Act of Will (33 page)

‘Auntie Laurette and Uncle Mike.’ Audra showed her the card. ‘Bluebirds sitting on a branch. Isn’t it pretty?’

Christina nodded. ‘If you give it to me, I’ll put it on the mantelshelf… oh thank you, Mam.’ She offered Audra another envelope. ‘Open this
next
…’

Audra noted the Australian postmark, recognized William’s handwriting. ‘Well, we
all
know exactly
who
it’s from, don’t we?’ she exclaimed with a little laugh.

‘May I see it?’ Christina came to Audra, stood with one small hand resting on her mother’s shoulder, looking at the card with her. ‘This one’s pretty too, Mam, but there’s lots more yet.’

The cards were slowly handed over, opened, exclaimed about and lined up with care on the mantelpiece. There was another one from Sydney, from her brother Frederick and his wife Marion; others from various members of the Crowther clan, and one from Gwen.

The last of the pile was presented with something of a flourish by the solemn child who was so intent on making this a special day for her mother. ‘It’s from us,’ she whispered leaning closer to Audra, touching her cheek lovingly. ‘Dad picked it really, but he took me to the shop with him and I helped.’

Audra ripped open the envelope and pulled out the birthday card. It was the most expensive of the lot, made of glossy paper, with a yellow silk cord slotted through it and tied around the spine. The picture on the front was a bowl of yellow roses standing on a table near an open window, and fluttering above the bowl was a red butterfly.

‘It’s just beautiful,’ Audra said, before looking inside the card and reading the short, printed verse. Vincent had written underneath this:
Wishing you many happy returns of the day, with lots of love from your dearest husband and daughter
, and he had signed his name, and Christina had added her own signature. ‘Thank you, it’s the loveliest birthday card I’ve
ever
had in my whole life,’ she told them, looking up, smiling first at Christina, then at Vincent.

They beamed back at her.

Christina said, ‘I’ll get your present, Mam.’

She flew to the chest, took a package from a drawer and carried it back to her mother. ‘This is from Dad and me,’ she said, smiling gravely, handing Audra the gift.

Audra slipped off the ribbon and paper, wondering what they had bought for her, filled with swelling happiness that they were making such a fuss over her birthday. She was so very touched she could hardly speak for a moment.

She found herself holding a framed watercolour. As she turned it slightly, the better to see it, her eyes widened and she caught her breath in surprise and delight. The painting was of a summer garden at sunset, and the scene was filled with golden light and there were raindrops caught on a cluster of leaves, as if there had been a brief shower before the artist had picked up the paintbrush.

The watercolour was small, but quite lovely, even though it was flawed in parts and needed much more work; one side of it was unfinished and amateurish, and yet there was something distinctive about the scene, something that caught and held the attention. How fascinating, Audra thought, her eyes narrowing as they lingered on the painting. It looks curiously like my father’s work.

But Audra knew that Vincent had not managed to find a very early watercolour by Adrian Kenton.

Christina’s name was boldly and clearly written in one corner, but even if it had not been, she would have recognized this as her daughter’s creation. As awkward as certain aspects of the painting were, and child-like, Christina had managed to do one thing—capture light on paper. She had sometimes shown this ability in the past and it was no mean feat. With this new piece of work she had demonstrated just how much she had developed
lately. The girl had displayed a remarkable talent for drawing and painting since she was four years old, but her latest endeavour proved that she was much more than merely talented. She was extraordinarily gifted. Audra felt a sudden tingle of excitement at this discovery, and she filled with immense pride in her child.

Lifting her head, she found herself staring into a pair of large grey eyes worriedly fixed on her face.

‘Don’t you like it, Mam?’ The child’s lip quivered.

‘Oh Christie, I do! I really do! It’s simply beautiful, darling. Thank you so much.’ Audra brought the little girl into her arms and held her close. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say so immediately, I was far too busy admiring it, I’m afraid.’

Christina looked into her mother’s eyes, her own shining with joy. ‘I painted it specially for your birthday, Mam, and Dad took it to Mr Cox’s shop in Town Street and had it framed. That’s why it’s from the two of us…’cos Daddy paid for the frame.’

