by Hope Franke
“It’s spectacular,” she said with feeling. London was grand and beautiful. The sun cracked through the grey sky and sharp fingers of light brightened the city like a jewel. Stunning. Once Belle focused on what she was seeing and not how she was seeing it, she started to really enjoy herself. The Thames, a large, long muddy river ran toward the North Sea, with tugboats and cargo vessels motoring along its banks. All the tourists on the south bank looked like Lego people.
And Ian Connor held her from behind, pressing her back to his chest; it was absolutely fabulous. And best of all, she no longer felt afraid. She felt free!
She was almost sad when the ride ended. “Thank you so much,” she said. “That was fantastic.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she reached hers around his waist. “It was a very pleasant experience for me as well,” he said with a smirk. “Much, much better than last time when I went up with a bunch of rowdy soldiers.”
Ian showed up at King’s Books just before closing time the next day. Mrs. Cowen was there so Belle refrained from throwing herself into his arms and laying a good one on him. Not that she’d do that. They hadn’t kissed yet, but it was what she continually fantasied about doing.
“So this must be Lieutenant Connor,” Mrs. Cowen said. Mrs. Cowen was true to her word and had drilled Belle for details about her date. She was over the moon when she found out Ian was an army man. She walked across the shop and shook his hand. “Oh, you’re right, Belle. He really is terribly smashing.”
Belle blushed with embarrassment. “Mrs. Cowen.”
Ian’s lips pulled up in amusement.
“Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” Mrs. Cowen said.
“I’m sorry about her,” Belle said after her boss left for the back room. “She reads too many romance novels.”
“She seems sweet. I was going to call, but I didn’t know if Mrs. Cowen would like it if I did that every day. Are you free after work? My gran wants you to come for dinner.”
Belle’s heart fluttered. He wanted her to meet his gran? Already?
“Sure,” she heard herself say. Just let me say good-bye to Mrs. Cowen and I’ll get my coat.”
Anna
Angel whimpered as she pressed her wet nose against Anna’s cheek and Anna groaned into her pillow. She had no choice but to rouse her achy body off the couch and walk her dog. “I’m coming,” she said, wiping saliva from the corner of her mouth. Her flat had grown dim as the morning turned to afternoon. She reached over to turn on a lamp.
She was already wearing her coat due to her failure to pay the heating bill, so she only had to slip on her boots and attach Angel’s leash to her collar. “Just a short one this time, okay?”
If it weren’t for Angel, Anna didn’t think she’d ever leave her flat anymore. She patted the dog’s head. She was probably the reason Anna was still alive.
They strolled slowly around the block, and Anna waited when Angel needed to stop and do her business by the streetlamp. She collected it with the baggy she carried and deposited it in the next bin. The streets were lit with Christmas lights, and many people carried shopping bags filled with gifts. A woman about Anna’s age, mid-thirties or so, walked hand in hand with a little girl whose giggles carried across the street. The woman was healthy and pretty… and a mother.
Anna swallowed. She’d missed out on her chance to live that life. Anna hoped the woman knew how blessed she was. Really knew.
Anna tugged on Angel’s leash. “Time to go back, girl.”
She was so keen on getting back to her flat and more precisely, to her spot on the couch that she forgot to double-check the alley and ran right into her landlord who happened to be leaving as she arrived. Angel barked.
“I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing rent any time soon?” he growled. No “hello, how are you” noises ever left Mr. Hutchens’ mouth.
“I’ll get it,” Anna said. She wasn’t sure how. Maybe she’d sell something. She still had her wardrobe and it was handcrafted from sturdy wood. It must be worth something.
“If you can’t afford rent, you can’t afford to feed a damn dog.” Angel sensed the man’s animosity and barked again. Her landlord lurched backward. “It goes, or you go. I ain’t no damn charity.”
