by Rosie Clarke
‘You look pale,’ Honour said. ‘You’re not ill are you?’
‘Just a bit tired, I suppose,’ Flo said. ‘We’ve been busy recently and seeing poor Mr Waters lying on the floor was upsetting. The doctor says he will recover. It was a warning because he’d been overdoing things – but it made me think about Dad. He could have another stroke and that might be the end…’
‘And that would upset you, wouldn’t it?’ Honour looked slightly ashamed. ‘I’d be sorry too, Flo. I get fed up with his constant need for attention, but he is my father too…’
‘Yes.’ Flo smiled and reached towards her, kissing her cheek. ‘Dad needs us, Honour. I will never let him be put into that place… Poor Mr Waters was terrified of being sent there.’
‘No, well, we’ll manage Dad between us,’ Honour said. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll be getting married anyway…’
‘If Roy doesn’t come back to you, someone else will in time…’ Flo said, seeing Honour’s hurt and disappointment.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever trust anyone again,’ Honour replied in a muffled voice and turned away. ‘I think I’ll get on with making the sugar mice…’
Flo nodded and moved towards the hall door. She sympathised with Honour’s hurt, but she knew there might be an explanation why Roy hadn’t been round. A soldier had to go where he was sent – and if he’d been taken ill or had an accident who would know to contact Honour? She wasn’t his wife or even his fiancée. Flo hoped that her beloved daughter wouldn’t end up with a broken heart, but at the moment there were other more pressing matters on her mind.
Her father was sitting in his armchair beside the bed when she went upstairs. He had a large wooden box on his lap and was looking inside it. As she entered the room, he closed the box and locked it.
‘You’re back then…’ he said. ‘How is Bert?’
‘The doctor said he’d been lucky – but Nurse Mary is staying over tonight, just in case either of them needs her.’
‘They’ve got no one of their own left now.’ Her father looked serious. Flo realised he must have known Bert Waters well when they were younger. ‘I was luckier. I had a daughter who stayed at home and took care of her mother – and me…’
‘Most daughters look after their parents,’ Flo said and turned away to gather up his used plate and cup. ‘I’ve got some work to do for the shop – is there anything you need before I start, Dad?’
‘No, thanks, Flo. I shan’t ring unless I have to. I know how busy you are. I’ve heard that shop bell ring a hundred times these past days…’
‘We’ve been busier than I expected,’ Flo said and smiled. ‘One lady told me she was giving her friends our truffles because she was cuttin’ down on what she spent this Christmas…’
‘More money than sense,’ he grunted and frowned. ‘It’s good fer you, Flo. You deserve to do well because you work hard.’
‘Yes, I do and so does Honour,’ she said. ‘But thank you for sayin’ it…’
‘I haven’t said a half of what I should,’ he muttered. ‘One day you’ll realise…’ He shook his head. ‘Put this box back in the top of the wardrobe for me please – and then go and get on with your work…’
Flo did as he asked, wondering what was inside. She’d never seen it before, because she never pried into his secrets. He would have been angry if she had.
She went back down to the kitchen, wondering at the change in her father recently. For years he hadn’t had a kind word for any of them, but now he was polite, almost considerate – and he’d given Honour the money to buy herself something nice for Christmas. She could buy a pretty dress or a fully fashioned wool twinset for thirty shillings.
Honour had filled all her moulds with the sugar paste, alternating them with equal amounts of pink and white. She had pricked the eyes and inserted tiny sweets in the holes, and they all had tails of thin liquorice strips or barley sugar twists, which was one of the things that made her sugar mice so different to those the other shops sold. Her smile was bright as she looked up.
‘I was just goin’ to start on the truffles… unless you want to do them?’
‘I’ll make some marzipan fancies and ice that last unsold fruit cake. I’m goin’ to give it to John Hansen for the mission on Christmas Day,’ Flo said. ‘I’m goin’ to make another batch of sugar mice as soon as those are set and some coconut ice – but not for the shop. I shan’t get it all done this evening, but I want to finish them before Christmas Eve, because John needs to distribute them to the families he chooses…’
‘What do you mean?’ Honour was puzzled.
