‘It’s not that we’ve been keeping secrets from you, Henry,’ said Uncle Bill, ‘it’s just that there was no point in saying anything before I’d made up my mind.’
‘Uncle Bill’s teacher, Mr Cuthbertson, has persuaded Uncle Bill to apply for an interview next month,’ said Henry’s mother.
‘An interview for what?’ asked Henry.
‘Teacher training,’ answered Uncle Bill. ‘If I’m successful, I’ll start training in September. But don’t worry about your job at Hatton Station. It’ll still be waiting for you after you finish school. And anyway I might not be accepted, so there’s no point mentioning it to anyone.’
‘Why do you want to be a teacher?’ Henry asked.
‘To give children the chances I missed out on and a taste of what I’ve discovered late in my life. We’ll have to tighten our belts, though.’
‘Does Gran know?’
‘We’ll tell her next week,’ said his mother. ‘She might take it badly and we don’t want to spoil her Christmas.’
As if he cares, thought Henry. He’ll use the teacher-training thing as another excuse to be even meaner.
Just then Uncle Bill spotted the paper chains and lanterns.
‘Did you make all those today?’ he said.
‘No. Yesterday. At Hettie Beaumont’s. We wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘They look cracking. You too?’ he asked Henry.
‘A few,’ he muttered. He shoved his hands awkwardly into his raincoat pocket and came across the tin. ‘I’ve got something from Mr Jenkins for you,’ he said, struggling to prise it out.
‘You really need a bigger raincoat now,’ said his mother.
‘You’re nearly as tall as me,’ said his stepfather. ‘Tall enough for a man’s raincoat, eh, Maureen?’
‘As soon as Christmas is over, we’ll pop round to the WVS clothing exchange and get one.’
Henry spread the raincoat out on the table, held it down firmly and yanked the tin out.
‘Pineapples!’ his mother exclaimed. ‘Oh, how lovely. I got some grapes too in the market. They’ve not been selling so well this year so they cut the price down. And I managed to get a chicken. It’s only four pounds but I’ve got a bit of ham to go with it.’
Henry felt like an outsider again as his mother and Uncle Bill chatted to one another. Molly didn’t look too happy about it either. She tried to stop her father speaking by placing her hand across his mouth while he repeatedly removed it.
‘You might want to open my Christmas present to you early, before you start cooking the Christmas dinner,’ said his stepfather, significantly.
‘No, I’ll wait.’
‘But it’ll save you time when you . . . ’
‘Don’t tell me. I can guess what it is, but I can use it next year when I’ve got used to it.’
Is she really happy? Henry wondered, staring at his mother’s glowing face, or is it an act to make everything nice for everyone? If so, she was putting on a very good show.
‘Want to decorate,’ Molly interrupted.
‘She’s been dying to start on the tree all day but I told her she had to wait till you came home.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Uncle Bill. He took a little package from his pocket wrapped in waxy yellowy-white paper. ‘You must unwrap it very carefully,’ he said to Molly.
‘For me?’ she asked.
‘For the tree.’
It was a fairy. Henry couldn’t believe that a grown man would buy a fairy and then he remembered he had bought a doll’s eiderdown. The dress on the fairy was spread out in a circle so that it could be placed on the top of the tree. It had semi-transparent cream wings, curly blonde hair and a tiny silver and gold crown and wand.
‘You can put her on,’ Uncle Bill said, and he lifted her up. She plonked it on top and it slumped to one side. ‘Looks like she’s had one too many,’ Uncle Bill said.
‘Bill,’ cried Henry’s mother, laughing, ‘you are awful!’
He placed Molly on the floor and straightened the drunken-looking fairy. Molly stared up at it, slapped her cheeks, and began dancing around the floor, shrieking with excitement, at which point the volume from the wireless from the next room rose to a crescendo. Henry noticed his mother give Uncle Bill a glance. Quickly she picked up the bag of paper chains.
‘Come on, Molly,’ she said hastily. ‘Let’s put these up, shall we?’ There was a loud hammering at the front door.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Henry, glad of a chance to escape.
He had hardly opened the door when Mrs Henson from next door pushed him aside, stormed into his grandmother’s room and turned the volume down.