Anna tugged on Angel’s leash and huffed as she laboured up the steps to her flat. The man was heartless. Her eyes watered and she rubbed them angrily with the back of her glove. It was like he was asking her to choose between her sofa and her child. She would live on the streets before she gave up her dog.
Anna hung up Angel’s leash and refilled her water bowl. She leaned against the counter as she watched the animal drink. Angel followed her back to the sofa. Anna used the last of her energy to pull it out into a full bed. She lay down and patted the space beside her. “Here girl. Let’s sleep.”
Belle
Belle lived a very simple life. Walk to work, walk to the grocers, read books and sleep. She rarely left the London Borough of Barking. All her travels and adventures took place in her imagination. She took public transport when necessary, tubes and buses, but never splurged on a taxi.
She gawked at the black automobile Ian had summoned with his mobile phone. How dull she must be to never have even ridden in a bloomin’ taxi? She forced a smile when Ian opened the door, and she crawled into the spacious backseat of the cab.
Belle brushed lint off of her worn jacket and worried. She was poor and unconnected. Couldn’t even afford to buy a decent winter coat. What did Ian see in her, anyway? Oh, good Lord, what would his gran think?
“Are you all right?” Ian asked. “You seem tense.”
“Just a little nervous.”
He nudged her gently. “Gran’s a sweetie. No need to worry about her. She’ll love you.”
Belle nibbled her lip. The truth was she didn’t have a lot of love in her life. Her mother had loved her, no question, but other than that? Mrs. Cowen might love her in a friendly way, but she had her own family to love on. Belle lost track of her friends from school, especially during the “sick years.” Her mother battled her disease for three years before it took her. Three years that Belle didn’t think of anything beside caring for her mother, which meant working at the shop full time and running all the errands, and a long list of nursing duties.
Just thinking about it made her tired.
Ian raised his arm, settling it across her shoulders and squeezed. “I hope this is okay, but you look like you need a hug.”
Her face softened. “It’s okay.” And Ian was right, she did need a hug. She wiggled an arm behind his back and snuggled in until they arrived.
Mrs. Connor lived in a red brick terraced house on a narrow street lined with other identical terraced houses.
“It’s number fifty-seven,” Ian told the cabbie.
Ian helped Belle out of the taxi, taking her hand. The warmth of his palm against hers, rough over smooth, was both comforting and heart-stopping. She never wanted to let him go, yet knew she had no right to him. And he was leaving again. This thought filled her with a cool dread, and she forced it back into the “don’t touch this” box she kept tucked away in the back of her mind.
Ian poked her playfully in the side. “Relax, will ya?” He opened the door to the terraced house, allowing Belle to go first, and called out, “Gran, we’re here.”
A door opened to the right, revealing a small living area cluttered with furniture, a television and a bookshelf with lots of non-bookish items. Directly in front to the left was a narrow staircase, which Belle assumed led to bedrooms. Ian’s bedroom. She wondered what it looked like.
He led her down a short hall to the kitchen. A row of cupboards lined the back wall, with a window that looked out on a small, frost-covered yard. The appliances included a mint green fridge, a black stove and a white, new-looking washer and dryer set. A rectangle table was pulled away from the wall.
The aroma of fried pork chops filled the place and Belle’s stomach woke up. An elderly woman
with soft pink cheeks turned towards them while wiping her hands on a blue apron. She had white hair with remnant strands of red pulled back in a short ponytail.
Ian had released Belle’s hand just before they’d entered the kitchen and now she was glad of it. Mrs. Connor’s brown eyes took her in, a smile appearing on her face a couple moments too late. “Welcome.” She shook Belle’s hand. “So glad you could make it.” She waved to a table that was set for four. “Take a seat.”
Ian held out a chair for Belle, giving her a reassuring smile. “Who’s the fourth one for, Gran? You find a bloke?”
“Ha, ha,” she said. “Those days are over for me, thank God.”
A female voice spoke from behind. “It’s for me.”
Ian swivelled sharply. “Libby?”
