by Maeve Binchy
Penny had never seen Lassie’s eyes before—they were quite alert, interested and frightened at the same time.
‘I suppose so,’ she said grudgingly.
‘You can be sure of it. Right, come on, it’s my day to take all the rebels, the burning, young women protesting against the system.’
‘What?’ Lassie asked confused.
‘Forget it. I’m as bad as you are. I’ll see you down in the hall.’ She went back into the staffroom to collect her books and saw Miss Hall. The older woman was looking out of the window at the wet branches.
‘Sorry for that outburst,’ Penny said.
‘I didn’t hear you. What happened?’
‘Oh, I shouted at Lassie Clark,’ Penny explained.
‘I wonder why her parents had a child if they wanted a dog,’ Miss Hall said unexpectedly.
‘Perhaps she made it up herself as a name.’
‘No, she was always called that, for the last nine years anyway. I remember when she was in Juniors, thinking how silly it was.’
Penny was surprised. Miss Hall wasn’t noted for remembering anything about the children. ‘Lord, but she’s a troublesome child anyway, no matter what she’s called,’ Penny said. Her voice was down and unlike her normal cheer.
‘It’s just Christmas,’ said Miss Hall. ‘It brings everyone down. If I had my way I’d abolish it totally.’
Penny, who had been feeling precisely the same way, didn’t think she could agree. ‘Oh, come now, Miss Hall, it’s lovely for the children,’ she said.
‘It’s not lovely for people like Lassie,’ Miss Hall said.
‘Nothing would please her, spring, summer, autumn or winter.’
‘I think Christmas is particularly hard, we have such high expectations, and they never live up to it.’
‘You sound like Scrooge,’ Penny said with a smile to take the criticism out of her voice.
‘No, it’s true, whoever felt as happy on Boxing Day as on Christmas Eve? Child or adult.’
‘That’s too gloomy.’
‘What about you, you’re a cheerful little soul. Since you came here you have always been able to see the bright side, even when there is no bright side. But isn’t it true what I say? You will have a happier day before Christmas looking forward, than after it looking back.’
Penny had never had a conversation like this with the crabbed Miss Hall before. Definitely Christmas brought out, if not the best in people, at least something different. ‘Funnily enough, in my case Boxing Day will be better, because then Christmas will be over and I won’t have to sit on my own worrying and waiting for it to be over. But I do take your point for other people.’
Miss Hall’s eyes rested on her, and she thought she saw tears in them.
Penny had been so brave for years that she bristled at the thought of pity or even a hint of sympathy. ‘No, no, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,’ she said hastily.
‘I don’t have time to feel sorry for you, Penny, I feel so sorry for myself there isn’t room for anyone else in my sympathy.’ The older woman looked so wretched that Penny, with her hand on the door and about to leave to supervise those girls who had been kept in after school, paused.
‘Is there anything I could do . . . ?’ she was hesitant. Miss Hall was always so sharp and caustic. Even now, having admitted she felt miserable, she would surely somehow turn against any warmth that might be offered to her.
But Miss Hall looked not her usual confident self, she looked as if she were teetering on the brink of saying something, of giving a confidence. ‘No . . . thank you . . . you are very kind to ask. But it’s not something anything can be done about really.’
‘Something can be done about everything,’ Penny said with false cheer, as if she were talking to a child.
‘Then why can’t you do something about your Christmas and make it a day to be happy, instead of sitting, wishing it was over?’ The older teacher spoke with concern, not with malice. There was no way the question sounded offensive.
‘I suppose because in my case, there are things I don’t want to change. And I have to take what goes with my having made this choice.’
‘Yes, that’s reasonable, if you know it’s something you can cure by choice then I agree you’re right in saying that something can be done about everything.’ Miss Hall nodded as if pleased to have teased out the logic of the thing.
‘And in your case?’ Penny felt very bold, as if treading on dangerous ground.