Giving her husband a radiant smile, Audra said, ‘Thank you… it’s the best present you could have given me, really it is. I shall treasure it always.’ Her bright blue eyes held his with keenness. ‘And it
was
worth framing, Vincent, wasn’t it?’

‘Aye, it was that. I recognized the beauty of it the minute our Christina showed it to me.’ There was a proud expression on his face as he added, ‘You’re a right clever little lass, love.’

Christina looked pleased, wrinkled her nose at him, then she turned to her mother, asked, ‘Where shall you put it, Mummy?’

‘Well, let’s see… I know
one
thing, it’s going to take pride of place in
this
house,’ Audra declared. ‘What about here, on the mantelpiece? For the moment, anyway.’

Audra rose as she spoke, crossed to the fireplace and propped the painting on the shelf in the midst of the birthday cards.

Turning, she asked her daughter, ‘And whose garden is it? Where did you go to paint it?’

‘Calpher House… I went up to see Mrs Bell to ask her if I could… and I went all by myself. And she said yes I could paint her garden for you, and so I picked that sweet little corner near her roses… she kept coming out to see how I was doing. She was ever so interested. It was last week that I did it, Mam, and she made me come inside when it rained and she gave me a glass of milk and a Cadbury’s chocolate finger, no
two
, and after it stopped raining I went out and I started all over again. I liked the garden better then… it sort of glistened after the rain.’

Audra nodded. ‘You certainly captured that feeling beautifully, Christina. It’s the best work you’ve done so far… you’ve made leaps and bounds.’

The child glowed.

Vincent said to his daughter, ‘Now, Christie love, what about the tea party then? Isn’t it about time.’

‘Oh yes! Mam, come on, and you too, Dad!’

It was the most splendid tea party.

Audra was not allowed to do anything.

And so she sat at the table in the parlour-kitchen, watching her husband and her child bustle around, getting everything ready. She had noticed earlier how they had both dressed up; they had turned her birthday into a truly special occasion, one of importance, and she could not help but feel happy and flattered. She just wished she had had time to change out of the cotton frock she had worn to work that day, to put on something more attractive herself, but Christina had not given her the chance.

How handsome Vincent looks, Audra thought, watching her husband as he moved around the parlour-kitchen. He wore a dazzling white shirt, a burgundy tie and dark grey slacks, and he had obviously rushed home from work to shave again and to change his clothes for the tea party. She could see that he was freshly barbered and his black hair, brushed sleekly back to reveal his widow’s peak, was still damp with water.

As for Christina, she looks adorable, Audra thought. Yes, she’s the prettiest thing imaginable today.

Her little daughter had donned her best party frock of pale-blue silk trimmed with narrow bands of white lace down the bodice and on the skirt. She had put on clean
white ankle socks and her Sunday-best shoes with ankle straps, made of shiny black patent leather. A blue silk ribbon was tied around her head and finished in a bow on her crown. Audra smiled to herself. Vincent had done quite a decent job of fixing the bow.

Audra sat back in her chair, now eyeing the table with interest. It was covered with their good linen cloth and set with their best china, which only came out for visitors. She saw that a linen serviette had been placed on each plate and there was a posy of yellow roses from the garden in a glass vase in the centre. Again she smiled. She fancied these were her daughter’s touches.

Vincent went to the set-pot and turned off the kettle, which was whistling on the gas ring. He made a big pot of tea in the silver pot from High Cleugh; Christina brought out plates of food from the pantry.

She explained, in her piping child’s voice, ‘The teeny-tweeny sandwiches are made the way you like them, Mam, and they’re all your favourites… potted-meat spread, tomato and cucumber and Dad bought a tin of salmon at the Co-op and we made lots of sandwiches with it.’

‘They all look delicious,’ Audra said, ‘you have been working hard, haven’t you?’

‘Dad helped,’ Christina said and made several more trips to the pantry, returning with chocolate biscuits, currant buns with white, icing-sugar tops, scones and raspberry jam. ‘Grandma made the buns and the scones for me,’ she explained to Audra, and ran back to the pantry one more time. ‘Strawberries, Mam!’ she announced depositing the dish in front of her mother. ‘Oh, and the cream! I forgot the cream!’

