Christmas Wishes (12 page)

‘All right,’ Joy said crossly. ‘But I really won’t go to the special school. And I’ll be fourteen in May, old enough to work – I suppose I could go to St Saviour’s in Liverpool if I had to.’

‘Let’s tackle school first,’ Alex said tactfully. He did not wish to remind Joy of how she had wasted her time at the Devonshire village school, nor how hard he had had to plead with the headmistress of Bold Street to put the twins in the same class when they came home. In fact, if he were honest, he knew that Joy would have had to remain at school for an extra year, just to catch up with other children her age. But it would not do to say so; poor Joy had troubles enough. ‘One day at a time, darling. Meet young Braddock for a start and see what he advises …’

‘See?’ Joy said scornfully, and immediately repented. ‘Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry. What a horrid thing to say! I know you’re right, and I’ll listen to what this fellow has to say, honest to God I will.’

The twins had been practising the walk to and from Bold Street and now, as they neared their home, Joy squeezed her sister’s arm and pulled her to a halt. ‘Hang on a minute. When that chap arrives, don’t you dare go off and leave me. Oh, why did that wretched Jerome have to perishin’ well interfere? Now will you promise me you’ll not leave the room even after we’ve had our tea? It tires me out talking to someone I can’t see; you should try it some time.’

Their father had arranged for Colin Braddock to come round at about four o’clock, when the girls would have been back from their walk for a sufficient length of time to put fresh fuel on the fire, brew a pot of tea and lay out Mrs Clarke’s scones and ginger nuts upon the kitchen table.

Despite her initial unwillingness to meet the fireman’s younger brother, Joy admitted to her sister that she was feeling curious as she and Gillian resumed their progress along the pavement, arm in arm. When they reached No. 77 Gillian produced her key and pressed it into Joy’s hand. ‘Go on, do your party trick,’ she exclaimed. ‘Let us in so I can get going on the tea, and for once, young lady, you can perishin’ well give a hand.’

In normal circumstances, the girls would have gone in through the back door which led straight into the kitchen, but today, because they were having a visitor, Gillian had decreed that they should use the front entrance. ‘Three steps, remember, up to the door. Then the hallway – don’t walk into the umbrella stand – and then the kitchen, first door on your left,’ she said. ‘If you weren’t so obstinate about carrying a white stick, I bet you could fly up the steps and go straight as an arrow into the kitchen.’

‘I couldn’t; I’m far too afraid of falling,’ Joy retorted. ‘Still, I bet I can unlock the front door, although it may take me a few tries.’

Gillian watched as her sister fumbled the key into the lock, tried to turn it, realised it was in on the slant and corrected it. When the door swung open, Joy turned and gave a triumphant grin in Gillian’s general direction and Gillian realised, with a little shock of surprise, that it was the first time since before the accident that she had seen Joy’s mouth curve into that delicious smile. She remembered how Joy used to clown in class, making the other pupils helpless with laughter, and found herself wishing fervently that Joy would smile more often, but one had to be happy to smile.

She opened her mouth to congratulate Joy on unlocking the door, then changed her mind. Joy would think she was being patronising, and in a way she would be right. After a whole week at home, unlocking the front door was a very tiny accomplishment and one which in other circumstances would not have warranted any comment at all. So she watched Joy push the door open and walk into the house, merely following her and saying as she did so: ‘And now to get the tea for this feller. Isn’t it odd, entertaining someone we’ve never met and who has never met us.’ She giggled, encouraged by the memory of that smile. ‘Who introduces who to who … or should that be whom?’ she added, and tried not to feel cast down when her sister neither smiled again nor spoke but merely shrugged before fumbling her way into the kitchen and sitting down in her usual chair.

‘I don’t care; the feller can call me Fido if he wants,’ she said indifferently. ‘What do you want me to do? Only don’t say slice bread or peel spuds because you know Daddy won’t let me handle anything sharp.’

For a moment the old Gillian pushed the new meek one into the background. ‘You can do nothing, as usual,’ she said crossly. ‘Just sit there while I do all the work, and maybe when the chap leaves you can wash up for once.’