‘It’s somethin’ I want to do. There must be so many kids in this area that won’t get a present this Christmas, Honour – not even an orange in their stockings. They won’t even hang them up, because they know Father Christmas doesn’t come to their house.’
‘You’re going to give the sweets away?’ Honour stared at her in amazement. ‘Can we afford that?’
‘We’ve earned more than I expected this year – and I don’t need anything for myself, Honour. I’m goin’ to do this because I can’t bear to think of those kids who have nothin’… and Christmas should be for children. We celebrate a special baby’s birth – and I can’t bear to think of all those children who have nothin’.’
‘Then I’ll spend what Dad gave me on the sugar paste,’ Honour said. ‘I don’t need a new blouse or a jumper, Flo. You spoil me whenever you have a few bob to spare. We’ll make as many as we can manage to turn out and ask Mr Hansen to distribute them…’
‘Some of the kids may be at the mission on Christmas Day and he’ll give the sweets to them then, but others will have to be taken round to their houses on Christmas Eve…’
‘John Hansen has an army of willing ladies able and ready to do whatever he asks,’ Honour said and laughed, suddenly enthusiastic about Flo’s idea. ‘He’ll be only too happy to oblige – Besides, he would do anything for you. I’ve seen the way he looks at you…’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Flo said and blushed. ‘He likes me because I help him at the mission but that’s all it is… and I haven’t got time to waste. We have a lot of extra work to do if we’re going to make enough sugar mice…’
*
Honour was dead on her feet when she finally tumbled into bed that night. She hadn’t slept properly for several nights, because she couldn’t get Roy out of her head. He’d pestered her to go out with him, visiting the shop for weeks on end before she’d agreed, and she’d been happy seeing him once or twice a week for ages, but then, after she’d got into the back of the car and let his kisses carry her away too far, he’d stopped coming. Did he think she was easy? Cheap? Nice girls didn’t do things like that, Honour knew. She’d worried that she might fall for a baby, but her period had come and Honour wouldn’t have to suffer that shame. Yet she felt shamed, abandoned and hurt.
Roy couldn’t have loved her or he wouldn’t have stopped coming round just like that. They didn’t have a phone at the shop, even though Flo would like one, because a lot of the better off clients said it would be nice to phone their order in and then just collect it, but Dad always said it was a waste of money. However, Roy could have written to her or sent someone to tell her if he’d been posted somewhere new. He’d promised to write but hadn’t bothered and that meant he didn’t truly love her – he’d just wanted the conquest, because she’d turned him down for months. She knew where he lodged, but she was too proud to run after him. If he didn’t want her, she wouldn’t beg, even though her heart felt like it was breaking.
She’d fallen in love with Roy’s smile and the way he teased her, and the way he’d seemed to care so much for her, making her feel special. She’d believed he loved her. It was her own fault. Honour knew that nice girls didn’t cheapen themselves by giving everything before they were wed. Flo had told her the truth and she’d known what Roy wanted – what she wanted, too – because she wouldn’t lie to herself. She’d been desperate to kiss and to touch and that
had led to something she knew was wrong. Honour might not have fallen for a baby, but she knew she was wicked and perhaps that was why she was being punished.
Honour’s tears stained her cheeks as she fell asleep, exhausted. She and Flo had worked tirelessly to replenish the stock and to make up little parcels of sugar mice and coconut ice for the children who would otherwise have nothing. Her heart was breaking, but she’d worked side by side with her sister, because it was what Flo wanted and she loved her: Flo would never let her down.
*
Flo left Honour to take their father a cup of tea and a ham sandwich up for his lunch while she did a quick shop on her way to Millie and Bert Waters. She’d noticed that their pantry was almost empty the previous night and knew it was because they hadn’t been able to shop for themselves. A packet of tea, butter, bread, cheese, some nice slices of ham in greaseproof paper and a few rashers of bacon together with six eggs would see them right for a few days. She’d brought a freshly made jam sponge as well and felt pleased with herself as Effie let her in and she filled up their shelves.
