by Joan Jonker
‘Like hell you will.’ Mary held her daughter’s eyes. ‘This is the first thing I’ve had in the last twelve years that hasn’t been bought second-hand from a stall in the market, or on a Sturla’s cheque. So you will keep your hands off it. Understood?’
Laura pulled a face and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Okay, keep yer flippin’ hair on. Anyway, isn’t anyone going to say they like me dress?’ Not realising her appearance and attitude had put a damper on a happy scene, she appealed to her father first, expecting to be heaped with praise. ‘It suits me, doesn’t it, Dad?’
‘Yeah, it’s a nice dress.’
‘It does suit yer,’ Jenny said, feeling guilty for the bad thoughts she was having about her sister. ‘It’s a lovely colour.’
‘It looks a treat on yer, sunshine,’ Mary said, determined that nothing or no one was going to spoil this day. ‘Turn around and let’s see it properly.’ The dress fitted Laura to perfection and the colour complemented her dark complexion and black hair. She was a pretty girl, there were no two ways about it. And as she grew older and her figure filled out, she had the makings of a very attractive woman. Her eyes were her outstanding feature, but somehow her smile never reached them. ‘Yes, I don’t think yer could have got anything to suit yer better.’
‘Excuse me,’ Stan said, ‘but didn’t Father Christmas bring me any toys?’
‘Ah, you poor thing!’ Jenny picked up his presents and placed them on his knee. ‘We saved the best till the last.’
Laura was bored stiff having to sit and pretend to be excited about a flipping shirt and pullover, it was all so childish. But she knew she’d blotted her copybook and went out of her way to join in the enjoyment. But while she was laughing, her mind was on the party tonight. How she’d swank in front of John, the boy from next door, and Mick from across the street. They wouldn’t half get their eyes open when they saw her in her new dress.
Stan opened the door to his father-in-law and quickly stepped aside to let him pass. ‘Come in, Joe, yer must be freezing walking all that way.’
‘I’m all right. I set meself a fair pace and soon got warm.’ Joe took a glove off and extended his hand. ‘Compliments of the season, Stan.’
‘Same to you.’ Stan opened the living-room door. ‘Here he is, the man himself.’
Mary dashed forward to be first to her father. She took his face in her hands and rained kisses on him. ‘A Merry Christmas, Dad, and may you be granted everything yer wish for.’
‘And the same to you, sweetheart.’
There was a trace of sadness in Joe’s eyes and Mary knew he was remembering the other Christmases when her mam was alive. There’d been so much love and warmth then, he was bound to miss it. ‘Take yer coat off and get by the fire.’
But the two girls claimed him first. Hanging on to his arms, they stood on tiptoe to kiss him. ‘It’s lovely to see yer, Grandad,’ Jenny said, her face aglow. ‘We’re never in when yer come to see me mam.’
‘I won’t stay away so long again, lass, I promise.’ There was affection in his eyes as he patted her arm. How proud he and Ada had been when these two grandchildren came along, and how they’d doted on them. ‘I’ll call in on a Saturday afternoon on me way home from work.’
Laura moved away from him and spread her arms wide. ‘How d’yer like me new dress, Grandad, isn’t it lovely?’
‘Not as lovely as the girl wearing it. And I see that Jenny is also looking very glamorous in her new finery. I’m lucky to be blessed with two of the most beautiful granddaughters yer’d see in a month of Sundays.’
Laura was eyeing the parcel tucked under his arm but for once was wise enough not to ask what he’d brought for them. Instead, she enquired, ‘Where’s Celia? Why hasn’t she come with yer?’
‘She’s at home seeing to the Christmas dinner.’ Joe had prepared himself for this question. ‘But she sends her best wishes.’
‘Ah,’ Laura pouted, ‘I wanted her to see me new dress. Can yer bring her tomorrow?’
‘I’m sorry, queen, but we’ve arranged to go somewhere tomorrow.’
‘That’s enough now,’ Stan waved the two girls away. ‘Let the poor man come up for air, will yer? Take yer coat off, Joe, and sit down by the fire. Mary’s making yer a cup of tea, she’ll not be long.’
Joe put the parcel on the chair while he took his coat off. ‘The tree looks grand, and there’s a delicious smell coming from the kitchen.’