‘It’s not a matter of simple choice, there’s something I should have done years ago, or rather not done years ago. But let’s leave me for a moment. That poor, sulky child Lassie, I don’t suppose she has much choice.’
‘She could make herself a bit more pleasant,’ Penny complained.
‘Yes, but it’s not going to affect her Christmas. Pleasant or unpleasant it will still be the same.’
‘How do you know?’ Miss Hall had never been heard to speak a word about the children, as if they had no lives outside the school wall.
‘Oh, the usual way, through the gossip. Her parents are divorcing, her mother is already pregnant by the new chap, her father has already moved into a flat with his girlfriend. The last thing any of them want for the festive season is the big gloomy face of the child they called Lassie lurking around them.’
‘So what’s she going to do?’
‘What can she do? Demand as much attention in each place as she can, make them all feel miserable and guilty. That looks like the form. No amount of being charming is going to bring about what she really wants which is her old home back again as it was. Solid and safe.’
There was such sympathy in Miss Hall’s voice, such understanding. Penny dared to speak again of personal things . . . ‘I am on my own at Christmas, as I told you. If there’s any way I could come and see you or meet you . . . or . . .’ She couldn’t ask the woman to her flat in case she would be there when Jack found his stolen half-hour. He would be speechless with rage to find an old schoolmarm on the premises. But at least she could offer to go to the old woman’s huge, terraced house later in the evening when Jack had gone back to what she considered the bosom of his family and what he described as an empty charade which he had to stay in for the sake of the children until they were old enough to understand.
‘No, no, you are very kind.’
‘You said that already. Why not? Why can’t I come?’ Penny sounded bad-tempered now.
‘Because I won’t be there. My house is no longer mine. It has had to be sold.’
‘I don’t believe you. Where are you living now?’
‘In a hostel.’
‘Miss Hall—is this a joke?’
‘It would be a very unfunny one if it were.’
‘But why? That was your home for ages, I heard your father and grandfather lived there. Why was it sold?’
‘To pay my debts. I’m a gambler, a compulsive gambler. I would like to say I was a gambler but like alcoholism, we must always use the present tense.’
‘You can’t live in a hostel . . . forever.’
‘I may not have to. When the sale of the house is completed, I shall probably have enough to get myself something small.’
‘But how terrible for you. I had no idea.’
‘No, nobody has any idea, nobody except my group . . . you know the support group, and of course the people I owe money to, they know only too well. It would be disastrous if, at this stage, the school were to know. I don’t think the Head would extend a great deal of seasonal charity and understanding, I’d much prefer if she weren’t to find out.’
‘No, no, of course,’ Penny gasped.
‘There can always be some cover story about my selling the house and the pictures, and all the lovely furniture because it was too big for me, too much to manage.’
‘Was it horses or cards, Miss Hall?’
Miss Hall smiled. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I suppose it’s all so unlikely, and I wanted to keep the co
nversation sort of down to earth rather than getting upset on your behalf.’
Miss Hall approved of this. She gave a wry sort of smile. ‘Well to make it even more unlikely still, let me tell you it was chemin de fer.’
‘In a club?’
‘Yes, in a plush club an hour’s journey from here by train. Where nobody knows my name. Now you’ve heard everything.’
Penny realised that she must leave. This minute. There were no parting shots. No sympathetic reassurances. Just close the door behind her.
In the hall, sitting sulkily at her desk, was Lassie.
Alone.
‘Leave it and go home,’ Penny said.
‘I can’t, I have to do it. You said yourself it was silly not to have gone to the thing, I’d better not be done twice.’
‘True. I just thought you might like to get home.’
‘No point really, no one there,’ Lassie said.
‘Like me,’ Penny said with a grin.
‘Yeah, but you chose it, and you’re old.’
‘No, I didn’t chose it, and I’m not old.’
‘Sorry,’ Lassie managed a half-smile.
‘Get on with it then, I’ll just think something out.’
Penny sat in the big classroom they used as a detention hall. In front of her Lassie Clark struggled with a page and a half of essay about ‘Changes in the Neighbourhood’ which nobody would read once it was written. Its only function was to be a punishment.
