A Family Christmas

by Glenice Crossland

  When they reached the plot John couldn’t believe his eyes. There, peeping through the rich dark soil were row upon row of beautiful scarlet radishes. The seeds John had scattered on the ground – without any hope of them making anything – had taken root and were a treat to behold.

  ‘It’s a bloody miracle,’ John spluttered.

  A butterfly fluttered about among the radishes, then came to settle on Violet’s cheek. Rosie danced with excitement. ‘It’s Uncle Lewis; he’s grown the radishes for my mum. Now he’s sent the butterfly to give us a sign. Look, he’s giving her a butterfly kiss, just the way he did before he died.’ The butterfly came to settle on Rosie’s hand, fluttering its wings before flying away down the bank where the wild flowers grew. Lucy felt the tears gather and roll down her cheeks.

  ‘Why are you crying, Mum?’ Rosie asked, taking hold of Lucy’s hand.

  ‘Because she’s sad that Uncle Lew died,’ Violet answered.

  ‘No, not because I’m sad. I’m crying because he’s still here amongst us. I’m sure you’re right. The radishes and the butterfly really are signs that he’s here. I’m sure of it.’

  Lucy expected John to laugh at such nonsense, but he was standing there staring unbelievingly at the scarlet globes, as if they were liable to disappear if he turned away. He blinked his eyes, but the radishes were still there in all their glory. ‘Well, Lew,’ John whispered. ‘Between us, we’ve managed to grow the bloody things at last.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  PETER AND BERNARD had been to Longfield for a Christmas tree and trimmed it with baubles and tinsel. It stood in the corner of the front room and glittered in the firelight’s glow. Andrew had been to the Donkey Wood for holly and ivy and had decorated the pictures and the wishing mirror. Rosie and Violet had spent the morning making a mound of sandwiches using a fowl and a leg of pork – courtesy of Little Arthur. The aroma of spice from the hot mince pies filled the house with the scent of Christmas.

  There were far too many now for a sit-down meal and Lucy had decided it would be a help-yourself do. John had shoved the three-piece suite back to the wall, making more room for the youngsters, who had claimed the front room as their own. Shrieks of laughter and cries of ‘I got a six, I go first’ filtered through to the kitchen. Due to the war it was the first time all the cousins had been together. This year it seemed even more important than before to celebrate Christ’s birthday.

  In the kitchen a couple of Nut Brown Ale crates were serving as extra seats and Will had even brought in the wash tub and perched himself on that. Nellie, Tom and Henry had arrived in time for lunch. Sadly Duke had passed away a few months ago following a stroke. Cyril and Sydney were dining out with friends. Mary had invited Tom, Nellie and Henry to stay at their house for the night. After the trifles had been devoured and cups of tea – or something stronger – had been handed round, Ben asked if he could fetch down the old melodion. Once the children heard the sound of carols they left their games behind and came to join in the singing. When the warblers finally paused for breath Will kept them entertained with stories about the market.

  On the row parties were taking place at most of the houses. The Murphys’ was overflowing with all the married ones visiting on this special day. The Marshalls and Slaters were having a combined do with not only Mable’s young man and Kitty’s husband present but also Lily. With a bit of conniving from Molly and Larry – who were now engaged – Lily and Ernie had now been reunited. Mrs Slater was delighted. It wasn’t right, according to her, for a man of Ernie’s age not to have a wife. At the Holmeses’ the old harmonium sounded as if it was being strangled and further on the row a couple of teenagers were locked in an embrace, regardless of the cold.

  Ben had just struck up with ‘I’ve Got Sixpence’ when a knock came on the door. Joyce – who was nearest – went to open it.

  ‘Aunty Lucy, it’s a lady in a fur coat, with a fur hat and fur boots.’

  ‘Sounds more like a bear than a lady,’ Will whispered. ‘Be careful she doesn’t bite.’

  Lucy didn’t know the stranger at first. ‘Yes, can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Well I certainly hope so.’ It was the American accent that alerted Lucy to who this strange woman with the heavily made-up face was.

  ‘Auntie Kate? It is. Oh come on in. I didn’t recognise you.’

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t. You were only eight years old when I left. I’d still know you, though. You’re the one with your dad’s eyes.’ Kate drew Lucy into her arms as her other nephews and nieces came to embrace their late father’s sister.

  ‘Rosie, make your great aunt a cup of tea.’ Lucy drew Kate towards a chair.

  ‘How did you get here?’ Mary asked when her aunt had removed her coat and been given something to eat.

  ‘I hired a taxi. He’s coming back for me at eleven; is that all right?’ Kate laughed. ‘It’s costing me double seeing as it’s Christmas, but it’s worth it to see you all together.’

