Christmas Past (19 page)

‘Don’t you worry about that, sweetheart,’ he assured the little girl. ‘Father Christmas never comes until the children are asleep. It’s part of his magical
abilities to know which one is in bed and which one isn’t.’ He looked at the clock. ‘Hey, I’ve got to be going,’ he said.

Jacqueline wound her arms tightly round his neck. ‘I don’t want you to go,’ she said.

‘No choice, sweetheart, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll be up at your house first thing in the morning to see what Santa’s brought.’

Jacqueline clung tighter to Harry. ‘Caroline doesn’t want you to go either.’

Harry laughed, stood up and lifted his niece up towards the ceiling, then pretended to drop her. She usually squealed with delight, but tonight her little face puckered and she looked near to
tears.

‘Hey, what’s to do little one?’ Harry looked concerned.

‘I love you, Uncle Harry,’ Jacqueline whispered.

‘And I love you too angel, but I’ve got to go just the same.’ He placed her down on the new rag rug and plonked a kiss on her forehead. ‘A Merry Christmas,
everybody,’ he called, and went over to where his mother rocked slowly.’ And a special one to you, Mother.’ He hugged Grandma Holmes tightly.

‘And to you, son,’ she said.

He went to his father. ‘A Happy Christmas, Dad,’ he said, shaking him by the hand.

‘And to you, yer young bugger, and don’t go getting thisen into any bother. There’ll be a lot o’ drunkards about tonight.’

‘I won’t. In fact I might bring someone to meet you later on, somebody yer’ll approve of for a change.’

He went out laughing as his mother called, ‘And not afore time either.’

The clock struck ten thirty as Jack carried Jacqueline high on his shoulders up Barker’s Row. She clung tighter here, pressing her face into her dad’s flat cap. She had suffered too
many bleeding knees by running and falling on the stony ground just here, and she mustn’t fall and make holes in her new stockings. Not only new stockings but brown ones just like Una’s
instead of horrible black. Mary grumbled as she trundled Alan in his outgrown pushchair, fetched out of the loft for the late night transportation home.

‘You’re in no fit state to carry her,’ she said as Jack stumbled, but Jacqueline knew she could trust her father with her life.

‘It’s Christmas Eve,’ Jack said. ‘If I can’t have one over the eight tonight I never can. And what about Bill?’ He laughed. ‘Our Marj’ll be lucky
to get him home at all tonight.’

Bill had certainly had enough to drink. He had swayed on the three-legged stool and sung his heart out before suddenly hurrying out of the house and across the yard, to return white-faced and
somewhat sobered fifteen minutes later. Jack had helped him upstairs and laid him on the bed, where he could be heard snoring even before Jack reached the bottom of the stairs again.

Jack suddenly bent down, sending Jacqueline’s stomach surging upwards, and placed his sleepy daughter on the step. She could hear her mother dragging the large, heavy key up on its string
and through the letter box. They fumbled their way in and Jack lit the gas.

‘I hope he hasn’t been,’ said Jacqueline.

‘He won’t have,’ Mary consoled her. ‘But if you aren’t undressed and in bed in a flash, he might.’

Jacqueline already had her coat and dress off, and was shivering as she struggled with the buttons fastening her lovely woollen stockings to her liberty bodice.

Mary undressed Alan, and Jack raked down the few red cinders into the ash pan below.

‘Mustn’t have Father Christmas burning himself.’ He opened the oven door, taking out the oven plate and wrapping it in a piece of blanket. ‘That’ll soon have you
warm,’ he said as he opened the stairs door and led his daughter up into the dark. He lit the candle at her bedside, sending the shadows looming tall, to shrink again as the flame settled
down.

Jacqueline jumped on to the high bed and there, one on each of the brass knobs, were two freshly ironed pillow cases. She snuggled down as Mary placed her sleeping brother beside her, and
pressed her feet, cold from the lino’d floor, on to the oven plate.

‘Goodnight and God bless,’ Mary said. ‘Fast asleep now or he won’t come.’

Jacqueline screwed her eyes up tight as Jack blew out the candle, remembering too late that she hadn’t looked at the clothes closet door to make sure it was closed, keeping any bogey men
or other horrible things inside. Anyway, she didn’t care tonight. Father Christmas was on his way. She pressed her hands together.