Penny thought about her mother and stepfather and how it was too late now to come home to them for Christmas even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. It would startle them, it would bring back too many memories of the house when Daddy was alive, when she had been a little girl, when there were no problems ahead.
It was too late to go on the trip to a country where there would be no Christmas, only swimming pools and palm trees and buffets in the sun. But it would not be too late to rescue Christmas if she chose to. If she chose to open up some of the windows in her heart that Jack had made her close. That she had closed out of blind love for him which was not real love, it was infatuation and fear of losing him.
She thought it all through, slowly, clearly and without emotion. It would suit them all, but there would be problems, of course, foolish not to face the problems. There must be no aura of pity about it. No hint of the Last Chance Saloon. If Penny were going to do it she would spend not one minute of her time trying to keep the peace between the gruff and distant Miss Hall and the sulky, resentful Lassie. She took a deep breath and looked at the child sitting at the desk in front of her. Was it her imagination or had she actually pushed her hair behind her ears? Her face looked, if not alert, at least responsive.
‘Lassie,’ she said.
‘Have you thought it all out?’ Lassie asked.
‘Yes, and I’m going to offer you something. A lot depends on what you say, so listen to me until I’ve finished.’
‘All right,’ Lassie said agreeably. She listened and there was a silence.
‘Do you have a nice, big flat?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s not very nice, I never did much with it, I never thought I’d stay there long you see. But there is room. A spare room with a sofa bed for Miss Hall, you could bring a sleeping bag and have the sitting room and the telly if you turn it down low. I have my own room.’
‘There’s ten days before Christmas,’ Lassie said impassively.
‘Yes. So what?’ Penny didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed that the child was taking it all so matter of factly. To be invited to stay with two teachers for Christmas was surely not something that came your way every day.
‘I meant we could get it looking nice, paint it up a bit maybe, put up a tree, practise cooking. I don’t suppose any of us are much use at that.’
‘No,’ Penny couldn’t hide a smile.
‘Will she have any money?’ Lassie cocked her head towards the staffroom.
‘No, I don’t imagine so, but I have enough. Nothing luxurious.’
‘They’ll probably give me some money, I can bring that, I mean they’ll be so glad to get rid of me.’
‘You can’t live with me forever you know, Lassie, just Christmas.’
‘That’s all right, that’s all we’ll need each other for,’ Lassie said.
‘I’ll go and tell Miss Hall. I’m sure she’ll agree.’
‘She’ll be mad if she doesn’t,’ Lassie said sagely.
Miss Hall listened impassively. Penny began to wonder was the world filled with people who took everything very lightly.
‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘That would be very nice. I’m glad you told her about my predicament, after all, I told you about hers. So we’re all right. You’re the only problem.’
‘What do you mean, I’m the problem?’ Penny was so indignant she could hardly speak. Here she was offering these two misfits a home for Christmas and now suddenly she was defined as the one with the problem.
‘Well it must be a man, a married man,’ said Miss Hall, without any condemnation in her tone. ‘And since you haven’t had time to discuss this new arrangement for Christmas with him, is there not a possibility that you may regret your invitation to us, or that he’ll resent it, or that it will seem somehow the wrong thing to have done?’ Miss Hall asked as mildly as she might have asked were there more biscuits with morning coffee.
‘No. No, there is no possibility of that. None whatsoever,’ Penny said.
‘And you mustn’t take this kind of thing on every year, dear,’ Miss Hall was solicitous. ‘You are such a good, warm girl, it would be easy to find yourself taking on lame ducks instead of taking on someone undamaged to love and to be loved back.’
It was said softly and with great warmth, and yet Penny knew she must respond in practical brisk tones. ‘You are good to say that,’ she smiled. ‘And of course you’re right, it’s just a one-off, just this Christmas, after that we’ll all be cured and ready to get on with whatever there is to get on with.’