  ‘You could have stayed the night,’ John said. ‘Where are you staying, by the way?’

  ‘We’re booked into a hotel, the Grand.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Will whistled, ‘that’s grand.’

  ‘What about Uncle Gregory? Aren’t we ever going to meet him?’ Mary had read about Aunt Kate’s husband in her letters but that was all.

  ‘Yes, I shall bring him to see you all before we go home, but tonight he’s visiting his sister in Barnsley. It will probably be a tearful experience after thirty years.’ Kate sighed. ‘We’ve been wanting to visit the old country for some time, but it wasn’t possible what with the war. So we’ve decided to take the plunge before it’s too late; after all we’re both getting on in years.’

  ‘Well, you don’t look it.’ Jane wished she had a coat like Aunt Kate’s and dared to smoke like the stars did on the pictures. Kate had taken out a cheroot from a silver case and offered them round. Only Ben and Jacob accepted. Kate put on her coat and made for the door. ‘I never smoke indoors,’ she said. ‘It makes me smell.’

  ‘Well, I’ll come outside with you then.’ Lucy followed her aunt out into the cold.

  ‘Oh, the memories this place brings flooding back,’ Kate sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe how many children lived here at one time, or the fun we had, even though some of them were desperately poor.’

  ‘Well we never had very much,’ Lucy said. ‘But I remember a time when we were extremely happy, but then …’

  Kate took hold of Lucy’s hand. ‘I know, and then it all changed. But you mustn’t blame your mother, Lucy. It was when our William was born; before that she was a lovely wife to our Bill. And a perfect mother. She was pretty, kept herself smart and her home comfortable for you all. She worried about your dad’s health and begged him to take time off work. Sometimes he coughed so much it seemed he would eject those dust-eroded lungs altogether. They were one of the most loving couples I ever knew. Well-loved by the neighbours, always helpful.’

  ‘Then why the change?’ Lucy whispered.

  ‘It was when William was born. She had developed a sore on her leg, but nothing serious, or so we thought at the time. We expected it to heal after the baby was born. She became despondent after the birth, worrying about the least little thing. She knew your father’s days were numbered and was anxious how she would cope without him. And when the sore didn’t heal she worried about what would happen if she died. Who would keep you? Would they take you all to the orphanage at Longfield?

  ‘I told her I would take care of you all. Then she said I wasn’t fit to bring up children, that I was a loose woman, just because I worked for an elderly gentleman and I lived in. There was no foundation to her accusations. We had been friends from childhood and I couldn’t cope with the terrible things she said. Then my employer died and left me a large sum of money and I gave some to your mother. She said it was dirty money and wouldn’t touch it, but I left it anyway. I thought it would take away her worries and she would get better. She didn’t. She
was never the same again. Poor Annie. You mustn’t blame her. The condition is recognised now in America, if not here, and is a type of depression caused by childbirth. Some get over it pretty quickly, but Annie didn’t. I know she would never have acted the way she did if she had been well; she loved you all so much.’

  ‘And she suffered all those years with a bad leg before she told us.’

  ‘She thought the Borax would work.’

  ‘The money you gave her went towards the purchase of this house.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad. So she did well by you after all.’

  The tears were rolling down Lucy’s cheeks by now. ‘Oh, Aunt Kate, I’m so glad you’ve told me. We thought she was just being spiteful and miserable.’ Lucy threw her arms round the older woman, taking in the expensive perfume as she hugged her.

  ‘Come on, let’s go in. I want to spend some time with the rest of my family.’

  Inside, a game of charades was in progress. The game soon came to a standstill when Kate’s large leather bag was opened and she brought out a huge box of chocolates and a bottle of brandy. ‘Come on, help yourselves, and whilst we’re at it I want to know all your names. I’ve a lot of catching up to do.’

  Lucy thought how lovely Aunt Kate was – in fact just as nice as her late brother. ‘This is the best Christmas we’ve had ever,’ she said.

  ‘You know,’ Kate replied, ‘this is what I miss most in America: a real old-fashioned family Christmas.’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  IT WAS LUCY’S thirty-seventh birthday, which she would have preferred to forget, but as it was also Rosie’s eighteenth some sort of celebration had been called for. Lucy had woken early and had lain drowsily reflecting on her life and her family. They had been fortunate – apart from the usual infectious diseases her children had been exceptionally healthy. Now they were growing up and making their own decisions on what each wanted from their lives.

  Bernard was a mechanic, back now after completing his national service in the Royal Engineers as a driving instructor.

  Rosie, after leaving school, had secured a receptionist’s job in the offices of the steelworks.

  Peter, despite being a twin, was quite content with his own company so long as he had a stack of drawing material at hand. He was training now to be a draughtsman; it was all he had ever wanted to be.

