Last Christmas

by Julia Williams

  ‘Miss Moore,’ said Jeremy Boulder, at five years old the eldest and liveliest child in her class. ‘Need the toilet, Miss Moore.’

  ‘Off you go then,’ said Marianne. She watched him go out of the door at the back of the classroom.

  ‘Miss Moore, look.’ Jeremy was jumping up and down and pointing with glee at the glass door opposite her classroom that led to the playground.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Marianne laughed out loud, completely taken aback by what she was witnessing. ‘There are sheep in the playground.’ She’d never had to deal with that in London.

  ‘Where, where?’ the children clamoured around her. Marianne led them out onto the corridor. She could see that the fence in the field next to the playground had come down. There’d been high winds last night, presumably that was when the damage had been done. The sheep had strayed across into the grassy area at the far end of the playground, and were now wandering aimlessly on to the concrete area where the children played. They hadn’t seemed to work out that they needed to go back the way they came.

  ‘Can we go and look at them, Miss?’

  ‘You’d better not,’ said Marianne, thinking of health and safety: then thought, don’t be ridiculous, what could sheep do to children?

  She called Jenny, her colleague in the next classroom, and together they shooed the sheep back the way they came while the children lined up by the school wall laughing.

  The sheep were baaing and running around piteously, but none of them seemed to know where they were going.

  ‘I hadn’t realised how much hard work it was being a sheep dog,’ Marianne laughed, as she unsuccessfully chased another sheep away from the school entrance where it had stopped to chew the winter pansies Year 3 had planted for Environmental Club.

  Suddenly she heard a whistle and a black and white speeding bullet flew across the playground and started rounding the sheep up. She looked up to see Gabriel ordering his dog this way and that until, finally, all the sheep were firmly over the right side of the fence.

  ‘You’ve got a new dog,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, this is Patch,’ said Gabriel, ‘grandson of Benjy, so even Stephen has taken to him.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised it was your sheep in that field,’ Marianne added.

  ‘They’re not normally. I rotate them during the mating season, so the ewes get enough to eat. They don’t breed well if they’re too thin. I’m going to have to move them to another field now till I sort out this fencing.’

  ‘Right,’ said Marianne, suddenly remembering her class. ‘Best get on. Children to teach and that.’

  ‘Marianne,’ said Gabriel. He paused, looking awkward. ‘I owe you an apology.’

  Marianne said nothing, wondering what was coming next.

  ‘I was rude about Stephen and singing the solo,’ he said. ‘It’s just been so hard, and Stephen is so unhappy, and I don’t know how to help him.’

  ‘Then let him do this,’ Marianne came up and touched Gabriel lightly on the arm. Never had she wanted more to take away someone’s pain. ‘He’s so quiet at school. If he could only do this, I think it would really help bring him out of his shell.’

  ‘Do you? Really?’ Gabriel looked at her intently, those dark brown eyes searing into her soul.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Marianne.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Gabriel. ‘But right now I’d better get these sheep away before you have another invasion.’

  ‘It’s given the kids something to giggle about,’ laughed Marianne.

  ‘Marianne—’ said Gabriel, as she turned to go.

  ‘Yes?’ said Marianne.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Gabriel said abruptly, and turned back to his sheep. Marianne walked back to the classroom feeling crushed. For a moment there, she’d hoped Gabriel was going to ask her to come back. For a moment. But Eve was still here. Nothing had changed. It was foolish of her to expect anything else.

  ‘Hi, Mum, I bought you the paper,’ said Cat as she came into her mother’s room. Mum was still in her nightie, sitting in her chair rocking back and forth. Cat had come to expect this, and also come to accept any little sign that her mother knew she was there with gratitude. If she didn’t, she’d go mad with this. How could it be that her once bright, bubbly mother was reduced to this shell sitting mumbling in a corner?

  ‘That’s nice, dear,’ her mother said. ‘I’m waiting for my daughter. Do you know when she’s coming?’

  ‘It’s me, Mum,’ said Cat, tears springing to her eyes. She still couldn’t get used to the fact that Mum didn’t recognise her at all anymore but, if she made a fuss about it, Mum only got upset. ‘Shall I wash your hair for you?’

  The care in the home was patchy. Sometimes Mum was dressed when she came in, sometimes she wasn’t. When Rosa was on, Cat always felt relief. Rosa clearly loved Mum and was gentle and tender with her, but then there’d be days when Rosa wasn’t there, and the care assistants that Cat referred to as The Lazy Gits would be there instead, sitting down at every opportunity, delighted by Cat’s arrival because it relieved them of their responsibility. Cat preferred to wash her mother’s hair than let them do it—she’d seen how rough they could be. Though she’d complained to Gemma, the owner of the Marchmont, nothing much seemed to get done. As ever, there was a gnawing guilt about whether she’d done the right thing. But what, as Noel said, was the alternative?

  Gently, Cat led her mum to the sink in her bedroom and got her comfy, then ran the water through her mother’s hair. Once Mum had done this for her; Cat could still remember the comfort of having her hair washed as a child. Once Cat had done it for Mel, who now wouldn’t dream of letting her mum get involved in the ritualistic hairstyling of the preteen. Now, here she was, the child becoming the mother, the mother whose child was needing her less and less. Cat was at a loss to know what her role was anymore. Never had she felt more lost and in need of her mum, and never had the strength of that loss felt more heartbreaking.