When he was seated, Jenny squatted on the floor at the side of his chair. ‘Me and Laura decorated the tree, Grandad. And it’s the turkey yer can smell. Me mam was up very early to get it in the oven, and she had the fire lit and everything before we got up.’
‘Yer’ve got a good mother, sweetheart, I hope yer appreciate her.’
‘Oh I do, Grandad, she’s the best mother in the whole world.’ Jenny drew her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. Her pretty face was animated as she asked, ‘Tell us what you got off Father Christmas.’
‘I haven’t opened me presents yet. I thought I’d leave them until I got back and open them before I have me turkey dinner.’ Joe was lying through his teeth. His wife had gone out with one of her mates last night and hadn’t come home until the early hours. He’d pretended to be asleep because he was too weary for any more arguments. God knows, he’d tried everything he could to make her see that as a married woman she had a responsibility to her husband and home. But it was a waste of time; she’d never change because she didn’t want to. There was no Christmas tree in their house, and no smell of turkey coming from the kitchen – because his wife was still in bed when he left and would probably still be there when he got home.
‘Here yer are, Dad, get this down yer, it’ll warm the cockles of yer heart.’ There was a wide smile on Mary’s face when she passed him the cup of tea, but deep down there was an anger building up. She’d been listening to the conversation as she stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil, and knew with a certainty she couldn’t explain, that her father was telling lies. There were no presents, she’d bet any money on that, and there probably wouldn’t even be a Christmas dinner. ‘The girls have got yer a couple of presents, Dad, but they’re not very exciting, I’m afraid.’
Joe balanced his cup on the arm of the chair before reaching for the parcel at his side. ‘These are not very exciting either, lass, but it’s the thought that counts.’
Mary opened the brown paper parcel to find four smaller ones inside. They were badly wrapped and Mary told herself there was no woman’s touch here, her dad had wrapped them himself. This fuelled her anger further. How dare this woman marry her father and then treat him so badly? He was a good man, he deserved better than this. Of course he should never have married the girl, he should have had the sense to see the pitfalls that lay ahead, Mary would never change her mind about that. But neither would she stand by and see the father she loved neglected and humiliated. Her mam would want her to look out for him, see he was well cared for.
Mary and the two girls were given underskirts and they were delighted. Mary’s was blue, Laura’s pink and Jenny’s in a pale lemon. They were in rayon, and each had an inset of white lace in the front. Stan was given a packet of twenty Capstan Full Strength and he lost no time in lighting up. These were a luxury to a man who could only afford Woodbines, and there was a look of contentment on his face as he sat back, crossed his legs and drew on the cigarette before making smoke rings in the air.
When Joe had opened his presents and expressed pleasure in the socks and hankies the girls gave to him, Laura and Jenny went upstairs, eager to put on their new underskirts. ‘They’re over the moon, Dad, yer couldn’t have bought anything to please them more.’ Mary walked to the sideboard, and with her back to her father, she asked casually, ‘Our dinner’s nearly ready. Why don’t yer stop and have a bite with us? The long walk back would give yer an appetite for another one when yer get home.’
‘Yeah, why don’t yer do that, Joe?’ Stan asked, kn
owing how his wife’s mind was working. ‘Ye’re more than welcome, yer know that.’
‘I know that, Stan, and I’m beholden to both of yer.’ There was nothing Joe would have liked more than to stay in this warm, cosy room, surrounded by those he loved and who loved him in return. But he was too proud a man to give even a hint of the bleakness of his life. ‘Still, I think it’s only fair I go home. I’ll rest me legs for half an hour, then make tracks.’
Mary came to perch on the arm of his chair. ‘Tell yer what, Dad, I’ll save some turkey and have a nice dinner ready for yer the day after tomorrow, when ye’re back at work.’ She put an arm across his shoulders and kissed his temple. ‘You and me will have a Christmas dinner all on our own, eh?’
Chapter Five
Jenny stood in the middle of the kitchen, her blue eyes wide and her hands clasped together under her chin. ‘All this food, Mam, I’ve never seen so much in all me life. It looks so tempting me mouth is watering.’
