by Rhys Bowen
“I did just manage to wash my face at your brother’s place,” Maggie said. “But I’m feeling a bit out of place in my old skirt and jumper. We had to leave the house in a hurry, see.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re all having to wear old clothes these days.” Amelia put a comforting hand on Maggie’s arm. “I can see if you fit into something of mine, if you like. But you are much slimmer than me.”
“Skinny, that’s what I am,” Maggie said. “Jack says I’m a bag of bones.”
Amelia grabbed her arm. “Come on. At least let’s see if you fancy a scarf or some jewellery. And I’ve make-up, too.”
“You’re very kind.” Maggie felt tears threatening again. When she and Amelia returned downstairs, Maggie was wearing a flowery red scarf.
“You look nice,” Jack commented. “That’s put some colour back into your cheeks.”
Andrew had poured sherries before lunch. The table was decorated with silver candlesticks and sprigs of holly. Amelia carried out a platter with turkey, roast potatoes and parsnips on it.
“Andrew, you’ll have to carve, I’m afraid,” Amelia said. Maggie could see the tension come into her face. “My husband is on a destroyer in an Atlantic convoy.”
“That must be hard for you,” Maggie said gently.
Amelia nodded. “But it’s the same for most people, isn’t it? Christmas without our dear ones, and just praying that they’ll be safe.”
“You said you wished you could have a turkey,” Jack said to Maggie, trying to lighten the mood as Andrew attacked the bird with a carving knife.
“My husband’s brother sent this down from Scotland,” Amelia said. “Aren’t we lucky? And the Christmas pudding was one that Cook made before the war. Golly, I hope it’s still good. They are supposed to last forever with all the brandy in them.”
They tucked into the feast, wearing paper hats, everyone talking and laughing. Maggie found herself caught up in the festivity and able to put her worries aside. It wasn’t until they were sitting around the fire after lunch that reality began to overwhelm her again. Soon they’d have to walk out of this safe, warm house with nowhere to go. She was just trying to keep this thought at bay when the telephone rang. Andrew answered it. Maggie knew instinctively that it was bad news. She watched Andrew standing in the doorway, talking to his sister, before he came back into the room. He perched on the edge of the sofa, composing himself.
“Well, we’ve located Peter’s mother.”
Peter looked up from his game.
“She’s in University College Hospital. It seems she was buried under debris when a wall collapsed on to her.”
“Is she going to be all right?” Peter asked. He had risen to his feet.
“I hope so, Peter. I think so, but it was a very nasty injury. She was unconscious quite a while, and when she woke she had no recollection of coming up to London. Her rescuers didn’t recover her handbag, so for a while they had no idea who she was. But she’s on the mend, apparently, and we’ll find out when you can go and see her.”
“So what I was suggesting,” Amelia said, glancing at Andrew, “is that Peter stay with us. He’s already getting on well with my boys, and we’re close to the hospital so he can visit his mum. That seems like a good idea all around, doesn’t it?”
Jack glanced at Maggie. “Yeah. Best thing all around, eh, Maggie?”
She nodded, unable to speak, not taking her eyes off Peter, who was still kneeling on the floor, holding a toy soldier.
“So what do you think, Peter?” Amelia asked him. “Would you like to stay here with us until your mummy comes out of hospital? We can take you to visit her often. You can share a room with the boys. And I think we can find some of Alistair’s clothes that will fit you for the time being.”
Peter nodded. “Yes. That would be very nice. Thank you,” he replied in his polite and serious little voice, sounding so much older than his years.
Jack stood up. “I think we’d best be getting on our way, if you don’t mind. You’ve been very good to us and we really appreciate it, but we can’t impose any longer.”
“On your way, Jack?” Andrew asked. “Where will you go?”
Jack’s voice was bright and breezy. “I’m taking the wife down to her sister on the farm in Essex. It will do her good to be out of the city for a while.”
“You really don’t have to leave,” Amelia said. “Not on Christmas Day. I’m sure the trains won’t be running. Why don’t you stay the night?”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Jack said hastily, glancing across at Maggie.
“No bother, I assure you. I’d love to have you here. I’ll put you to work helping with that mountain of washing-up.” Amelia laughed.
Jack glanced at Maggie. “She’s right. There probably won’t be trains running today. Best wait and go down in the morning, eh?”
Maggie nodded. She was still finding it hard to talk. Her eyes kept straying back to Peter, who was now building a tower of blocks with Amelia’s boys and then laughing as they knocked it down again.
Andrew stood. “Come on then. I suppose we’d better tackle that washing-up sometime.” He indicated Maggie and Jack should join him.
“I’ll apologize in advance for the state of my kitchen,” Amelia said as they went through to the back of the house. “I really wasn’t brought up to be domestic, and now my cook has gone and my maid has left to work in a munitions factory, so I’m muddling through. I have a cleaning lady once a week, but . . .”