‘And keep the ruddy thing down!’ she yelled. ‘We can’t hear ourselves think. I got my daughter and her children stayin’ with us and you’ve woken the baby!’
‘It’s that girl,’ he heard his gran say, ‘she makes such a noise I can’t hear it.’
‘Get yourself a hearing aid, then. You can get one for free now. Then we can all have a bit of peace.’ She had hardly stormed out of the room when she whirled back round again, a finger raised. ‘And if you turn it up one more time, I’ll send Mr Henson round to nab your accumulator!’ She marched past Henry in a fury. He was about to close the door after her when she stopped and gave him a stern look.
‘I know I’m speaking out of turn,’ she said quietly, ‘but your mum ought to do something about her. She don’t because you’re so fond of her. But you’re getting older now. Time for you to have a word with her.’
Bewildered, Henry watched her stump off.
‘What’s she talking about?’ he muttered.
Something bulky and heavy was lying on top of his feet. He peered sleepily down at the foot of his bed in the half-light. It was one of Uncle Bill’s long woolly socks. A slim parcel was sticking out of it. He fumbled around under the covers for his jersey and pulled it over his pyjama top. Molly was still asleep. He had promised his mother that as soon as she stirred he would wake her. But she hadn’t said anything about him opening his stocking at the same time. He hesitated, but only for a moment. He switched on his torch and went immediately for the thin parcel. It was a large black umbrella with a cane handle. Perfect for standing in cinema queues in the rain. What followed was fudge, a Christmas copy of The Dandy, a new roll of film, a hand-knitted scarf, an orange, an apple, nuts and chocolate coins. He wrapped the scarf round his neck and read the comic, eating the chocolate coins. He wondered if Grace, Pip and Jeffries were awake yet. It was good knowing they were just around the corner, yet he felt envious that they would have each other’s company. He switched off the torch, slipped under the covers and closed his eyes again.
He was woken by small fingers tugging at his face.
‘Ow!’ he yelled.
‘Farver Christmas!’ said an excited voice.
Henry looked blearily over the covers. The door was flung open and his mother raced into the room in an old dressing gown while Uncle Bill shivered behind her in his pyjamas.
‘Presents!’ declared Molly, and she hugged her bulging sock.
They sat at the end of his bed and watched transfixed as Molly impatiently pulled out a small parcel and ripped the paper off. Inside was a box of wax crayons. His mother smiled at Henry.
‘You’ve been up early I see,’ she said, glancing at the wrapping paper strewn across his blanket. ‘Do you like the presents Father Christmas brought you this year?’
‘Yeah!’
‘And from the chocolate on your face you didn’t waste any time enjoying one of them.’
Molly meanwhile was frantically tearing paper off a colouring book.
‘I’ll take a photo of her,’ he whispered, slipping out of bed to get the camera.
‘Lovely!’ said his mother.
After breakfast, Henry dressed in his bedroom while his mum laid the fire in the front room. He could hear Gran grumbling. He opened the door to eavesdrop.
‘It’s freezin’ in ’ere,’ she com
plained.
‘You can dress in front of the range. I can keep the others out of the kitchen while you do. It’s nice and warm in there.’
‘But you’ve already laid the fire in ’ere so why not light it?’
‘Because it’s a waste of coal having it burning while we’re at church.’
‘Not if you bank it up. Then it’ll be nice and warm for when I get back.’
‘But we’re all going to be in the kitchen to open the presents under the tree.’
Henry closed the door.
He hoped they weren’t going to squabble all day.
As soon as they returned from church they made for the warmth of the kitchen, except for Gran.
‘I’ll put the presents round the tree,’ said Uncle Bill.
‘Lovely,’ said Henry’s mother. ‘That’ll give me time to see if everything’s cooking nicely in the oven.’
When various saucepans were simmering on the range, she sat down.
‘You can call Gran now, Henry.’
‘It’s bitter in my room,’ Gran complained as she entered the steamy kitchen. ‘When are you going to get my fire going?’
‘I told you, after we’ve opened the presents,’ said Henry’s mother, putting on a brave smile. ‘You should have sat in here. It’s lovely and warm.’