  Violet, with eyes to match her name, was the beauty of the family, and was enjoying making other people beautiful too, in her training to be a hairdresser.

  Andrew, the tallest and broadest of them all, didn’t seem to be able to make up his mind. He was working at the moment as a brickie on the new housing estate being built between Millington and Cragstone, but was intent upon joining the navy, ‘To see the world’. Or so he told them at least once a week. Lucy was praying he would change his mind but John said whatever Andrew decided to do he would get by. Andrew was blessed with the Gabbitas spirit, especially the same sense of humour as his uncle Will.

  Lucy wondered why she had never had another child. They hadn’t taken precautions for ages. She wouldn’t have minded another, though she wouldn’t have wanted to carry on as they had in the first few years. Lucy looked at her husband: still in dreamland, still as handsome as ever. He looked so much healthier now he was at Grundy’s. She knew he sometimes missed his mining days, miners being the best mates a man could wish for. Anyway the mine was closed now and he still met up with them on Saturdays on their visits to the Working Men’s Club. John would join them in a game of billiards in the games room whilst Lucy gossiped with other wives and listened to turns such as singers and comedians. Last week it had been a group belting out music so loud that the elderly members had withdrawn to the back of the room and stuffed hankies in their ears. Lucy had quite enjoyed it; if they booked another group she might even get up and have a dance – after all, she didn’t feel her age.

  She looked at the clock; she’d better get up. It would be a busy day. By eleven the house was full of flowers. Vases had been borrowed from Mrs Slater to accommodate them all. The ones taking pride of place were in a small Wedgwood jug, a present from the twins – a bunch of primroses, from John. Visitors never stopped arriving all day: friends of Rosie’s, Kitty and her son, Herbert and Louisa and all the Gabbitas lot, except Nellie who sent cards for them both. Mothers with children she had cared for over the years, some of them grown up now but none of them forgetting Auntie Lucy.

  It was quiet now. The children had gone out to a Youth Club dance in the school room, except for Bernard who had recently acquired a girlfriend and had gone to the Cutlers Hall. The Youth Club had been started by John and James in an effort to keep the kids off the streets and was proving popular, especially the dances. Ben had bought the group a Regen-tone record player and the members would bring their own records to play. It was James’s turn to be on duty tonight. ‘We ought to have gone with them tonight, Lucy. With it being Rosie’s birthday I mean.’

  ‘No. They’ll be smooching by now to The Four Aces, or having a bop, whatever that might be. And our Violet’ll be crying along with Johnny Ray, her latest heart-throb. They wouldn’t want us watching over them.’

  ‘They do want us, Lucy. All five of them. We couldn’t have more loving kids. Well, they aren’t kids anymore, are they?’

  ‘No. And that’s why they don’t want us spoiling their night out. Besides, after all today’s excitement, I thought it would be nice to stay in with you. I might have filled the house with children over the years, but you’re the only one I need really, all I ever needed.’

  ‘Aye, it is nice to be on our own.’ Suddenly John sat bolt upright in the chair.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, just that for a second I could have sworn I saw my mother and father in the mirror. I’ve had too much to drink, what with the celebrations.’

  ‘No. I often see images in that glass, people who have passed on. My mam and dad especially. Once I saw Evelyn and once Lewis.’

  ‘Oh well, Lewis’ll never leave as long as you’re here.’ John laughed.

  ‘There’s something weird about that looking glass, though. It’s as if as well as reflecting our images, it’s reflecting the people who are in our thoughts and in our hearts.’

  ‘Ah, we’ve had too much to drink, love, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose that’s it. Still, as long as it keeps making our wishes come true, we’ll keep it.’

  ‘It’s looking a bit tarnished now. I suppose it’s to be expected with all the steam it’s been subjected to over the years. I wish I had a shilling for all the washing that’s been hung on the rack over that mirror. I ought to buy a new one.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t. It reminds me of the day you asked me to marry you.’

  John’s eyes swept over his wife, looking still as desirable as she had on that day, in her new dress bought to match her eyes. ‘Are you tired, Lucy?’

  ‘No, not really. Why?’

  ‘So shall we be going up? They know where the key is.’

  Lucy saw the look in John’s eyes and knew it wasn’t sleep he was thinking about.

  ‘All right. But before we go, let’s make a wish.’

  ‘What for? There’s nothing we need, is there?’

  ‘That they stay out for a couple of hours at least, the whole lot of them.’

  The mirror might be old and tarnished, but it continued to work its magic.

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  Published by Arrow Books 2009

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  Copyright © Glenice Crossland 2009

  Glenice Crossland has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by

  Arrow Books

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  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780099533382