A Child's Voice Calling (12 page)

WHEN MABEL ANSWERED
the timid knock at the front door she found Miss Lawton standing on the step, dressed in her usual black and looking flustered.

‘Miss Lawton, what a nice surprise! Mother’ll be so pleased to see yer. Come in.’

‘Please excuse me, Mabel, I . . . I have a letter for Mrs Court – I mean for your mother,’ faltered the lady, clasping her gloved hands together nervously.

The piano lessons had ceased after Mabel left school and Alice had stopped after less than a year, having no ear for music. Daisy had half-heartedly begun, but had giggled over poor Miss Lawton’s little mannerisms that Albert mimicked and Mabel had rebuked them both.

‘Mother! Miss Lawton’s here to see yer.’

Annie half rose from her chair beside the fire where she had been dozing over a book. Mabel led the visitor into the living room and then went to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

‘Oh, please don’t go to any trouble for me. It’s just that I thought I’d better bring it over, this letter I mean, Mrs Court,’ gabbled the visitor. ‘It’s been on the mantelpiece for several days, and as Mrs, er, Court has been very busy and . . . and away from the house quite a lot lately, I was afraid it might get mislaid.’ She opened her black handbag and took out an envelope. Annie stared in surprise as it was handed to her. ‘It’s addressed to Mrs Anna-Maria
Court, you see, so I thought I’d better bring it over to you. I hope I did right – oh, dear!’

For Annie’s face had paled and she closed her eyes momentarily, sinking back into her chair. She made no attempt to take the envelope, which disconcerted Miss Lawton who after a moment’s hesitation took it out to Mabel in the kitchen. ‘This . . . this came for your mother some days ago, Mabel. I hope I did right to bring it – I could see that it was addressed to her and not, er—’ She gestured helplessly and Mabel took the letter from her, turning it over. The handwriting was unfamiliar and she felt a sudden shock, though without knowing why. Her mother’s name, Anna-Maria, was seldom used except when Jack called her by it, usually in a jocular way. But who was this?

‘She doesn’t seem to want . . . she won’t accept it, Mabel, and I don’t wish to upset her. Perhaps you can, er—’

‘Thank yer, Miss Lawton, ye’re most thoughtful,’ said Mabel. ‘Would yer be good enough to go and sit with her for a minute or two? I won’t be long.’

When she returned to the living room with a tray of tea and biscuits, and the letter beside the teapot, Annie appeared to have changed her mind, for she held out her hand for it. ‘Give it to me, Mabel, it’s mine. Thank you, Miss Lawton. Now let me offer you some tea.’ She pocketed the letter and did her duties as hostess, pouring out cups for the three of them while Mabel handed the biscuits and enquired about life at 23 Macaulay Road. Conversation with poor Miss Lawton had always been uphill work; she fluttered her hands and dropped her teaspoon, apologising profusely while she bunched her table napkin into a ball. She asked about the Babies Mission, but
before Mabel could reply said that she must be getting back to Tooting, leaving her cup half full and a biscuit half eaten.

‘Poor thing, she’s a bundle of nerves, isn’t she?’ remarked Mabel after seeing her out. ‘It’s as if she’s afraid of becoming too friendly with us – or anybody.’ Picking up the tea tray she nodded to her mother. ‘You just sit there by the fire, Mum, and don’t worry about a thing.’ By which she meant that Annie could read her letter alone and undisturbed.

But Annie made no comment about it; that evening, as they all sat round the table, she was silent and preoccupied, and Mabel thought she saw a secret sadness in the tired blue eyes. Was it possible that the letter was from the sisters she never spoke of? Mabel longed to know, but dared not risk distressing her mother.

It was not until two days later, when mother and daughter were in the kitchen stirring the Christmas pudding mixture, that Annie offered a brief explanation of the letter. ‘It was from an older sister of mine, Nell – she was the middle one,’ she told Mabel who looked up quickly, eager to hear more. ‘It seems she’s been married for ten years and hasn’t had any children – so she took it into her head to ask about mine, though she’s never shown any interest before.’ She spoke in a dull, unemotional tone, adding, ‘She even said that we might meet again.’

‘Why, Mum, that’s wonderful!’ Mabel exclaimed. ‘Your sister – my aunt – oh, how I’d
love
to have a real live aunt! And didn’t yer say there was another sister? Does she – do they – still live down in Hampshire in that fine big house?’