‘Not with that noisy girl.’
Henry noticed that Gran was only carrying three small presents. He wondered which person she had left out. She handed them to Uncle Bill to be put by the tree and sat down.
‘Ready?’ said Uncle Bill cheerily. He lifted up a large rectangular box. ‘To Molly,’ he read, ‘love from Mummy and Daddy.’
‘Mummy and Daddy,’ he heard his gran mutter under her breath. ‘Nothin’ wrong with Mum and Dad.’
Molly tore off the wrapping paper. As soon as she saw the picture on the box she gave an excited scream. Her father helped her open it. Inside was a doll which looked like a baby. She grabbed it and cuddled it. Henry noticed his mother smile at Uncle Bill.
‘To Auntie, best wishes from Maureen, Bill and Molly,’ he read next.
It was a large knitted shawl in pink and blue wool.
‘Very nice,’ said Gran, stiffly.
‘To Gran, love Henry,’ said Uncle Bill, passing the parcel of embroidery to her.
‘Oh my!’ sighed his grandmother. ‘You thoughtful boy. This is so pretty and it’s something I can do when I can’t get out.’
‘I thought it’d look nice in your room.’
‘Oh, it will, dear. Give us a kiss.’
‘To Henry, lots of love from Uncle Bill and Mum.’
He passed Henry a bulky package. Inside was an ex-RAF rucksack in thick grey-blue canvas.
‘It’s waterproof,’ said his mum. ‘We thought it would be useful for when you travel up to London again. Your old one’s got so many holes in it.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘It’s from Uncle Bill too,’ said his mother.
Henry muttered a ‘thanks’ in his direction.
His stepfather lifted up a heavy box and put it on the table where his mother was sitting.
‘To Maureen, love Bill,’ he said, grinning.
Painstakingly his mother unwrapped it. Henry guessed it was so she could use the paper again.
‘Oh, Bill,’ she exclaimed. It was a pressure cooker. ‘This will save hours of cooking and save on coal too. Thank you, love. Do mine next.’
He lifted up a strangely shaped parcel which appeared to have a long neck.
‘Giraffe!’ said Molly, pointing.
‘To Bill, love from Maureen,’ he announced.
It was an anglepoise lamp with a dark green lampshade.
‘It’s second-hand,’ she said, ‘but it works. You can read more easily at night now.’
Henry remembered the man in the second-hand bookshop telling him about the woman who had bought the lamp. It must have been his mother.
Uncle Bill was beaming. For a moment, the two of them smiled at one another as if there was no one else in the room. His mother really did love Uncle Bill, thought Henry, observing them. He could see it was no act. But he still couldn’t understand why.
‘Don’t forget my presents,’ said Gran.
She had given his mother, Uncle Bill and Molly a handkerchief each.
‘To Mum, love from Henry,’ Uncle Bill read out.
‘Oh, Henry, it’s like something out of a magazine,’ his mother cried, looking at the photograph Henry had taken of her in the yard. ‘And chocolates! I haven’t seen a box as nice as this in ages. Thanks, Henry. I’ll put these well out of the way of you know who.’
‘What’s this?’ said his stepfather, eagerly opening Henry’s parcel. ‘Brighton Rock!’
‘Isn’t that by that Graham Greene you like?’ asked Henry’s mother.
‘Yes. And a hardback too. I am spoilt. Thank you, Henry.’
Henry noticed his grandmother was scowling. It was strange that she hadn’t given him a present. He wondered if he had upset her.
‘Now there’s a funny thing,’ she said, catching his eye, ‘I could have sworn I’d brought your present in here. I must have left it in my room. Henry, could you go and get it for me, there’s a love. I’m a bit squashed here with this table up so close against the wall.’ And she gave a little laugh.
He spotted the parcel as soon as he walked into her room, large and bulky at the end of her bed. It felt soft. He carried it back to the kitchen.
‘Big parcel,’ said Molly.
‘Oh, Mrs Dodge, you shouldn’t have,’ said Henry’s mother, looking concerned.
‘Open it, then,’ said his gran, smiling.