“Bloody ’ell,” Jack couldn’t help saying as he saw the stack of pots and pans in the sink.
Amelia gave a nervous laugh. “You see what I mean. I burned the Brussels sprouts. Hopeless.”
“I think you did very well,” Maggie said. “The dinner was perfect. Everything I wanted.”
Amelia gave her a grateful smile. They set to work and between them soon had everything cleaned and put away. They listened to the King’s Speech on the radio, then had tea with a small Christmas cake. As day turned to evening Maggie found it more difficult to shut out thoughts of their grim reality—that when these happy moments ended, there would be nowhere to go and she’d never see Peter again. The evening seemed to drag on and on, with cold turkey and pickles for supper and a hot toddy before they went to bed. It was only when they were in a pleasant bedroom at the back of the house, having climbed into bed after putting on a borrowed nightdress and pyjamas, that Maggie could no longer hold back the tide of emotions. Jack put an arm around her.
“I know what you were hoping for, love, but it’s better this way, isn’t it? He belongs with his own kind. And he needs to be near his mother so that she can see him and get well quickly.”
“I know.” Maggie’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper. “It’s just that it seemed like a miracle. Christmas Day and I’m given the chance for this lovely little boy. And now I’m back to where I was, with nothing.”
“You’ve got me, Maggie,” he said. “You’ve got someone who loves you and who’s going to take care of you. We’ll make it through together, I promise. I’ll take you down to your sister in the morning, and you stay there until I’ve found a new place for us. All right?”
“But what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me. I don’t need much. Someone’s sofa will do.”
“No, Jack,” she said. “I’m not leaving you. We’re all we’ve got in this whole stupid world, you and me. We have to stick together, watch out for each other. It can’t go on forever.”
“Oh, Maggie.” He wrapped her fiercely in his arms, hugging her as if he were clinging on to a lifeline. Then he added, “I bet you never thought you’d sleep with a man wearing silk pyjamas!”
She nestled her head against his shoulder and they fell asleep.
The next morning Maggie was woken by Jack tiptoeing around the room. “I was going to nip down and make us a cup of tea,” he said. “And then I thought we’d be off, without going through all the goodbyes.”
<
br /> “We have to thank Amelia for being so kind,” Maggie said.
“We’ll leave her a note then,” he said. “Best that way, don’t you think?”
Maggie was on her way back from the bathroom when the door at the far end of the hall opened and Amelia came out.
“Sorry if we woke you,” Maggie said. “We were going to make a cup of tea and then go.”
“Don’t leave yet,” Amelia said. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I’ve had an absolutely brilliant idea. It might seem like awful cheek, but I’m wondering if you’d stay on for a while.”
Maggie gave an embarrassed grin. “Oh no. It’s really kind, but we couldn’t impose any longer . . .”
“It’s not imposing,” Amelia said. “It’s the other way around. I thought we could help each other. You need a place to stay, and I’m floundering trying to run this house and look after the boys alone. I wasn’t taught any of the things a housewife should be. I wasn’t expected to find myself in a situation like this. You could teach me how to cook, and stay with the boys when I take Peter to the hospital.” She paused, watching Maggie’s face.
“But you hardly know us,” Maggie said.
“You saved Peter. You really care about him, I can tell,” Amelia replied. “And these days we don’t have to go through all the silly introductions and conventions. We could at least try it. I think we’d get along well enough.”
“Yes, I think we would.” Maggie fought to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I’d have to ask Jack. He may feel it’s too far from his work at the docks.”
“We’re only a few steps from the Oxford Circus Tube station,” Amelia pointed out. “It shouldn’t take him too long to get there.”
“No, not too long,” Maggie agreed, her thoughts whirling. Would Jack feel too out of place in a household like this? Could she make him understand how important it was to her right now to be somewhere safe and sane, and that she wanted to be with Peter? “And if he needs to be on an early shift, he can always stay at his mate’s house,” she added, as if trying to convince herself. “He’s down in the kitchen making tea. But he’s a proud man. He wouldn’t accept charity.”
Amelia actually laughed. “My dear Maggie. You saw his reaction to my kitchen yesterday. He’d be the first one to admit that I’m in desperate need of help. Come on. Let’s ask him now.”
And they went down the stairs together. Tears were welling up again in Maggie’s eyes, but this time there was a small bubble of hope. Perhaps there were Christmas miracles after all.
About the Author
Photo © 2016 John Quin-Harkin
Rhys Bowen is the New York Times and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of more than thirty mystery novels, including The Tuscan Child and In Farleigh Field, the winner of the Left Coast Crime Award for Best Historical Mystery Novel and the Agatha Award for Best Historical Novel. Bowen’s work has won sixteen honors to date, including multiple Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. Her books have been translated into many languages, and she has fans around the world, including seventeen thousand Facebook followers. A transplanted Brit, Bowen divides her time between California and Arizona. Visit the author at www.rhysbowen.com.