  She finished washing her mum’s hair, and dried it with a towel. Then she sat Mum in front of a mirror, and slowly curled her hair the way she knew she liked it. It was gently soothing to do this task. There was so little she could do for her mother, but she could do this one thing.

  When she’d finished, she said, ‘There, don’t you look nice.’

  Mum smiled at her, and patted her hand.

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ she said. ‘Just like my Cat. She’s a good girl too, I can’t think why she doesn’t come.’

  It never ever got any easier, but Cat had learnt that repeating that she was there only got Mum more agitated. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, a nice cup of tea and a biscuit would be lovely,’ Mum said. ‘I’m glad you’re here. You always look after me so nicely. I shall tell Cat when she arrives what a good girl you are.’

  Blinking away the tears, Cat went to ask the staff for a cup of tea.

  She came back and sat down next to her mother again, taking her hand and squeezing it tightly.

  ‘I’m glad I’m here too,’ she said. Even if her mother didn’t recognise her, at least she knew she was here to look after her. That was the most she could hope for now.

  Gabriel came back to the house to find it in darkness. Eve had taken to picking Stephen up from school every day and taking him home for tea. It was an uneasy arrangement, but so far had worked without incident.

  His heart was in his mouth as he turned on the lights, calling Stephen’s name. Where were they? Eve hadn’t mentioned that she was taking Stephen anywhere.

  ‘In here.’ Eve was sitting alone in a darkened kitchen. The last rays of a wintry sun were setting across the valley.

  ‘Where’s Stephen?’ Gabriel had a sudden shocking thought that she might have hurt him in some way.

  ‘He’s with Pippa,’ Eve was twisting a cup round and round. Suddenly Gabriel had a feeling he knew what she was going to say.

  ‘You shouldn’t be sitting here in the dark,’ he said gent
ly. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Eve was silent for a moment.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said, ‘it’s me that’s the matter.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gabriel felt the need to proceed with caution.

  ‘I’ve made a mess of everything. Of life with you. Of life without you.’ Eve was shaking. ‘I’ve been a lousy mum to Stephen. I am a lousy mum to Stephen.’

  ‘You’re not,’said Gabriel. ‘He loves you to pieces.It’s done him so much good to have you here.’

  ‘Has it?’ Eve stared at him with a look of such painful intensity it pierced his soul. ‘All I’ve done is brought him more heartache. I thought I could do it, I really did. But I just can’t do this school run thing and being a mum. I do love Stephen. Really I do. I’m just not cut out to be a mother.’

  Gabriel sat down next to her and put his arm around her.

  ‘Eve,’he said,‘you’ve made such great strides.You’ve done so well. Don’t give up on yourself or on Stephen. He needs you, you’re his mum.’

  ‘No, he needs you,’ said Eve. ‘I realise that now. You’re mother and father to him in a way I can never be. It was selfish of me to come here and try and take him away from you and I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ said Gabriel. ‘You can’t help who you are. But you can help your son. Go if you have to. Don’t have him living with you if you don’t think you can. But never forget you’re his mother. He needs you and you need him. I’ve seen how happy he’s been around you. We can build on that, all of us. Just not in a way that might be terribly conventional.’

  ‘What on earth did I do to you, all those years ago, Gabriel North?’ said Eve with the inkling of a smile. ‘I bet you wish you’d never met me.’

  ‘If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have Stephen,’ said Gabriel. ‘We might have messed everything else up, but we did that right. If you drop your battle for custody I’ll never stop you from seeing him. He needs you in his life.’

  ‘And you need me out of yours,’ said Eve. ‘I’ll explain everything to Stephen this evening. I’ve booked a train to London tomorrow. But this time I promise I’ll come back.’

  Gabriel kissed her on the head, and sat back with relief. He was going to keep his son after all.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cat sat down at the computer. She’d barely blogged for weeks now. She had so little time and energy for anything. She’d never been this behind for Christmas. Every time she thought about it a sick feeling entered her stomach, and she felt paralysed. Nothing was going to be ready on time, but for once she didn’t care. Dimly she was aware that Noel seemed to be taking it on himself to read through the Christmas lists and bring home bulging bags of goodies from Argos but, for the first time in her life, Cat couldn’t get at all enthusiastic about the festive season. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and hibernate till it was all over. She hadn’t even managed to rustle up any energy for decorating the Christmas tree, which was normally her greatest pleasure.

  Normally, Cat would have found herself blogging amusingly about the varied exploits of her offspring at Christmas: how do you make a camel costume, anyone? But this year, she didn’t even have the heart for that. She was heartily sick of the Happy Homemaker. Seeing Mum in the home had made her realise she had to make some changes in her life. It might mean difficult times ahead for her and Noel financially, but they simply couldn’t carry on as they were.