‘Gentle Jesus, please let Father Christmas bring me a desk to draw my pictures on, and if he can spare one a black dolly too, and a train for our Alan. And please could he bring some tap
dancing shoes for our Una. God bless Mam and Dad and our Alan. God bless Grandma and Grandad Holmes and Grandma and Grandad O’Connor, and Grandma and Grandad Roberts. Oh, and God bless Uncle
Harry.’ The last bit was added as an afterthought, then Jacqueline snuggled closer to her brother, determined to stay awake to catch a glimpse of Father Christmas.

The streets were alive with party revellers, some returning home with tired children, for once eager to be abed, or others just setting out to friends for night visits. The
atmosphere of Christmas seemed heightened this year, probably because eighteen months after the war most families were together again at last. Street lamps and open-curtained windows cast a glow on
to the street, and bestowed an atmosphere of warmth upon the groups of carol singers, spreading the message of Christmas around the town. Harry, generous as usual, dug deep into the pocket of his
Crombie overcoat and was rewarded with smiles from the grateful youngsters.

‘Thanks, mister. Have a Merry Christmas.’

‘I will, and the same to you.’

He hurried on to the west end of town, the area he had always labelled in the past as the posh end. He was eager to see if Sally Anderson had kept her promise to be waiting near the bus
terminus. He had known Sally to speak to for some time, having danced with her at the schoolroom dances, but she had always refused his offers to see her home. He had worried that his reputation
might be the reason, so it had been a surprise when she had accepted his invitation to go for a drink with him tonight.

He had been buying fur-backed gloves as a gift for Una when Sally had served him in the Co-op, looking smart and efficient as she asked his check number and placed his money in the tube and sent
it off to the office. Whilst they waited for the change, Harry had chatted, and encouraged by her smile he had invited her for the drink.

‘So long as it’s not too early,’ she said. ‘I need to visit my sister after work, to deliver gifts for the children’s stockings and things.’

‘Any time you like.’ Harry didn’t care about the drink. ‘If we’re too late for the pub we can go up to our house. There’ll be a party in progress until the
early hours, I expect.’

Sally flashed him one of her ravishing smiles. ‘That will be fine, then. I’ll see you at the terminus at half past nine, if you can make it. I don’t want to keep you from your
family.’

‘I’ll be there.’ Harry had accepted his change unseeingly and left the shop in a daze. He had never experienced feelings like these before. Now he could understand how his
brother had felt about Mary.

The Co-op girls had bombarded Sally with questions. One was envious and thought Harry Holmes looked exactly like Alan Ladd only more manly. One or two warned Sally off.

‘He goes for the married ones. You want your brain seeing to if you go out with Harry Holmes.’

Sally had shrugged her shoulders. She knew all about Harry’s reputation; she also knew she wanted him, and was sure he wanted her. Sally couldn’t wait for Christmas to see him again,
no matter what her friends said.

Harry was just arriving when she reached the terminus, both of them early. They began to speak simultaneously and broke off, laughing. He took her arm. ‘Where would you like to go? I
thought we could have a drink at the Golden Ball.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve only half an hour and it’s the nearest.’

‘That’ll be lovely.’

He led her to the pub, one of the better-class places where a woman could drink without being leered at by the local louts. ‘What would you like?’ he asked.

‘A port and lemon, please.’

He made his way through the crowd at the bar, most of whom knew Harry and greeted him jovially. One of his old mates bought the drinks; Harry had treated him on many occasions when he had been
out of work due to a chronic lung complaint.

‘By, you’ve come up in the world there, Hal,’ he said, nodding towards Sally, who had found a quiet corner seat.

‘Aye, and my intentions are entirely honourable on this occasion.’

His mate laughed. ‘I doubt you’ll have much option there. She looks like a discerning young miss to me does that one.’

‘That’s what I like about her. I’ve done with the riff-raff from now on. If I don’t marry Sally Anderson I’ll never marry anybody.’

His mate stared open-mouthed.

‘Thanks for the drinks, and compliments of the season.’

Harry took the drinks back to Sally. He had plucked a twig of mistletoe from a holly bough on the bar, and he held it over her head and tilted her head up towards him. Her lips opened and met
his in a long, lingering kiss. They parted reluctantly.

‘Happy Christmas, Sally,’ he whispered.

‘Happy Christmas, Harry.’

Then his arms were round her and they both knew this was no casual affair, but one that would last for ever.

