting on one word to her that he was here an’ waiting. It was the gliff she got; she’d no time to show him a different face. He seems older. Don’t you think so, Florence?’
‘All of two months,’ said Florence.
‘Aw, you know what I mean. And he’s a good boy, looking after his mother since he finished term. And fancy him tryin’ to tap Michael as to whether Kathy had talked of seeing a lad lately—Lord God, he didn’t know what he was doing, for Michael was the very boy to spin him the yarn she’d seen twenty. It’s as well that Moira was within earshot or that one enquiry would have been his last…How long have we got to go now, Florence?’
‘Oh, another twenty minutes I should say. The clock in the parlour was set right at dinner time.’
‘But you know that one gallops,’ said Hannah.
‘Well, even if it does,’ said Florence, ‘we’ll hear the bells.’
‘Aye, we might; and we might not, with the wind and the snow fallin’ as it is. I told you we would get it. Now didn’t I?’ Hannah walked to where Florence was piling sandwiches high on a plate, and she asked quietly, ‘Are you happy this night, Florence?’
It was a moment before Florence said, ‘Yes, Hannah; very happy.’
‘We’ve seen some New Years in together, we two, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, we have, Hannah.’
‘I’ve got a feeling about the coming one, Florence.’
Florence made room for the plate on the table, then returned to the long bench and began to fill another plate. Presently she stopped what she was doing and looked at Hannah. ‘Your feeling, Hannah…I hope it’s good,’ she said.
‘I don’t know, Florence.’ Hannah shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s a funny feeling, not sad like, and not happy. I just don’t know; I never had a feeling like this afore on me on New Year’s Eve. And yet…yet I want to dance. You know? Perhaps it stems from the worry that’s on us both.’
‘Yes, Hannah, yes; it could be that.’
‘Ah well, the old one’s near out, so let’s forget it tonight, eh?…He’s happy, Florence…’
‘I pray it may last,’ said Florence, going to the table once more. ‘But I can’t see how it can.’
‘Me neither, Florence. Me neither. But I join me prayers to yours, nevertheless…Listen, there! That’s Kathy laughin’. Isn’t it grand that she’s got tomorrow off, an’ at this time an’ all? We’ve got them all here except Kevin, Florence, and it’s natural that he should want to bring it in in his own house, isn’t it now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Florence: ‘quite natural.’
‘By the way, did you see our Biddy cockin’ her cap at Peter? Quite brass-faced she was. If it wasn’t that the boy can’t see anybody in his eye but Kathy, I’d have skelped her into the middle of next week. An’ listen to her now; that’s her singing that song again. That’s what comes of them living in the town and seeing that television.’
Biddy’s high young voice penetrated through the kitchen now, singing, ‘I say, No! No! No! It ain’t me, babe, it ain’t me you’re looking for.’
Florence did not stop to listen to Biddy’s voice, but, taking off the apron that covered her one and only best dress, she said, ‘Do you think she’s really enjoying it?’
Hannah did not ask whom she meant, but answered immediately, ‘I’d swear on it. Why, there’s even some colour in her face the night; and when Kathy and her dad did the jig she clapped and laughed with the rest of them. Oh, she’s enjoyin’ it fine, Florence.’
‘I shouldn’t think it’s her kind of entertainment. But there, she seemed pleased to come down. Well now’—she looked around her briskly—‘have you got the piece of coal ready for him?’
‘Yes, Florence; it’s here.’ Hannah pointed to the side hob, where a lump of coal lay on a newspaper.
‘And there’s the new loaf,’ said Florence, pointing to the bench. ‘He’ll get the b
ottle himself. Well, now, I think we’d better go in.’
When they opened the parlour door the noise struck them like a wave. Seated in various positions on the mat around the big fire were Barney, Joseph, Davie, Moira, Michael and Biddy. On the couch sat Kathy, Sean O’Connor, and Constance, while Vincent sat in one leather chair and Peter in the other.
‘Quiet! Quiet a minute!’ Florence tried to silence the children; then turning towards Vincent, she said, ‘There’re only a few minutes to go.’
Vincent got to his feet and reached over Peter towards the sideboard, and, picking up one of the bottles he had brought in, said, ‘Well, I’d better get stacked up.’