  I realise I’ve been a bad blogger of late, she began, but real life has interfered in a way I could neither foresee or imagine. Some of you may have realised by now, but the Happy Homemaker blog is a façade. It’s a cover for my real life and, as I’m sure is the case for a lot of bloggers, it’s a carefully constructed edifice—a pretend version of my life, if you like. I hope I’m not going to disappoint any of my readers by saying this, as I’m grateful to you one and all, but I can’t keep the façade up any longer.

  Put simply, my life isn’t perfect, it never was. I am a mum of four whose domestic life is usually chaotic. I started this blog to stop me going mad when my children were small, and then it ended up taking over my life. Recently, I felt, to the extent that I started forgetting my responsibilities, neglecting my family and in particular not supporting my husband. Events in my life right now have led me to rethink things. My mother has just been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s…

  Cat paused, could she be this honest in her blog? She’d never given away a real thought or emotion before, but somehow the blog seemed to be writing itself. She poured out all her heartache and sadness about the change in her mother, about the way the loss of her mother had made her feel. It was cathartic and necessary. There were no doubt readers who were going to feel cheated about what she’d done, and Bev was going to hit the roof when Cat told her. But Cat didn’t care anymore. The Happy Homemaker had to go, and with her, Cat knew her days as features editor at Happy Homes were also numbered. She was going to hand in her notice and go freelance. From now on, her family came first.

  ‘Yes, shepherds, if you can dance about like you’re cold that will work very well.’ Marianne was directing her ten-year-old shepherds, chosen for their comic abilities, as they kept themselves warm waiting for the angels to arrive. She consulted her script. ‘Right, then we’ll lead into “The Angel Gabriel From Heaven Came”, and the angels come in.’

  The angels—three fair-haired girls and one brunette (chosen because Marianne felt sorry for her after overhearing her complain she never got to be an angel)—came forward and took their positions.

  ‘We bring glad tidings,’ the chief angel said, ‘of great joy to all mankind.’

  This was going better than she’d expected. Marianne was really enjoying herself. The script that she’d adapted from the mystery play with a little help from Miss Woods (carefully ensconced on a chair in prime position as assistant director) was simple and clear, just as she’d hoped, and the children had all risen to the occasion beautifully. It was less than a week to go till the Nativity. She had a feeling that it was going to be a really special evening.

  ‘Is it too late for Stephen to take part?’ Gabriel poked his head around the door just then, looking nervous.

  Resisting the urge to run up to him and throw her arms around him, Marianne welcomed them both into the room.

  ‘Stephen, would you like to sing for us?’ she said. She’d dropped “Balulalow” in favour of “Away in a Manger” for the crib scene, but she’d happily reinstate it if it meant Stephen singing.

  ‘I’ve been practising at home,’ said Stephen shyly.

  ‘Just sit there for now,’ said Marianne, ‘and we’ll get you to do your piece as soon as we get to the baby being born.’

  The rehearsal went on and every fibre of her being was conscious of Gabriel at the back of the room, but she didn’t dare look over at him.

  ‘And so it came to pass that Mary gave birth to a son named Jesus,’ intoned the narrator, ‘and she wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger.’

  Mary and Joseph (both chosen by virtue of being the children of the only two sets of parents who hadn’t tried to bribe Marianne to give them the role) moved forwards and placed the baby in the crib.

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Marianne. ‘Now, Stephen, if you just come round to the front. Mr Edwards will give you a note.’

  Mr Edwards, who was practising on the ancient piano in the Parish Centre instead of the wonderful organ in the Hopesay Manor chapel that he’d be playing on Christmas Eve, sounded a note. Stephen stepped forward, and began to sing.

  ‘But I sall praise thee evermoir, With sangis sweit unto thy gloir,’ Stephen sang and the whole place froze. You could have heard a pin drop as he reached the high notes.

  Marianne sat back in delight. She’d been right to get Stephen to sing, she knew it.

  ‘And sing that last rycht Balulalow.’ Stephen finished off the last note, which lingered softly in the air.

  The cast spontaneously burst into applause. Stephen shyly smiled, and Mari
anne looked across at Gabriel.

  ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed. Now she knew she had the perfect Nativity.

  Gabriel waited at the end of the rehearsal for Marianne.

  ‘It’s going to be fantastic,’he said.‘You’ve done brilliantly.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Marianne, ‘and I’m glad you brought Stephen. He’s going to bring the house down.’

  ‘I have to admit he had me going,’ said Gabriel. ‘You were right. Singing is good for him. I could see how much it’s brought him out of himself.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Marianne. ‘He has a rare talent, and it needs to be nurtured.’

  There was a pause and Gabriel wondered how to fill it, before suddenly being unable to stop himself from saying: ‘So do you.’

  ‘So do I what?’ Marianne looked confused.

  ‘Have a rare talent. You’ve made such a difference to Hope Christmas.’ Gabriel paused and looked shyly down at his feet. ‘You’ve made such a difference to me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking stunned.

  ‘Pippa’s having mulled wine tonight, I believe,’ said Gabriel, looking up at her now, his brown eyes twinkling.

  ‘But what about Eve?’ said Marianne. ‘Aren’t you going with her?’

  ‘Marianne Moore, where have you been? The village hotline must have got the news out by now, surely?’

  ‘What news?’ Marianne was puzzled.