Joy was so surprised that for a moment her mouth hung open. Then she closed it with a snap. ‘How can I wash up when I’m not allowed to touch knives and forks?’ she asked querulously. ‘You’re unkind, Gillian Lawrence! You don’t know what it’s like …’

Gillian felt a wave of irritation sweep over her, but conscientiously pushed it back. ‘You’re right, I don’t know what it’s like; how could I?’ she asked reasonably. ‘But I’m doing my best, and I’m not at all sure that you are. If I split the scones …’

‘I can’t butter them; I’d make an awful mess of it, and besides, you know Daddy said …’

‘… Daddy said you weren’t to use sharp implements,’ Gillian repeated wearily. ‘All right, you can chat to me whilst I get the tea ready, and then when Mr Braddock has gone home I’ll wash up as usual.’

‘All right, and I’m sorry I was cross,’ Joy mumbled. ‘Before, I was the one who did most of the housework, wasn’t I? And you were the clever one who whizzed through your homework in no time and thought me an awful dunce. You’re still the clever one, of course, but I’m not much use in the house any more.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘What’s that noise?’

Gillian had heard nothing, but now she listened and thought she could make out a tapping. Quickly she ran to the back door and tugged it open. It was a sunny day, and the young man making his way across their yard with the aid of a white stick wore no coat and was clad only in a light jacket and grey trousers. His fair head was bare and he must have heard the back door opening for he paused and spoke. ‘Is this number seventy-seven? I’ve an invitation to tea from the two young ladies who live at number seventy-seven and I’ve come the back way because Mr Lawrence told my brother that there are no steps to the back door.’

Gillian glanced behind her into the kitchen; Joy had actually got up and was coming, very slowly and carefully, towards the sound of the young man’s voice. ‘Wait a moment whilst our guest comes in,’ Gillian said to her, then turned and addressed the visitor. ‘Yes, this is number seventy-seven; I’m Gillian Lawrence and my sister Joy is beside me. Stay there and I’ll come and take your arm.’

The young man grinned. ‘Don’t you worry yourself, I can find my way; you go and put the kettle on,’ he said breezily. ‘I’m an old hand at tackling new places, though it’s not always easy. Folk are such fools; they know I can’t see but they still put a low stool directly in my path and apologise madly when I measure my length.’

Both girls laughed, though Gillian thought her sister did so grudgingly; then she watched as the young man used his stick almost as though it could see. When he was within a foot of the doorway, he tapped both sides of the architrave lightly, and walked into the room as confidently as though he had visited them many times. Once in the kitchen he held out a hand, which Gillian hastily took. ‘Are you Gillian? How d’you do?’ he said, then turned his head. ‘Where’s t’other one? If you say something, Joy, I’ll use the sound of your voice to direct me to your side … unless there are any chairs or tables in the way, of course. But my stick should warn me of obstacles if I use it correctly.’

Joy, standing between their visitor and a table, took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know where you are, so I don’t know whether there are any chairs in the way,’ she said grumpily. ‘If you let Gillian guide you …’

She stopped as a hand reached out and took her own. ‘How do you do, Joy? Oh, and I forgot to say I’m Colin Braddock, though of course you must have guessed that.’ Having shaken Joy’s hand, he patted her shoulder, saying proudly: ‘Bet you can’t do that. It’s one of the things the LSB taught me, how to gauge a person’s height from their voice. It took me a while to judge, but I got it right first go, didn’t I?’

‘You did,’ Joy said. She fumbled in the air for a moment, then laughed, actually laughed aloud, and addressed the newcomer almost pleasantly. ‘Oh, give me your hand, Colin, and I’ll take you to a chair. I know this kitchen pretty well and my father and Gillian make sure that things stay where they’re put and don’t get moved around. I can’t visualise new places, I don’t know why, but I can see this kitchen inside my head. I know where the fire is, and the pantry, and the sideboard – oh, everything, just about … and then there’s Gillian to see me right, so I don’t really have to make much effort.’

Gillian saw that Colin had held out his hand on her sister’s words, and after a couple of fumbling attempts Joy had grasped it and was leading him to the chair at the head of the table. She sat down next to him and turned towards Gillian, who was pouring tea from the old brown pot into three enamel mugs. Before Joy’s accident, they had used a beautiful old china tea service whenever they had afternoon tea, but after Joy had broken two cups, a saucer and two plates, Alex had decided that the ones they used at the fire station would be both sensible and practical. Joy must have noticed and guessed the reason for the change, but she had said nothing.

‘Gillian’s pouring the tea …’ she began, and was interrupted.