The boys pushed at each other and began scrambling up, and Michael cried to Davie, ‘I’ll be a first-footer next year. Vin said I can be when I’m sixteen.’
‘Oh aye!’ cried Davie back at him as they rushed towards the door. ‘But it’ll be lemonade you’ll have in your bottle, or milk. Oh aye, milk,’ he ended scornfully.
‘Whist!’ cried Sean. ‘Stop makin’ such a racket or none of us will hear it come in at all.’ He turned to glance at the clock. ‘It says three minutes to. Do you confirm that, Mrs Stapleton?’ Constance looked at her watch and said, ‘Mine says four; but it could be wrong.’
‘Aw well, three or four, what does it matter, it’ll be in a minute. Come on, all of you, into the kitchen!’ Sean now turned and held his hand out towards Constance to help her up from the couch, saying, ‘We should use the house door’—he pointed to the door at the far end of the room—‘but it’s the devil of a job to get open and, more than that, to get closed again. It’s swollen with age and years, like most of us,’ and he brought her hand to his chest in a natural gesture—‘so we first-foot through the door we use every day of the year.’
As Constance entered the kitchen she saw Florence placing a white loaf in the crook of Vincent’s arm and then handing him a piece of coal partly wrapped in paper. She watched him put the bottle of whisky under his other arm before taking the coal; then he was pushing through them all towards the storeroom, and they all cried different things at him: ‘Bring in a good one, Vin.’
‘Make it a rich one, Vin.’
‘I want to pass my exams, Vin.’ This was from Kathy.
‘Me, too, Vin.’ This from a transformed Peter.
‘See I win the pools, Vin,’ from Biddy.
‘A motorcycle, Vin,’ from Michael. On and on, what they wanted him to bring in the New Year.
‘Good luck to us all, Vin,’ was his father’s wish; and Hannah’s was, ‘Peace on the house, Vin.’ Only Florence and Constance made no request of him, and as he opened the door the snow swirled in. Sean forced it shut, stood with his back to it and faced his family, all illuminated, not by an electric bulb, but by the Tilley lamp that was hanging from the ceiling. And he became quiet, as they all did, while they waited for Vin to bring in the New Year.
When one of the boys coughed, Sean admonished him, ‘Quiet now! Hold it, otherwise, with this wind blowin’, we won’t hear a sound of them.’
The minutes passed, and still no sound of bells permeated the thick stone walls; and the next sound that came to them was a fist being hammered on the door and Vin’s voice crying, ‘Open up there! Open up!’
Sean pulled the door open, shouting, ‘We never heard them,’ and Vin cried, ‘I just caught a tinkle. A Happy New Year! A Happy New Year!’
For the next few moments there was pandemonium, as they all retreated with him back to the kitchen, and there, laying down the coal and bread but still holding the bottle of whisky in his hand, he greeted them one after the other. ‘Happy New Year. Happy New Year, Mother.’ Then Hannah, her arms up round his neck and answering his greeting with, ‘An’ many of them, lad. Many of them.’ She did not, even on this occasion, call him ‘son’, for so far she’d had only a small amount to drink. Then Kathy and Moira were clinging to him, followed by the boys. No kissing here, just a gentle punch to the side of the head and their answering punch to his stomach: ‘Many of them, Vin. Many of them.’
‘May all your wishes come true, Michael.’
‘Thanks, Vin. And yours, and many of them. Many of them.’
Then Peter. A handshake here: ‘Happy New Year, Peter.’
‘And to you, Vin. Happy New Year.’
Now he was facing Constance, and after a moment’s hesitation he held out his hand and said quietly, ‘A Happy New Year to you.’
‘And to you, Vin, a Happy New Year.’
When he let go of her hand the pressure and the warmth from it remained on her fingers.
A few minutes later they were all in the parlour again and Sean was crying, ‘Now, does everyone have a full glass, Florence?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she called back excitedly. Then, forming a ring, they all held their glasses up towards the middle. The children’s glasses held home-made wine; the adults’, among whom Florence had included Kathy and Peter, held Scotch whisky.
Now all eyes were turned on Sean as head of the house, and he, with a great flourish, lifted his glass high, crying, ‘Here’s to all of us!’ And they answered, ‘Here’s to all of us!’ Then they drank.