But Annie’s face was white and unsmiling. ‘It’s been too long, Mabel. Neither Kate nor Nell wanted
to have anything more to do with me when I married your father. Everything in my life changed then, for ever. There’s no going back. I don’t want to rake up the past. Not now.’

‘But Mum, she’s
written
to yer, she wants to see yer!’ cried Mabel. ‘She wants to meet
us
, yer children – it doesn’t matter how long ago it was, she’s yer
sister
, with no children of her own, poor thing. Shouldn’t we always be ready to forgive others, as we say every Sunday in church? Oh, Mum, it’s nearly Christmas, the season o’ goodwill, peace on earth – it’s
never
too late to forgive an’ be friends again.’

But Annie shook her head and set her mouth in a hard, straight line. ‘No, Mabel, I’ve been dead to them all this time and I can’t go back now, it’s too late. Seventeen years too late.’

Mabel was unable to hide her disappointment. ‘But it’s yer
duty
to answer her letter, Mum.’

Annie turned on her with untypical vehemence. ‘
No!
I couldn’t bear it and you’ve no right to ask me to, Mabel – you don’t understand. They threw me out o’ the family and I couldn’t bear for Nell to see what I’ve come to now – I simply couldn’t
bear
it!’ And she covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud.

Mabel was at once filled with remorse. ‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry – all right, all right, I won’t say another word, only don’t cry, please,’ she said, enfolding her mother in her arms. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry.’ For in Annie’s distress Mabel caught a glimpse of a deep and bitter hurt that had burdened her mother for a very long time: for the whole of Mabel’s life.

So the matter was not mentioned again, though Mabel privately wondered about that unknown aunt
who had no children of her own. It seemed such a pity if she was destined to have no nieces or nephews either.

The last weeks of 1910 sped by, bringing Christmas round again with all its excitement and nostalgia, the yearly expectations and inevitable anticlimaxes. Annie shivered as the days dwindled and dusk fell soon after three in the afternoon, but Mabel loved the glowing shopfronts and the crowds around the costermongers’ stalls in Northcote Road, where she searched for Christmas bargains. On 5 December the whole family went to see the reopening of the Arding & Hobbs department store in St John’s Road, gutted by a disastrous fire in the previous December but now by a stupendous effort rebuilt and ready to rise phoenix-like from the ashes in time for Christmas shopping. Much as Mabel enjoyed looking in its windows, the prices were mostly too high for her, though she bought one present there: a glass necklace for Daisy that cost a whole shilling, an extravagance that would have horrified her mother. Her main purchasing was done at places like David Thomas’s in Falcon Road, who had a range of dolls and toys, haberdashery and all kinds of bits and pieces at affordable prices; and there was the parade of popular shops in Battersea Rise, which supplied something for everybody.

Hand in hand Mabel and Daisy went out to spend precious pennies on sheets of coloured paper to wrap presents and also to cut up into strips to make paper chains – or fold into ‘pokes’ to fill with boiled sweets. At 12 Sorrel Street there was a lot of whispering and secret wrapping and tying-up of
oddly shaped packets that had to be hidden away from prying eyes.

Daisy’s face lit up when Mabel quietly showed her the sock she had knitted for a certain young gentleman. ‘Ooh, aren’t yer clever, Mabel! Is it for Albert? Are yer goin’ to make another?’

‘’Course I am, only goodness knows when I’ll find the time – only eleven more days to go! An’ remember that’s a secret, Daisy – don’t go telling Albert or anybody, will yer?’

When Jack came home with a Christmas tree to put in the front window, Mabel and Daisy happily set about decorating it with paper chains and George mysteriously produced a little fairy doll to stand on the top of it. Mabel promised to light candles on each side of the tree on Christmas Eve and draw back the curtains so that passers-by could admire it.

‘I always like it when Christmas Day falls on a Sunday,’ said Annie with a wistful smile. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to go to St Philip’s in the morning, all of us together, just as we used to do?’

Mabel at once agreed. ‘Yes, we’ll do that, Mum. We’ll put the joint in the oven to roast with the potatoes before we go, an’ leave the pudding simmerin’ on top,’ she said. ‘Then, when we come back, it’ll all be done and we’ll only have to put the sprouts on an’ make the gravy – oh, an’ the apple sauce as well, if we’re having pork!’ She spoke with childlike eagerness, winking at Daisy as she made these mental preparations days in advance.

‘Your father might even be back in time to come to church with us.’ Annie’s eyes brightened as she spoke, but Mabel made no comment.