‘What is it?’ he said, unwrapping it. As he pulled out the contents, his mother gasped. It was a man’s stone gabardine raincoat, not knee length but long, the sort of raincoat Humphrey Bogart might wear.
‘Blimey!’ he gasped.
‘Put it on,’ said his grandmother.
As he slipped it on, it seemed to flow over him. It fell down to his shins. He buttoned it up and did up the belt.
‘All you need now is a hat,’ said his gran proudly. ‘A trilby, of course.’
‘Yeah,’ he said laughing. ‘Thanks, Gran.’
It was only when he looked at his mother that he was aware of a tension in the room. She seemed frozen in shock. Uncle Bill appeared to be motionless too.
‘That looks like a very good raincoat,’ his mother said dully.
‘Nothing is too good for my grandson,’ said Gran, determination in her voice.
There was an embarrassing silence.
‘I’ve got a present for Molly,’ Henry said, suddenly finding it awkward being the centre of attention.
Uncle Bill seemed to wake from a trance.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘It’s under the table.’ He dragged it out from under the table.
‘Goodness!’ said Gran in a clipped voice. ‘That’s a big present for a little girl.’
As Molly tore away at the wrapping paper, revealing the box, Henry was aware of a look of surprise from Uncle Bill.
‘Bed!’ yelled Molly. ‘For the baby.’
Immediately she pulled down the covers and placed the doll’s head on the pillows.
‘Mr Jenkins gave me the box and I found the quilt in an old toy shop near Disraeli Road.’
‘And I helped make the rest,’ his mother added hurriedly.
Henry realised she didn’t want Gran to know Mrs Jeffries had made them. He noticed she was twisting a tea towel nervously in her hands.
‘I’ll go and light the fire in the front room now,’ and she dashed out of the room.
She seemed upset, thought Henry.
‘You’d best take that raincoat off,’ said Uncle Bill, ‘and hang it in the wardrobe. You’ll need to take care of that.’
‘Oh, let him sit in it for a while,’ said Gran. ‘I like to see him in it.’
For the rest of the day there was a taut atmosphere in the house. Henry obs
erved everyone going through the ritual of pulling crackers, putting on hats and looking for money in the pudding. It wasn’t until he was alone with Gran in her room that he realised what it was all about.
‘Did you see your stepfather’s face when you unwrapped your raincoat?’
‘No,’ said Henry.
‘He was so angry.’
‘Why should he be?’
‘Jealousy. He’d never give you anything like a new raincoat. He’s so choked that I’ve spoilt you.’
The next morning he found his mother in the kitchen attempting to settle Molly with the wax crayons and some paper. Brighton Rock was on the table. A bookmark was sticking out of it. Uncle Bill must have been reading it after they had gone to bed while waiting to leave for the night shift. He must really like it, then, thought Henry. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed.
‘Oh, Henry,’ Mum exclaimed, her face flushed, ‘could you keep her occupied? I want to get the washing finished before dinner and get it on the line.’
Steam was wafting into the kitchen from the scullery.
He sighed.
‘Thanks, love.’
As he drew up a chair beside Molly, he noticed that on the other side of her feet her doll was tucked up in the cot.
‘Dolly sleep,’ she said, her finger on her lips. She thrust a blue crayon at him. ‘Sky,’ she demanded.
Henry took the crayon, drew three large clouds and started to colour in the areas around them.
‘Maureen!’ yelled Gran, from the next room.
‘Just coming.’
Henry watched his mother go through to the hall.
‘What’s going on?’ he heard his gran say. ‘Some Christmas this is.’
‘I’ve got to get the washing done now because we’re going to have an early cold dinner. Me and Henry are meeting Mrs Beaumont at the cinema. You know that, Mrs Dodge. She’s gone up there early to save us a place in the queue. Now I must go and wake Bill up.’
‘My fire’s nearly out,’ she said plaintively.
‘I’ll ask Henry to sort that out for you.’
Henry carried a shovel full of hot coals from underneath the copper in the scullery to the fireplace in Gran’s room.
‘I shall be left all alone,’ she said, her mouth quivering.
Just Henry Page 20