‘Come on, come on. Let’s eat!’ shouted Sean now. And eat they did …
At half-past one there was nothing left of the spread in the kitchen; in fact, the whole room was transformed. The long table was standing upended in the corner near the sink, the chairs had been pushed back round the wall, the rugs rolled up and the stone floor was given over to dancing.
With his hands cupping the side of his mouth organ, Vincent played jig after jig, and reel after reel, which Sean usually led, and into one he had coaxed Florence. There was no need to coax Hannah or the children, nor yet Kathy and Peter.
Constance, seated now to the side of the fireplace, her knees against the warm oven, laughed and clapped and gave no thought to the morrow. She kept telling herself that she had never been so happy in her life.
Kathy came across to her looking flushed and happy. Putting her hands on her knees, she said, ‘If we put the gramophone on, will you waltz? Peter says you’re a cracking dancer. By the way’—her eyes twinkled—‘he doesn’t take after you in that way; he has size fifteen feet. Did you know that?’ She pushed at Constance’s shoulder as she laughed, and the action was very much like one of Hannah’s.
‘Oh, I couldn’t dance, Kathy,’ said Constance. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m happy just watching you.’
‘Nevertheless, we’ll have a waltz,’ cried Kathy. ‘They’re all old-fashioned records, but what does it matter?’ She dashed to the bench where a box gramophone had been placed and, putting on a record, shouted above the din, ‘We’re going to have a waltz.
‘Come on,’ she called across to Constance. Then grabbing Peter’s hand, she swung him over the rough floor, and to the strains of Over the Waves she counted, One, two, three; one, two, three, to him while the others watched and laughed.
Vincent tapped the mouth organ on the palm of his hand and put it in his pocket. Then, rubbing his hands with his handkerchief, he approached Constance, and looking down into her upraised face he said, ‘Shall we try this one?’
Constance seemed to be rooted to her seat; she also found that she couldn’t answer him; but he held his hand out and she placed hers in it. Then, with his arm around her waist and she with her hand on his shoulder, her step fell into his and she found herself almost sailing over the uneven floor. She wondered where he had learned to dance. Then Sean gave her the answer. His voice came to her above the chant of the children singing.
Neither of them spoke as they danced; nor did they laugh. After the record had droned to an end and they had danced on for two steps more, Constance, her face now pink-hued, gave an embarrassed laugh as she glanced to where Florence and Hannah were sitting side by side, and she called to them, ‘I thought I’d forgotten; it’s years since I waltzed.’ She now almost overbalanced, and Vincent’s hand came onto her arm. As he led her to her seat
by the oven, she, still looking towards Florence, said, ‘That proves I’m out of practice.’
‘No, no,’ said Florence kindly, nodding at her. ‘A good dancer is never out of practice; once the music begins you always remember what you learned. That ’flu still has a hold on you.’
There followed a moment’s quiet in the kitchen, which was broken by Kathy crying, ‘Come on! Hannah; it’s time for a song.’
‘Oh no! Not now, child; I’m not in form. Me chest’s wheezin’ like a rusty barn door.’
‘Now was there ever a New Year’s mornin’ when you didn’t sing?’ said Sean. ‘Up with you now and get crackin’!’
So Hannah stood up, amid warnings of, ‘Ssh! Now ssh! Quiet!’ and in a voice that was deep and rounded and heart-tugging, she began:
‘Love me a little, I’ll make it last;
Love me a little, I’ll draw on the past.
Don’t go away and leave me alone,
Life is death when on my own.
‘Once we sat quiet, no need for words;
We walked the streets and saw gold everywhere;
Now the silence is but a sword
And the gold is worry and work and care.
‘Once we were young and life was right,
But the years came, and years are stark.
Your love has gone in the long, long night,
And mine, I hug to me in case of flight.
‘Love me a little, I’ll make it last;
Love me a little, I’ll draw on the past.
Don’t go away and leave me alone,
Life is death when on my own.’
The song was from her heart; it was her life. It was beautiful and moving and oh, so true; but it wasn’t a wise choice for the occasion. Something in it touched the life of each of the five adults in the room and brought a stillness to them, and as Hannah, resuming her seat amid the applause, said, ‘Now, why did I have to go and sing a sad one like that?’ there was an exchange of glances between Vincent and Kathy that brought Kathy to her feet, crying, ‘Can you play a samba, our Vin?’
The Solace of Sin Page 20
