Christmas Wishes (17 page)

‘“Yes, but it was getting too long; Mam said it was straggly and untidy and the hairdresser said it would grow stronger if I had it cut. I didn’t reckon she would shorten it quite so much, though,” Jane said. Everyone laughed, and Jane pointed out that I had long hair and asked if I’d ever thought about cutting it.

‘After that, it were a whole lot easier because I started to use my memory in real earnest and by the time the bell went for break I’d got a pretty good idea of what most of the class looked like and which face went with which voice. And Miss Roberts said that I should go out when the bell rang for break when everyone else did, and she would choose the best-behaved pupil each morning to take care of me in the playground and see that I came to no harm. I was glad of that, because playtime’s a bit of a scrum, isn’t it?’

‘You’re right there,’ Gillian agreed. ‘So you went out with all the others; what were they doing? Playing Relievio?’

‘What, in the playground? Very funny. No, first of all we had our milk and I ate the biscuit Dad gave me for my elevenses. Prue was milk monitor, which meant she had to collect the little bottles, rinse them out and take them down to the kitchens …’

‘I know all about milk and milk monitors, goofy,’ Gillian said. ‘I was at Bold Street as well, you know. How would you manage if they made you milk monitor?’

‘I’d be all right,’ Joy said loftily, though her heart sank a little. ‘Someone would have to take me to the kitchens and carry the milk crate through for me, but I could manage to rinse the bottles. But that’s not the point; I’m talking about playtime, if you don’t mind!’

Gillian smiled, then leaned across the table and rubbed her sister’s cheek affectionately. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Carry on!’

‘Right. Jane, Susie and I linked arms and went outside. The playground’s pretty flat so they didn’t have to warn me of any hazards that came up and we just talked about what we’re going to do when we leave school. Of course it’ll be a while before anyone has to make up their minds, but Jane’s elder sister is at college doing an arts course and Susie means to be a hairdresser, like her mam. They don’t get much money whilst they’re training, but once they pass out or whatever you call it they can open their own salons and charge the earth.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘Wish I could be a hairdresser …’

‘Oh yeah?’ Gillian said mockingly. ‘I can just see you brandishing an ear in your scissors and saying to the customer: “Does Modom like the new style? Or would she like it a little shorter?”’

Both girls collapsed and then Joy, listening carefully to her sister’s hiccuping mirth, leaned across the table and seized some part of the other girl, patted what she assumed must be a shoulder and then grabbed a handful of her sister’s long hair. ‘I’d make a better hairdresser than you would, brain-box,’ she said jeeringly. ‘You’ll probably end up teaching – dull work – or writing numbers in a big ledger, whilst I earn a huge salary as – as someone’s secretary. Colin said they taught typing at St Saviour’s, didn’t he?’

‘Ye-es,’ Gillian said. ‘But what a cheek;
you’ll
be working in Woolie’s, or sweeping the concourse at Lime Street station, or packing bags of sugar at Tate’s …’

‘Shan’t!’ Joy squeaked, and in a moment the two of them were locked in a fighting embrace and giggling like five-year-olds.

Alex, entering the kitchen quietly, stopped short, astonished at the scene before him. The twins were rolling around the floor, exchanging the wildest of wild punches and laughing hysterically. Alex’s presence had not been noticed and he reflected that his daughters were far too involved to see that a third party had entered the room. Indeed he doubted whether they would have looked up had he been accompanied by three brass bands, all playing different tunes. He grinned; this was like old times, but of course it would not do to say so. Instead he announced his arrival by seizing an arm of each daughter and pulling them to their feet.

‘Why are you fighting? When I went to work this morning, I left two young ladies getting their breakfast. Now I come home to two hooligans rolling around on the floor, trying to gouge each other’s eyes out. You’d better sit down at the table and tell me what it’s all about.’

Still giggling, the girls went and sat down. ‘It was only play fighting,’ Gillian said apologetically. ‘We were discussing our future … Joy said she wanted to be a hairdresser, which made me laugh, and then we started insulting each other, you know how it is. When we were living with the Dodmans we often had a good old fight, but not when they were around. They would have been shocked.’