‘I didn’t expect so much,’ Mary said. ‘Amy and Molly have excelled themselves.’ The draining board was filled with plates of sandwiches and cakes, and the stove had been covered by a piece of wood to make space for the jelly creams, trifles, and biscuits. And under the sink stood the crate of stout that Seamus had brought over, the bottle of port that had been Ben’s contribution, and bottles of lemonade that Mary had bought. ‘It does look nice, doesn’t it? Even yer Auntie Amy’s fairy cakes have turned out all right. And, God love her, nobody is more surprised than she is.’
Jenny put her arms around her mother’s waist and hugged her tight. ‘It’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it, Mam?’
‘It has, sunshine, it really has. If every day was like today, yer wouldn’t hear me complaining. All we need is for the party to go down well and I’ll go to bed tonight and sleep the sleep of the just.’
Stan came to stand at the kitchen door, and seeing his wife and Jenny holding each other close, he thought his youngest daughter was growing more like Mary every day. Both had a peaches and cream complexion, an abundance of golden hair, wide blue eyes, tip-tilted noses and mouths that were made for turning upwards into a smile. Jenny was almost as tall as her mother, too, there were only a few inches in it. Funny how he’d never noticed all this before. His daughter was twelve and a half years old and it was as if he was really seeing her for the first time.
Mary caught his eye. ‘Are you spying on us, Stan Nightingale? Making sure we’re not helping ourselves to the goodies?’
‘No, I just heard yer saying that yer hope the party goes down well. I don’t know what ye’re worrying about, not when Amy and Molly will be here. Amy could entertain us all night on her own, never mind with Molly to help her. If we’re not careful, between the two of them they could bring the house down.’
‘Aye, well, we’ll soon know, they’ll be here in half an hour. And our Laura hasn’t come back from Cynthia’s yet, the little faggot. She always does a bunk when she knows there’s work to be done.’
‘I’ll go down for her, Mam, while you get yerself ready.’ Jenny walked through to the living room, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ll drag her back if I have to.’
Amy and Ben arrived first, with their son, John. With them they brought the two extra dining chairs needed to seat everyone. ‘Are yer all right, girl?’ Amy asked, a big grin on her face. ‘Have yer got everything under control?’
Mary laughed as she took her coat and handed it to Jenny to take upstairs. ‘I did have, sunshine, but you’ll soon alter that, won’t yer?’ She waited until her neighbour had settled on one of the wooden chairs before asking, ‘Are you sure your Eddy and Edna are all right to be left on their own? I feel lousy leaving them out.’
‘Oh, stop yer worrying, girl, they’ll be fine. If anything untoward happens, all they’ve got to do is knock on the bleedin’ wall. It’s not as though I’m spending Christmas night on the other side of the world.’
‘There’s a knock, love,’ Stan said. ‘I’ll answer it, it’ll be the Moynihans.’
The room became alive then as hands were shaken and compliments of the season were exchanged. And while Molly was chatting to Amy, Seamus took Stan’s elbow and ushered him out to the kitchen. He took a half bottle of whisky from his pocket and pushed it into Stan’s hand. ‘It’s a Christmas box from me boss, God bless him, so you and Ben, and meself, can toast the dear man for having a heart of gold.’
Stan chuckled. ‘I’m not used to the hard stuff, Seamus. One glass and I’d be as drunk as a lord.’
‘Begorrah, is that right, now? Then I’ll be after helping yer, so I will. Add a little drop of water to it, just until yer get the taste, then yer’ll be fine. It’s a sacrilege, I have to tell yer, to add water to a fine whisky, but I don’t think yer’ll be making a habit of it.’
Mary came into the kitchen and eyed the men with suspicion. ‘Oh aye, what are you two being so secretive about?’
‘A glass of whisky isn’t a secret, Mary, me darlin’, it’s the nectar of the gods.’
‘I’ll have less of yer blarney, Seamus Moynihan. And I’ll thank yer not to be teaching me husband any bad habits.’
‘Well, it’s sorry I am about that, Mary. Yer leave me with no alternative but to drink the whole bottle meself.’
‘And have yer giving this house a bad name by rolling out of here blind drunk, singing at the top of yer voice? Not on your life, Seamus Moynihan, yer can just share that bottle with my husband and Ben Hanley.’
Stan wrapped his arms around her. ‘Ye’re as pretty as a picture, Mary Nightingale, and I love the bones of yer.’