‘I was goin’ ter nip down the market and do a shop, but you’ve saved me a journey,’ Effie said. ‘I took a piece of bread and jam up to Millie – and Bert had a bit of toast, but I’ll get them an egg fer their tea.’
‘I wish I could do more to help,’ Flo said. ‘I can only pop in for a few moments, but I’ll come back this evening. Is there anything else they need?’
‘I brought a tin of cocoa round this mornin’ and the milkman left a couple of pints as usual, so we’re all right, Flo. It’s knowin’ you’ll come that matters – pop up and say hello if you’ve time…’
Outside, Flo could hear the sound of carols being sung and she thought it must be the Sally Army. They made a tour of the streets the last week before Christmas and it made her remember how close they were to the festive weekend.
Flo spent five minutes with Millie and exchanged a greeting with Bert before running back home. She had time for a cup of tea and a slice of her own sponge cake before she was back in the shop serving customers. With only a few more days to go before Christmas, people were buying cakes and a few last-minute Christmas presents. The buying spree for expensive gifts seemed to have peaked and now people wanted just a few treats for themselves or the ever-popular sugar fancies for their children.
In the middle of the afternoon, Flo took advantage of a lull to go upstairs to her father. He was sitting out again and smiled at her.
‘Bert all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I only saw him for a moment – I did a bit of shoppin’ for them.’
‘You’ve got a good heart, Flo,’ he said. ‘I haven’t told you this before – but I love yer, girl. I know I’ve not been a good father to yer – but when I’ve gone you’ll be all right…’
‘Don’t talk like that, Dad,’ Flo said, alarmed. ‘You’re not goin’ to die for years. You’re much better than you were.’
‘I feel better,’ he agreed. ‘That’s due to my daughter and granddaughter…’
‘Dad, please… you know she doesn’t know the truth…’
‘You should tell her,’ he said. ‘I’m not threatenin’ yer, girl. One day she’ll get married and she will want her birth certificate – and she will know the truth. You should tell her before it’s too late…’
‘Yes, perhaps…’ Flo bit her lip. ‘I will – when I think she’s ready…’
‘She’s not a child any more…’ he said. ‘Take notice of me, Flo – being lied to makes folk angry. Tell her the truth before she finds out for herself…’
‘Yes, I shall,’ Flo promised.
She left him and went back down to the shop. She and Honour had agreed that one of them would be in the shop while the other made more and more little gifts for the children of the district.
‘I’ve thought of something Mum used to do when I was little and had a holiday from school – do you remember her special burnt toffee?’ Honour said when Flo finished work and went through for her evening meal.
‘I called it stick-jaw toffee,’ Flo said with a smile, remembering when she’d been small and her mother had made the treat on birthdays or special days. ‘Do you remember how she did it?’
‘Yes – do you?’
‘It’s just melted sugar, a little butter and vinegar right at the end,’ Honour said. ‘You made it for me after Mum died, because I wouldn’t stop cryin’…’
‘Yes, you add just that little drop of vinegar right at the end to make it set – and if you use an enamel dish to set it, remember to use buttered greaseproof on the bottom or it will fetch the enamel off.’ Flo was laughing. ‘I remember once when Mum forgot the greaseproof and we kept hammering the toffee, but it had set to the enamel and it brought great lumps of it off…’
Laughter brought back happy memories to both of them and they hugged each other. ‘Do you mind if I try making some toffee for the kids as an extra treat in their stocking?’ Honour asked. ‘I’ll buy the sugar myself…’
‘We’ll use some of the profits from the shop,’ Flo said, but in the event it didn’t happen quite that way.
Flo’s father got himself downstairs for supper that evening. When he saw the rows and rows of sugar mice and baskets of coconut ice, he looked at them and raised his eyebrows.