‘I’m shocked too,’ Alex said, though with a twitching lip at the thought of Joy being allowed to wield scissors near some unfortunate woman’s head. ‘Well, if that’s the way you behave when you’re alone at home, perhaps I ought to get someone in when I’m not here myself …’

There were cries of protest from both twins. ‘It’s all right, Daddy, honestly it is,’ Joy said fervently. If you’re afraid that I might get hurt because I can’t see, you’re dead wrong. I only had to shout pax and Gillian would have given up at once. Twins never go too far, you know. Can’t you remember how we used to fight when we were quite little kids?’

Alex cast his mind back. He could remember the twins from their birth right up to the moment when they had been evacuated; two pretty lively little girls, one with green ribbons on the ends of her plaits, the other with red ones. He grinned reminiscently. Now Joy had reminded him he could remember the fights, which had always been good-humoured; remembered how Bridget had said that Joy, the peacemaker, was also the first to dissolve into laughter. ‘And laughter is a great healer,’ Bridget had said. ‘Gillian is clever, though rather impatient, but people love Joy because she makes them laugh.’

However, it was different now. He said as much, adding: ‘Suppose the pair of you had rolled up against the table legs? Joy, my love, you might have whacked your head on something you couldn’t see. I don’t want to stop you playing, but I do think you’re getting too old to fight. So unless you want me to pay someone to come in when I’m working, you’ll have to learn to argue without coming to blows. Do you think that’s possible?’

Clearly horrified, the girls chorused that they would be careful in future and would not fight again even in fun, though as Gillian put it they could scarcely promise never to disagree. ‘Because although we’re twins, we don’t always like the same things or the same people,’ she pointed out. ‘For instance, Joy quite likes Irene Finnigan, so whenever we meet her in the street I have to stop to let the two of them have a chat. But she’s not my type, not really.’ She snorted. ‘All she thinks about is clothes and gossip!’

‘She’s all right; she’s quite fun really,’ Joy said defensively. ‘Remember, Miss Clever Clogs, that she used to be at Bold Street, so she knows all the teachers and quite a lot of the pupils, which gives us something in common. Why did you pick on Irene, anyway?’

Gillian gave a little choke of laughter. ‘Oh, Irene’s not so bad really.’ She turned to her father, who knew he must be looking baffled. ‘Oh, Daddy, I was trying to show you that Joy and I often disagree, even if we are identical twins.’

‘I see what you’re trying to say,’ Alex said mildly, ‘but I don’t understand why you don’t like poor little Irene.’ He turned to Joy, who was sitting next to him, and took her hand, letting her know that it was she he was now addressing. ‘Don’t listen to your sister, she’s just jealous because she thinks Irene has a soft spot for me.’ He puffed out his chest, Tarzan-like. ‘And who can blame her for fancying a handsome chap like myself?’

Joy laughed. ‘Oh, Daddy, everyone has a soft spot for you! Why, when we went to see Miss Batchelor that day to arrange for me to be allowed into school before the bell, she kept patting her hair and speaking in a fluttery sort of voice, and she’s old as the hills; even older than you!’

‘What a cheek; I’m not in my dotage yet, you know,’ Alex said with mock indignation. ‘And how do you know Miss Batchelor kept patting her hair?’ His voice sharpened with hope. ‘Can you see, just a little, sometimes? No, of course you can’t, silly question. Only I don’t understand how you knew.’

Joy sighed. ‘I wish I could see a tiny bit; even if I could tell day from night it would be something, but it hasn’t happened yet, though I’m sure it will some day. Sometimes I see flashes of brilliant white or violet light … but then they go away and it’s nothing but dark once more.’ She turned hopefully to where her father sat beside her. ‘Wouldn’t you say that’s a sign that there is some sight in my eyes, somewhere? So you see, I do have hope.’

‘And so you should,’ Alex said heartily, though he had discussed this phenomenon with Mr Burton and knew that it meant nothing. However, he did not mean to tell his daughter that. ‘So if you couldn’t see your Miss Batchelor – who is a very nice lady and not as old as the hills at all, incidentally – then how did you know she patted her hair?’

Joy laughed. ‘Guesswork,’ she admitted. ‘Was I right, Daddy? Did she pat her hair? Only I know it’s one of her little habits because before Christmas we all noticed she did it whenever Mr Cadogan, who teaches PT, was around.’

Alex laughed too. ‘You’re a cunning little weasel and I love you,’ he said, giving her a squeeze. ‘So you’ve both had a good day at school, have you?’ The twins immediately started to speak at once but Alex hushed them and stood up. ‘Quiet. You can each tell me all about your day over supper, but right now we’d better start preparing things or it will be midnight before we get a meal.’