“Surprise!” Libby was thin and tall with strawberry-blond hair that hung in long waves over her shoulders. She wore a creamy, silk blouse tucked into crisp trousers with a pressed seam down the front of the legs. Gold earrings hung from her ears and her fingers glittered with bejewelled rings. Her heels clipped across the floor as she walked gracefully to her brother with open arms. “I told Gran not to tell you I was coming. She stepped back holding his shoulders with her hands and took him in. “You look good, Ian. The army must treat you well.”
He scoffed a little at that. “You look great, too, Libby, as always.”
He turned to Belle. “Let me introduce you to my friend Belle. Belle, my sister, Libby.”
Belle felt like she was shaking hands with a model, or movie star or diplomat. Someone so far above her in society Belle wondered if she should curtsy or kiss her hand, or something. “Pleased to meet you,” she mustered.
“Likewise.” Libby removed her limp hand and sat across from her brother, her eyes never darting to Belle. It was like she wasn’t there.
“Where’s Shahid?” Ian asked.
Libby rolled her eyes. “He’s busy running a corporation. Besides, you know he doesn’t do Christmas. I’m only here for a couple days because Gran told me you had leave. Thanks for letting me know, by the way.”
Ian shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t get a lot of time on the Internet in the field.”
Libby rested an elbow on the table and waved salon-perfected fingernails. “How was the field? Anything exciting to report?”
A shadow fell over Ian’s face. “I wouldn’t call it exciting.”
“Oh, boo,” Libby said. “There must be something you can tell us. Or is it top secret?”
“Libby, darling,” Gran said. “Can you help me bring dinner to the table.”
Libby cast Gran a scowl, like she’d asked her to do something her house staff usually did, before reluctantly leaving her chair.
Ian exhaled and shot Belle an apologetic look.
Gran was a good cook, and the pork chops, mashed potatoes and buttery green beans were delicious. Belle had to force herself to slow down.
“So, Belle,” Libby began. “I hear you work in a used bookstore.” Belle had the feeling Ian’s sister hadn’t stepped foot in any kind of used goods or charity shop in years.
“Yes. There are many volumes to be found in used bookstores that can no longer be found in new shops, including valuable first and second-edition books from famed authors.”
Libby hummed and tried again. “Are you spending the holidays with family?”
Belle felt like a shrinking doll. “No. I don’t have any family.”
Libby looked doubtful. “No family at all?”
Belle shook her head.
“You must spend Christmas with us,” Gran said. “There’s always room for one more.”
“Surely, she has friends,” Libby said. “People she’s known for more than a few days?”
Her eyes darted to Belle. “No offence.”
“None taken,” Belle whispered, but it wasn’t true. She was offended, and her cheeks burned with mortification.
“Really, Libby,” Gran said. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”
“I’m an atheist, Gran. You know that. Besides, I’m just pointing out the obvious. She must have someone.”
“Libby!” Ian tossed his fork onto the table. “For Pete’s sake!”
“I do,” Belle blurted. “My boss has me over every year. It’s fine, Mrs. Connor. Thanks so much for the offer.”
The awkwardness in the small kitchen consumed all the oxygen. Belle struggled to take her next breath.
Gran passed around the bowl of potatoes. “Seconds?”
Belle shook her head. She’d lost her appetite and played with the food that remained on her plate, trying to quiet her heart. She was used to being looked down on, used to having her feelings ignored, but she didn’t know how to handle the humiliation she felt with it happening in front of Ian, and by his own sister.
“I forgot I have this other thing I have to do tonight,” Belle said, standing. “I hate to eat and run.”
Ian pushed his chair back. “Belle?”
“It’s okay. I can take a bus to the tube.”
“No, I’ll call a taxi.”
A taxi would mean she’d have to wait around for it to arrive, and she couldn’t bear to be there a moment longer. “It’s fine, really. Stay with your family.” She managed one look back at the two Connor women at the table. “Nice to meet you both.”