After tea on Christmas Eve Mabel put all the presents around the base of the tree, assisted by
Alice, George and Daisy. There was a great deal of speculation as to what each intriguing parcel contained. Some were wrapped in coloured crêpe paper, others in plain brown, tied with lengths of ribbon or string. And all were labelled.

To Mabel, wishing you a happy Christmas, from Mother and Father.

For my little sister Daisy from Alice.

To Gorge many hapy returns Daisy.

And so on. George’s December birthday meant that he often had to make do with one gift for both celebrations, but Mabel always gave him two.

Daisy had made cards and calendars at school, and Alice had embroidered handkerchiefs in Standard VI needlework class. There was an envelope from Mimi Court to each of her grandchildren, with a pound note inside; she had sent nothing for Annie, who had flatly refused Mimi’s invitation to Christmas dinner at 23 Macaulay Road, and none of them knew what she had given Jack, though he seemed to have plenty of ready cash to spend.

‘This one’s for me, and it’s big and soft – d’ye think it could be a pair o’ gloves?’ asked Alice.

‘An’ this one’s for you, George, and it rattles – listen!’ said Daisy excitedly.

‘Bet it’s a jigsaw!’

‘These little boxes are ever so small,’ remarked Daisy, shaking each one in turn. ‘It sounds as if there’s beads inside.’

‘Now, no more feeling an’ shaking, miss!’ Mabel laughed. ‘It’s time to light the candles.’

‘Well, don’t go burnin’ the blinkin’ ’ouse down,’
warned Albert, coming in from the back at that moment. ‘An’ ye’d better save the paper orf them presents to put out in Biarritz, ’cos there ain’t none left out there.’

‘Oh, Albert, use what brain ye’ve got – there’s more cut up ready in the cupboard under the sink.’ Mabel rolled up her eyes at the uselessness of males, though she smiled at her swarthy brother who was so like his father in looks and so different in character. He had called the outside lavatory Biarritz ever since he’d heard that the late King Edward VII liked to go on holiday there and the name had stuck.

George grinned. ‘In days of old, when knights was bold, before paper was invented,’ he began.

But Mabel cut him short. ‘We don’t want any o’ Albert’s vulgar rhymes in front o’ Daisy, thank yer, George.’

But naughty Daisy giggled as she completed the doggerel. ‘Folks wiped their
arm
on a tuft o’
grarm
, an’ walked away contented!’

Albert exploded with laughter and it took Mabel all her time to keep a straight face as she reprimanded them. ‘Don’t yer ever dare to come out with that in front o’ visitors,’ she warned. ‘There’ll be real trouble if yer do.’

‘Why, was yer expectin’ ‘Arry to call an’ wish us ’appy Chris’muss?’ asked Albert innocently.

Mabel disdained to reply, though she had in fact been wondering all day if Harry Drover would call. His socks were finished and wrapped ready for him in the chest of drawers in the room she shared with Alice and Daisy, but of course she would not produce her gift unless he had one for her, otherwise it would be too embarrassing for words.

The candles were duly lit, the curtains pulled back
and the gaslight turned off. The little tree and Daisy’s bright face glowed out for all to see, and smiling faces could be seen passing by in the soft light that streamed from the window.

Out of the dark street a familiar face looked in: a face that brought Mabel eagerly hurrying to open the front door. And there he was, looking up at her as if at a vision. ‘Harry! I thought ye’d be out with the Army tonight.’

‘No, I’m on me way home from work, Mabel. Father’s helpin’ at the Blackfriars Shelter, an’ I’m goin’ there tomorrow night, but, er, we’re havin’ an hour with the band in the mornin’, in the park, playin’ carols. Will yer like to join us, Mabel?’

‘Oh, yes, Harry, I would,’ she said, unable to deny it. ‘Only – what time will that be?’

‘I could call here for yer about half past ten and we’d join the band for eleven.’

Mabel’s face fell. She was committed to going to church with her mother and the others, but oh, she
couldn’t
turn down an invitation to spend an hour with Harry on Christmas morning!

Alice stood behind her and had heard what was said. She knew how disappointed Mabel would be to have to refuse this nice young man whom they all liked. ‘You go with Harry, Mabel, and I’ll take Mum and the kids to St Philip’s,’ she now offered with a thoughtfulness unusual in her.

Mabel was touched and grateful, though she hesitated. ‘That’s good o’ yer, Alice, but I did promise Mum I’d go to church—’

‘But the Salvation Army’s the same thing, isn’t it? Oh, go on, Mabel!’ urged Alice while Harry stood waiting with bated breath.