It was halfway through the summer term and Alex was sitting in the kitchen after the girls had gone to bed, waiting for a quiet knock on the back door. He was expecting a visitor, having given the regime of school, housework and marketing a fair trial before deciding whether he should employ anybody else to do one or other of those jobs.

Now that Joy had her confidence back – or at least some of it – she was rapidly beginning to pull her weight. She washed and wiped up, laid the table, made the beds and mopped and cleaned the floors. Of course she had accidents from time to time – their crockery was in constant danger – but otherwise she managed, with a certain amount of help from Gillian and Alex himself, to do her fair share of almost everything.

The exception was cooking. Gillian, bless her, Alex thought now, had taken over the preparation of their meals, but her pastry was like cement, her cakes would not rise and even quite simple things like scrambling eggs had caused at least two good saucepans to lose their bottoms. If it had not been for the shortages and the increasing severity of rationing, Alex thought they might have soldiered on, but, as he told his daughters, they simply could not go on wasting good food.

Apart from the cooking and serving of their meals, however, things were continuously improving. He had been delighted when the girls had both settled well at their respective schools, even more delighted by the realisation that Joy was coming to terms with her sightlessness. She asked for help when she needed it but was proud of her own ability to solve the problems which arose, no longer railing bitterly against the fate which had made her fly to the bedroom window. Of course, being only human, she was occasionally a victim of black depression, when nothing seemed to go right and the future – a future in which she could not see – was something she could not bear to contemplate, but these fits were rarer than they had been at first, and there were times, Alex thought contentedly now, when Joy was her old optimistic, happy-go-lucky self.

So in one sense at least, things were going pretty well. Joy had confided in him that she did not think her blindness would last for ever, and though Mr Burton had told both Gillian and himself that only a miracle could restore Joy’s sight, he had also said that no one should let Joy know as much. So when Gillian talked about her place in the rounders team, her hopes of representing the middle school at tennis, and like subjects, Joy simply said that when her sight returned, as she felt sure it would some day, she must have extra coaching so that she could compete with her twin once more.

But right now, at the end of May, a problem had arisen which neither Alex nor his daughters had allowed for. Clubs. St Hilda’s ran a number of after-school clubs, for both sporting and academic activities. Gillian had said wistfully that she realised she could not join any, but Alex thought it a great shame that Gillian, who worked very hard both in class and at home, should be denied the more social side of school life. Accordingly, he had made his plans, and these included sitting alone in the kitchen, a good while after the twins had gone to bed, waiting for—

There was a knock at the door; a cautious knock. Alex, who had chosen a late-night interview in order that the twins should not be aware of it, smiled to himself and got to his feet. He walked over to the door and opened it quietly … then stepped back, eyebrows rising, mouth dropping open. Standing smiling hopefully up at him, and looking very young and pretty in a blue linen coat and high-heeled shoes, was Irene Finnigan!

Alex opened his mouth to ask her what on earth she was doing on his doorstep at this time of night, but he was so surprised that he actually took a step back, which Irene seemed to interpret as an invitation, since she immediately stepped past him into the kitchen, giving him a bright smile as she did so.

‘Evenin’, Mr Lawrence,’ she said brightly, but Alex caught the strain in her tone and immediately all his chivalrous instincts came to the fore. The poor kid was nervous. She must realise as clearly as he did himself that it was an odd hour for a social call, so he assumed she needed help.

‘Evening, Irene. What can I do for you?’ he said at once, smiling to put her at her ease. ‘It’s rather late for visiting, but of course it’s always nice to see a neighbour. Were you looking for Gillian? Or Joy? I’m afraid they’ve been in bed for an hour, and unless it’s very urgent I’d not dream of disturbing either of them.’

Irene gave a giggle. It was a nervous giggle, and it made Alex feel extremely uneasy. What the devil was happening? This girl – well, young woman – was very little older than his daughters, so why was she looking at him under her lashes, whilst a tide of pink rose from her neck to the top of her forehead? And why was she wearing her best bib and tucker, he asked himself with considerable unease. Why was she calling at an hour when she must have known very well that the twins would be tucked up in bed? She had come round on other occasions and offered help for which she had been politely thanked, though they had never taken her up on any of her suggestions.