‘How do you know?’ Colin said. ‘Don’t say you’re just guessing, because I shan’t believe you. I think you’re already learning that there are other senses besides sight. Hearing is a tremendously important one for the blind. Go on, tell me how you know your sister’s pouring the tea.’

‘I
was
guessing … well, I thought I was,’ Joy said. Then Gillian saw her sister’s mouth begin to curve at the corners. ‘Gosh, I know what you mean! If I listen hard I can hear the splash of the tea into the mug … I can even tell roughly where Gillian is standing.’

‘Well done,’ Colin said approvingly. He turned towards Gillian as she placed the tin mug on the table before him, deliberately putting it down with a clatter. ‘Thank you, Gillian.’ He inhaled gustily, lifting his chin and reminding Gillian strongly of the Bisto kids in the advertisement. ‘I can smell that someone’s been baking!’ He sniffed again. ‘Scones, and I believe I can catch a whiff of ginger; don’t say you’ve provided ginger nuts!’

Joy was gazing towards the sound of his voice, her mouth rounding into an O of astonishment. ‘You hardly
need
your eyes!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is that what they taught you at the London school? I
won’t
go there – it’s hundreds of miles away – but perhaps when I’m older I might go somewhere local, like St Saviour’s. That’s where you go now, isn’t it? What are they teaching you?’

‘I’m learning Braille and typewriting; they teach both at the London school, but I was only there six months, until I could re-join my normal school, and I was too young for those classes – they were for the older pupils. Now I’m at St Saviour’s part time; the rest of the week I make handbags in a big factory down by the docks. Incidentally, the London School for the Blind – the LSB – is known as “Blinkers” to the pupils; a nickname, like.’

Gillian laughed appreciatively, but Joy merely tightened her lips. ‘I suppose it’s funny, in a way,’ she said grudgingly. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it since I won’t go to a boarding school far from home.’

‘I know; your father explained that because you were twins you needed to be together. Perhaps if I’d had a twin, I’d have opted for staying at home and teaching myself, as you say you will. Only, if I’m honest, Blinkers is – oh, absolutely first-rate. They teach you things which you couldn’t possibly learn anywhere else: self-defence, for instance. I dare say you think that you’ll never need to fight off an attack, but you never know. Blind girls and boys can make enemies just like sighted ones.’

‘I don’t want to know, thanks very much,’ Joy cut in, hunching her shoulders. ‘Perhaps when I’m older I’ll go to the local place – St Saviour’s – but for now home’s good enough for me. And as for self-defence, why, no one can possibly be taught such a thing.’

Gillian came back to the table at this point and put two plates down before Joy and Colin, each containing a thickly buttered scone and a couple of ginger biscuits. ‘Our neighbour down the road did the baking,’ she explained. ‘Before the accident, Joy was the housewifely one; I’m ashamed to say I hated cooking and cleaning and did all I could to get out of doing my share. So now you could say I’m getting my just deserts because I have to do it all myself.’

Colin swallowed a mouthful of scone and tutted. ‘Well, we can’t have that, can we, Joy? Despite your blindness, you’ve got to learn to cook and clean. A pretty girl like you will have a house and a husband of her own one day, and you can’t expect your sister, even if she is your twin, to keep your place decent as well as her own.’

Joy’s lip trembled. ‘It just shows that you don’t know everything,’ she muttered. ‘I might have been pretty once – quite pretty anyway – but that was before the accident. Now I’ve got train tracks all over my face and my eyes feel truly horrible, sunken and closed all the time, so I don’t see why I should bother to learn to cook. I’ll have to share Gillian’s house when we’re grown up whether she likes it or not.’

Gillian reached across the table to take hold of her sister’s hand, just as Colin did the same. Gillian tried to withdraw, but he would not let her, so they ended up as if they were playing hands on top and Joy was laughing, though with a catch in her breath. Nevertheless, Gillian knew that her sister’s feelings were still somewhat delicate on the subject of her appearance. ‘Look, Joy, it’s time you stopped putting yourself down, particularly as you’re only guessing,’ she said severely. ‘You do have scars still, of course you do, but they’ll disappear with time, and since you’re still my identical twin I’d rather you didn’t talk about us as if we were monsters of ugliness.’

Joy gave a watery little giggle. ‘Yes, but my eyes …’ she began, only to be swiftly interrupted.