‘Come on, Christina love, sit yourself down now,’ Vincent called, bringing the teapot to the table, pouring
for the three of them. ‘I don’t know about my two girls, but I’m famished.’

During tea, Audra and Vincent chatted happily.

She
spoke of her busy day at St Mary’s Hospital, where she was now a sister and in charge of the two children’s wards as well as the maternity ward.

He
spoke about the temporary job he and Fred Varley had, building stables onto the Pinfold mansion in Old Farnley. They were doing it together, working side by side, since Fred Varley had not been able to open up again after his bankruptcy, at least not in a big way. Varley took on small building jobs, when he could get them, and usually it was Vincent he employed to help him.

‘But he’ll open up shop again soon, and permanently,’ Vincent said, ‘he will that, never fear.’ And Audra nodded her head, and crossed her fingers under the table, praying that this was true. Vincent loved his work and things were a lot easier between them when he had a job and was earning money and supporting them himself. She had slowly come to understand that it was his frustration and resentment when he was out of work that caused some of their greatest problems.

Vincent started to talk about his brother Frank, who was in the Ninth Lancers—a cavalry regiment—and with the British Army in India. He was coming home on leave and Vincent had decided that the entire Crowther clan should give a party for Frank’s homecoming: this was now the chief topic of conversation.

Christina kept her ears cocked as she always did when she was with her parents, looking from one to the other, her large grey eyes wider than ever, interested, missing nothing.

She was attentive to their every word as she munched
on her sandwiches. Occasionally she made a remark of her own, but mostly she listened. They were both so clever, her mam and her dad. She loved to hear them talk. Her mam had such a lovely voice, so soft and musical.

She always enjoyed times like this when they were so friendly with each other and her mother smiled a lot and her eyes got very, very blue and very bright; she didn’t like it when they squabbled. Then her father went out, banging the door behind him with a crash and didn’t come home until ever so late at night when
they
were fast asleep. Her mother was always cross with him for days after and looked at him in a queer way through the corner of her eye and tightened her lips.

Once, last year when she had been little and not grown up like now, her mam had waited up for her dad to come home after a row. They had shouted at each other and her mam had screamed, ‘If that’s the way you feel about it, then go back to your fancy woman.’ She had heard it all, because she had been so surprised to hear her mam shouting that she had crept out of her room, had hung over the banisters to listen.

And for days afterwards she had worried that her dad was going to go away and live with the woman who was fancy. She had wondered if
they
weren’t fancy enough for him. Perhaps if they made themselves fancy he would stay, she had thought, but she hadn’t been sure how to do this.

Finally she had asked her grandma what a fancy woman looked like. Her grandma had sucked in her breath, had stared hard at her, had asked where she had heard something like that, and she had fibbed, had said, ‘at school’. She didn’t know, even now, why she had fibbed to Grandma, except that somehow she knew she should
not talk about things that happened at home. Her mam never did when
she
went to Grandma’s. She hardly said anything at all, and she wasn’t a bit like
her mam
when she was at Grandma’s house. She was different, somehow.

But in the end they hadn’t had to get themselves all fancy, because her dad had not gone away. A short while after the terrible quarrel her mam and her dad had been all smiles again, and loving, and forever kissing each other on the cheek and hugging. It was always like that with them.

Her father’s sudden laughter brought Christina out of her reverie.

She looked at him alertly.

His expression was merry and his green eyes were all sparkly like the necklace Auntie Gwen wore when they went to tea at her house in Headingley, except that they didn’t go to Auntie Gwen’s any more. And her mother was laughing too; her eyes danced and danced with blue lights and she knew her mother was happy today.

Christina did not understand why her parents were laughing in this way; she had missed what her mother had just said. But she began to laugh too, wanting to be part of it, part of
them
, part of their happiness and gaiety.

Vincent, still chuckling, said, ‘Oh and by the way, Audra, Mike’s bought tickets for the Grand Theatre on Saturday… it’s Noel Coward’s
Cavalcade
. He’s invited us, so that’s another nice birthday treat for you, love.’