Seamus clapped his hands together. ‘Will yer just listen to the man, and not a drop has passed his lips yet.’
‘Ay, you lot!’ Amy’s loud voice boomed. ‘Get yerselves in here pronto, and let’s get the bleedin’ show on the road.’
Mary popped her head into the living room. ‘Don’t yer want to eat first?’
Amy’s legs were six inches short of reaching the floor and she was swinging them back and forth. ‘No, I don’t want nothing to eat. I want a glass of sherry in this hand, and a glass of stout in this one. After that I’ll give yer a song. Then I’ll have another sherry and bottle of stout, and I’ll give yer two songs and throw a dance in for free.’
Ben groaned loudly. ‘For heaven’s sake, take pity on me and don’t let me wife get to the third sherry and stout. That’s when she’s just had enough to want to do the dance of the seven veils.’
‘Ooh, ay, yeah!’ Amy turned to her husband and thumped him so hard on the arm he nearly fell off the chair. ‘That’s me speciality, that is, when I do me Salome act. Yer’ll think there’s something wrong with yer eyes when yer see me belly dance.’ She gazed at Mary with wide innocent eyes. ‘Yer don’t happen to have seven veils, do yer, girl?’ Then she grimaced and shook her head. ‘Of course yer haven’t, what a silly question. How about seven scarves?’
Her son, John, was standing with Mick Moynihan and they both had wide grins on their faces. ‘Being optimistic, aren’t yer, Mam? Wouldn’t seven tablecloths be more like it?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Another crack like that, son, and we won’t be talking tablecloths we’ll be talking sheets. The kind they have in hospitals.’
John held his tummy while he doubled up with laughter. ‘One of these days I’ll get the better of you, Mam.’
Mick tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t hold yer breath, John, ’cos yer’ve not got a snowball’s chance of ever getting the better of yer mam.’ His white teeth gleamed and his dimples deepened. ‘Unless yer catch her when she’s asleep.’
Amy preened as she gazed at Molly. ‘That’s a very clever son yer have, Mrs Moynihan. I don’t suppose yer’d think of doing a swap, would yer? I’m in a generous mood now I’ve got me sherry and me stout, so I’ll strike a bargain with yer. My three kids for your one. Now yer wouldn’t get a better bargain than that even at Paddy’s Market.’
Seamus had been helping Stan serve the dri
nks, now he stopped in front of Amy and bent until his face was on a level with hers. ‘Yer’ll not have much luck there, me darlin’. Sure isn’t Mick the apple of his mother’s eye? There’s only one thing I can think of that she’d swap him for, and that’s the key to the kingdom of heaven.’ He looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes and roared with laughter. ‘And with the key there’d have to be a ticket for a seat at the side of the Good Lord Himself.’
‘I could get yer the key, that’s no problem, ’cos I know a feller what makes keys.’ Amy’s pursed lips gave her face an earnest look. ‘But I couldn’t get a ticket ’cos I don’t know no one what knows Saint Peter. He’s the one what guards the Pearly Gates, and I’ve heard he’s red hot on not letting anyone through unless they’ve got a ticket.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘Oh well, it looks as though I’m stuck with the three kids.’
‘Never mind, love,’ Ben said. ‘Look on the bright side, it could be worse. We could have had six kids.’
‘Where d’yer get the “we” from, Ben Hanley? You didn’t have no kids – I had that bleedin’ pleasure.’ Amy handed her glasses to Jenny to hold before turning to Molly. With her arms folded and her bosom hitched almost to her chin, she said, ‘Did yer hear that, Molly? Men are not soft, are they? While we’re in bed, riddled with pain, they go down to the pub to wet the baby’s head! Did yer ever hear the likes of it? Propping the bar up, they are, their chests sticking out a mile because they’ve proved what a clever man they are! Huh! I bet a bleedin’ tanner that if it was the men who had the babies, we wouldn’t have got any further than our John. And I’ll also bet that we wouldn’t be here tonight, because although our John’s fourteen, Ben would still be in bed recuperating.’
‘Sure, men are funny creatures, so they are,’ Molly grinned. ‘Hasn’t Seamus Moynihan been wetting the baby’s head every night since Mick was born – sixteen years ago.’