At closing time Harry persuaded Sally to go and meet his parents. She argued that it was a bit too soon, but he ignored her protests and led her up the hill, stopping once or
twice for a kiss along the way. Not that he had any unseemly thoughts as far as Sally was concerned. He was content to hold her hand, to talk about their families, their jobs, and even her concern
over the atom bomb tests which had taken place at Bikini earlier in the year. He wanted to talk to her for ever, and regretted their arrival at his house.

Lizzie Holmes still sat rocking beside the fire. Jack and Mary had left with their weary offspring, Bill was asleep upstairs, and only Marjory, Una, Margaret and Mr Holmes still remained amongst
the party leftovers. Lizzie looked approvingly at the smartly dressed young woman, deciding there and then that she liked her. She hoped her son wasn’t messing her about. Still, she looked
the type who could look after herself. Besides, she must be a sensible lass to have landed a job at the Co-op.

Harry made some tea and poured it into the best china cups. Margaret cut the fruit cake and Sally pronounced it the best she’d ever tasted.

After a while she said she must be going as her parents would be waiting up. Marjory invited them all to tea on Boxing Day and sent Una to wake her father. It was then that Harry remembered he
had to collect Jacqueline’s present from Tommy Murphy. ‘I hope our Jack’s not locked up and in bed,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t like our Jacqueline to be left without
a present.’

‘Not much chance of that. He’ll be making sure the kids are asleep before playing Santa Claus,’ Mr Holmes said, trying hard not to swear in front of Harry’s young lady.
Lizzie had warned him in advance, just as she had when Jack had brought Mary home for the first time. The trouble was his good intention never lasted, but he did try.

Margaret asked Harry why he’d left the present until the last minute but he only smiled, said goodnight and led Sally outside and on to the Murphys’.

The present was all ready, complete with wicker basket and covered by a cardboard box.

‘Do you mind if we go the long way round and call at our Jack’s?’ he asked Sally.

‘Of course not, there’s no rush. I just didn’t want to outstay my welcome, that’s all.’

‘No chance of that at our house.’ Harry laughed. ‘Me mother loves visitors. It might not be posh but everybody’s welcome.’

‘I know, I noticed.’ Sally snuggled up closer to Harry’s side.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, concerned.

‘I won’t be by the time we reach your brother’s. He lives at the top of the hill, doesn’t he?’

‘Almost. Number ten Barker’s Row.’

‘I know. I used to see him sometimes when I delivered groceries to the Davenports’ when I first started work.’

They turned the corner on to St George’s Road. It was there that the figures came up behind them in the darkness.

Sally was grabbed from behind, dragged backwards and pushed into the drystone wall. She screamed as a hand, large, rough and smelly, pressed itself over her mouth, and she fell, twisting her leg
beneath her and grazing the side of her face on the protruding stones. She tried to call Harry’s name but the hand gagged her into silence.

Harry was momentarily shocked but soon recovered and fended off the other two men, raining blows right and left in the darkness. But one of them held him, flattening him to the gravelly ground,
and then he blacked out as a fist struck him powerfully between the eyes.

Sally could hear the punches and was on the verge of passing out when she was released and the men made off, down towards the Donkey Wood.

As she groped in the darkness Sally heard a noise and suddenly remembered the basket. She found the source of the whimpering, and brought the basket to Harry’s side. She found his wrist,
feeling for his pulse. She panicked for a moment, then she felt around for her shoes and began to run, on up the road towards Jack’s house, where she knocked frantically at the door.

Jack thought it was the carollers. ‘Good, someone’s come to let Christmas in,’ he said.

‘Well, I just hope they don’t wake the children,’ Mary said. ‘They’ll be awake soon enough as it is.’

Sally fell into the house. ‘Sorry,’ she stammered. ‘It’s Harry. He ... he’s been hurt. Can you come?’

Jack grabbed his coat and set off with Sally into the darkness.

‘Oh, God,’ Mary murmered into the night, ‘not the Banwell man again.’

She filled the kettle and placed it over the fire, wondering if she would ever have a Christmas without something disastrous happening. Last year the holiday had been spoiled by Rowland’s
having to rush Mr Broomsgrove into hospital, after he suffered a perforated ulcer. It had been almost midnight when Rowland had returned, having attended to the patient himself, administering blood
transfusions and helping console Mrs Broomsgrove, who had probably caused the ulcer in the first place by subjecting the poor man to her phobia over the years.