She would have plenty to write to Maggie about, and little to say to Jack. Because Jack would know it was no empty gesture, no seeking his attention. Just a sign that she was indeed cured and well on the way to recovery.
The Christmas Barramundi
SHE HAD MET HIM FIRST AT THE FISH MARKET ON CHRISTMAS Eve. It was very early in the morning but already crowded. Their hands touched as they each pointed to the same ocean perch. ‘That one,’ they said at the same time.
They all laughed, Janet the school teacher, Nick the banker and Hano the younger son of the fish merchant. ‘You have it,’ Nick said gallantly.
‘No, no, you were the first,’ Janet countered.
Hano said, ‘He has many brothers and sisters, you can have one each.’
‘I don’t like to think of his brothers and sisters,’ Janet said.
‘I know, but we’re very hypocritical, aren’t we?’ Nick had a crinkly smile that lit up his face.
‘Who was it said they could never eat anything that had a face?’ Janet looked thoughtfully at the slabs of fish each one with a very definite face, some of them indeed with expressions you could almost define.
‘Hey, you’ll have us eating bread and cheese for Christmas,’ he said.
Janet sighed. ‘No, that’s my problem, point out all the disadvantages about something and then go ahead and do it all the same.’
‘Mine’s different, I favour the ostrich technique; pretend things don’t have faces, or brothers and sisters. Just grill them and eat them.’
‘Poach them surely, or cook them in foil. This is much too big to grill.’ Janet took things literally.
‘Have coffee with me,’ Nick said suddenly.
Hano wrapped their fish for them. Janet paid in cash, Nick used a gold credit card. He took her by the elbow and they went to where people drank small cups of coffee and ate delicious Italian bread. Hano waved them goodbye. He would have loved to have gone with them, to have talked and laughed as they did so easily
. Instead he would have his father’s and his uncles’ eyes on him and the eyes of his two older brothers. This was one of the busiest days of the year. He should be working, reaching out towards customers, not dreaming.
More and more people bought fish for Christmas Day. Going to the markets in Pyrmont was now almost a tradition. The customers enjoyed the experience as much as they enjoyed the fish they bought. Look at that couple for example: the man was rich, he had a jacket that Hano would have to work for five years to buy. His watch was gold. He didn’t even look at the docket he signed. He surely didn’t need to come here and buy fish, someone could have got it for him. Perhaps he was lonely, maybe he had a fight with his wife. Possibly he was a bachelor or a divorced man. He must be about thirty-five or forty.
Janet was asking herself all these questions too as they went together for coffee. But by the time they were sipping their espresso and eating the warm foccacia, she didn’t care if he was married or single, if he had twenty people waiting at home for him or nobody. He was just so easy to talk to. They sat on high stools and talked about Christmas Eve in other lands. Nick had been in New York some years, always a wet, cold day. He remembered coming out of his office, and trying to join the throngs getting last-minute gifts in stores where a million others had the same idea. They took such short vacations in New York city. Not like here in Sydney, where the world closed down for weeks.
‘Well, it is our summer holidays,’ Janet said, a trifle defensively. She was always apologising for the long school vacations that teachers enjoyed. Her other friends said her life was a holiday. But their lives weren’t filled with shrill, young voices; clamouring, young personalities; and the need to be on stage from the moment the first bell rang to the last. Of course, she had never wanted to be anything else but a teacher, she told Nick, and she told him about a Christmas she had spent in France which was meant to improve her French but actually had only improved her interest in wine.
And then they talked about wines they both liked, and around them people wandered around the displays of fish, and water gushed through the drains and lumps of ice that hadn’t yet melted fell to the ground. They talked, Nick and Janet, with the excitement of people getting to know one another and afraid to ask the question that might nip it all before it got started. Each was buying a fish large enough to feed a family. Neither wore a ring, but that meant nothing. They each noticed that the other was in no hurry to go home, but again that might have no significance. When their third set of empty coffee cups was taken away they could pretend no longer.