It was a lie. However, Belle’s mother had taught her manners. She forced a smile.
She rushed to put her coat on, but Ian caught up to her before she could make her escape. “Belle, I’m so sorry. My sister…. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I’d known.”
“It’s okay. She’s your sister and it’s Christmastime. You need to be with them.”
“But I want to be with you.”
He stroked her face and her heart betrayed her. If she were smart, she’d run away and never look back, but she was a stupid, stupid girl. His hand cupped her cheek and she leaned into it.
“Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Ian asked. “Please.”
She nodded, unable to deny her heart. “Okay. But you better bring wine.”
“I’ll do better than that,” he said with an effort to lighten the mood. “I’ll bring pizza and wine.”
Anna
Except for short excursions to the back alley for Angel’s benefit, Anna never left her flat. The kettle whistled and she poured steaming water over a twice-used tea bag. She warmed her hands with the mug as she stared blankly out the window. Snow. It whitewashed the world and at least for a short while, allowed people to imagine that the canvas was clean and could be repainted on.
She spotted a couple walking hand in hand down the street, laughing as they stopped to catch snowflakes with their tongues. She had dark hair sticking out of a winter hat and his was copper brown, shaved short. With strong arms he pulled the girl into an embrace and stared at her, captivated. His mouth landed on hers and he kissed her like the world had fallen away, like the sky had disappeared, like there was no one left in the universe except the two of them.
Anna was unable to look away. Her hand trembled, and she set her teacup on the counter, spilling a little. She gripped the windowsill and watched the couple as they walked away, arm and arm until they turned the corner out of sight.
Anna tasted salt on her lips and realised she was crying. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her housecoat and picked up her cup of tea. It had cooled, but she didn’t care.
She returned to her spot on the sofa and called Angel to her side. “What’s on TV, girl?” She picked up the remote and flicked through the few channels she could get without cable.
Charlie Brown’s Christmas. Wonderful. She’d watch it again. One last time.
Belle
Belle spent the last hour cleaning her flat. It was one open room—kitchen against one wall and a living area that also posed as her bedroom—not an uncommon living arrangement in her neighbourhood. The couch pulled out into a sofa bed, but she hadn’t bothered converting it to bed form since her mother pas
sed. For her whole life they’d shared the small bed. Belle had folded it back into its sofa form after the funeral and had never pulled it out again. Being rather petite in stature, she was fine with sleeping on the couch. She usually didn’t bother putting the bedding away, but today she folded it up and stuffed it in the wardrobe. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner with a few lights and even fewer decorations. Belle always bought the smallest, ugliest tree at the market, the one that she knew no one else would want. It seemed like a charitable thing to do for the tree.
She’d swept and dusted. Covered her small wooden table with a floral tablecloth and lit a half-burned candle that smelled like cinnamon. Then she sat on the edge of the sofa with her hand pushed under her thighs, working to calm the volcanic rush of nerves that bubbled inside her.
Ian was on his way. She was having a male visitor (eek!). A first. She’d never brought boys over when her mother was alive. Belle finally picked up her guitar and started strumming in an effort to distract herself. The instrument was old—it had been her mother’s—with nicks and scratches in the rosewood. The strings were in need of changing, but she’d cleaned them recently and that had helped to brighten the tone. She played through several Christmas songs, losing herself enough in the music that she startled at the tapping on the door and squealed like a frightened mouse. Setting the guitar aside, she pushed her hair behind her ears, checked her image quickly in the mirror—barrettes in place, mascara unsmudged—and opened the door.
Ian’s face broke into a smile causing his eyes to disappear in the crinkles and Belle couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face in response. Steam escaped from the pizza box he held in one hand, and in the other he presented a bottle of red wine.
“As promised.”
Belle waved him in. “It’s small, I know.” She couldn’t stop herself from apologising for her humble flat. “But it’s just me.”