‘You’ll never sell that lot before Christmas…’
‘These aren’t for sale,’ Flo told him. ‘I’ve asked John Hansen for a list of the children whose families come to the mission, the ones who won’t get a Christmas present or even a tangerine in their stockings. So we’re goin’ to make up little boxes of sweets and I’ve ordered a crate of tangerines – we’re aiming to make up a hundred and twenty gifts – and John and his volunteers will distribute them, some at the lunch on Christmas Day and some to the door…’ Flo held her breath expecting an outburst of indignation.
‘What are you giving them?’ her father asked, looking interested.
‘Two sugar mice, some coconut ice, a couple of penny lollies from stock, two tangerines – and Honour is going to make some of Mum’s toffee…’
‘You can save me a bit of that,’ her father said and grinned. ‘It sticks to your teeth and if you don’t get it right it goes soft and sugary – but your mother got the knack of it in time…’
‘I didn’t know you liked it?’
‘I used to pinch a piece when you were in bed,’ her father said and looked at her oddly. He turned to Honour. ‘Run upstairs, girl, and look in my wardrobe. You’ll find a big sweet jar filled with silver sixpences. If you give them a wash in soap and water they’ll look bright and new. I think you’ll find there’s more than enough to give each of your urchins a sixpence as well as the sweets.’
Honour looked stunned but did as he bid her and came back down in a few minutes with one of the sweet jars they used in the shop. It was filled to the brim with silver sixpences and very heavy.
‘How on earth did you collect all these?’ Flo asked and laughed as Honour poured them into the washing-up bowl and started to scrub them with soap and water.
‘I started years ago when you were a little girl. I used to give you sixpence on Saturdays but you’ve forgotten…’
‘No, I remember now,’ Flo said, smiling because she was remembering happier times. As a child her father had often given her treats but that was before it all went sour. He and his wife had drifted apart, quarrelling frequently, and the love had gone from the house. Flo’s mother had blamed him and she had too, but now she wondered how much of the bitterness had been caused by her mother; when a marriage went wrong there was usually more than one to blame. ‘So you just went on collecting them.’
‘Yes. I thought they might come in handy one day and now they have…’
‘It’s good of you to let us have them, Father,’ Flo said. ‘Sweets are lovely, but they’re gone very quickly – a sixpence of their own is something the children can keep or spend on whatever they like.’
‘You saved your
s to buy a fairy doll for the Christmas tree one year,’ her father said, his eyes watering. ‘Right, I’ll have a cup of tea and sit here by the fire. You’d best get on with yer work – you’ve a shop to run as well as these waifs and strays you’re set on spoiling. I shan’t get in yer way…’
Honour had got all the sixpences in a towel and was rubbing them dry. Flo poured her father a cup of tea and cut him a slice of sponge cake and then started to make another batch of coconut ice and some fudge. She was finding that a lot of her customers were coming back for the home-made sweets as much as the cakes and every time she added something new it sold out quickly.
Once Honour had finished drying the silver sixpences, she put them back into the jar. ‘I think we should give these to the children after they’ve had their Christmas dinner with their sweets,’ she said. ‘At least, Mr Hansen can do it…’
‘You and Flo will go round after we’ve had our meal,’ her father said. ‘I’m not a child and I intend to come down for Christmas lunch. I shall sit here on my own for a couple of hours while you play Father Christmas at the mission…’
Honour raised her eyes at her sister, but neither of them said anything.
They worked solidly, making the treats they intended for the children and more of the ever-popular chocolate truffles for the shop.
Flo took her father upstairs when she’d finished. He was yawning but seemed happy enough in himself and when they got into the bedroom, he took something from the little chest by the side of his bed.
‘Here,’ he said, pushing two five-pound notes at her. ‘That’s my contribution to your Christmas for all the waifs and strays of the East End…’
‘I wouldn’t say we’re goin’ that far, Dad,’ Flo said, but she took his money and thanked him.
Flo didn’t know what had changed her father’s mood of late, but she was glad of it and she kissed his cheek once she had him settled in bed.
