They had spent the last couple of days trimming a Christmas tree and decorating the living room and kitchen with holly tied with red ribbons. It all looked very festive and welcoming. Belle just hoped that Garth had understood what she’d told him about Jimmy, and that he wouldn’t undermine her by bringing people in to meet him, or plying him with drink.
The Christmas tree in the corner of the room looked lovely with the wrapped presents beneath. Belle had dug out the pretty glass baubles they’d bought together for their first Christmas here, and she’d made dozens of little angels from pipe cleaners with white netting dresses and finished each one with gold paper wings and a tiny halo. She felt that when she lit the red candles on Christmas Eve it would look even more beautiful.
Everything was ready: a large turkey in the pantry waiting to be cooked, Christmas pudding and cake made with great care by Mog, and dozens of other special treats which Belle had to queue for hours to buy.
On the previous three Christmases they hadn’t made much of an effort because Jimmy wasn’t there to share it with them, and Belle remembered how they’d discussed what he would be doing on Christmas Day, and what he would get to eat.
In his letter after the first Christmas he’d said that there was plenty of food and extra rum rations as people in England had sent so much out to France for the troops. He’d even got a parcel with socks, a balaclava, chocolate and cigarettes. He’d been very cheerful about the conditions they’d spent the day in, but at that time he’d been billeted in a barn some way back from the front line.
In the subsequent two years there were still parcels and extra rations, but noticeably less cheer from Jimmy. Belle hoped that on Christmas Day this year he’d feel a sense of peace, knowing he would never have to go through such experiences again.
This morning she’d read in the newspapers that all the hospitals were making huge efforts to give wounded soldiers an extra special Christmas. A great many men at the front had got leave this year too; Garth had been run off his feet in the bar last night, and he expected it to be even busier tonight and tomorrow. She had peeped round the bar door last night and it had been a sea of khaki – she thought most of the men must have woken this morning with sore heads. Garth said they were drinking like there was no tomorrow.
Her head ached from the tension and she felt slightly queasy with nervousness as she glanced yet again in the mirror above the mantelpiece to check her appearance.
Garth had said she looked pretty earlier today, but she didn’t agree. The events of the past months had erased the sparkle she once had, she’d become too thin, her dark eyes looked too big for her face and she was very pale because she didn’t go out much any more.
Her dark blue wool dress, high-necked and with long sleeves, was an old one which she’d altered, shortening the skirt and taking it in to fit her better. She’d added a lace collar and cuffs to pep it up, but it hadn’t really worked. It looked what it was – an old dress pretending to be a new one.
There would be no new clothes for the foreseeable future. She would have to watch every penny now as Jimmy’s army pension wouldn’t go far. She still had a few pounds left from when she wound up her shop, but she needed to hold on to that for the future.
It was busy out on the street, despite the thick fog. She could hear people talking, babies crying and children chattering and the ring of boots on the pavements, but it was only now and then that she caught a glimpse of someone coming through the swirling fog. Earlier, when she’d gone out to buy vegetables, there had been queues in all the shops, and she knew they were still there, hidden in the gloom. The greengrocer’s had looked very festive, with a display of polished red apples, oranges and nuts, but all she could see of it now was an orange glow from the lights. At the butcher’s a few doors down from the Railway, she’d stopped to admire the turkeys, geese and chickens hanging above the white marble slab where big joints of beef, pork and lamb were arranged. She’d overheard women complaining how all the prices had gone up, yet in the newspaper this morning it said the government had claimed they were going to fine those profiteering from food shortages. Perhaps they would in poorer parts of London, but she doubted it would be enforced in more affluent areas like Blackheath.
As she stood there she watched a motor car crawl up the hill at a snail’s pace, disappearing into the fog. Motor cars were so common now they were rarely remarked on, and although the baker, milkman and coal merchant still did their delivery rounds with a horse and cart, she supposed that in another ten years horse-drawn transport would have disappeared. She just hoped that by that time she and Jimmy would be living somewhere else.
Garth was wearing her down with his prejudice against women. She knew he hadn’t really become any worse, it was she who had a different perspective through going to France, but his disparaging remarks and refusal to do anything he considered a female role were irritating. Mog might be happy to be subservient to him, but Belle didn’t intend to follow her lead, not even for a quiet life.
Finally she saw Mr Gayle’s motor car, and she ran out of the room and down the stairs. ‘Put the kettle on, Mog, he’s here,’ she called as she passed the kitchen door where Mog and Garth were sitting by the stove.
Belle opened the car door for Jimmy. It was a long time since she’d seen him in anything other than his uniform or hospital blues and he looked so different in his old tweed jacket, a white shirt and the brown pullover Mog had knitted for him. ‘Welcome home, Jimmy,’ she said, reaching out to take his arm, but suddenly remembering it was the artificial one withdrew her hand, and instead opened the back door to get out his crutches.
He had learned techniques of manoeuvring himself and she’d already discovered he didn’t take kindly to anyone interfering. By the time she had the crutches he had turned on the seat and had his remaining leg on the ground.
‘Pass me one,’ he said, and taking the crutch and tucking it under his right arm, he managed without any help to pull himself upright, balancing on the one leg. As always, Belle felt a pang of pity at the sight of the tucked-up empty trouser leg, and knew they’d all got to get used to the sight.
‘Now, if you would tuck that under my arm,’ he said, indicating the second crutch. Then, hooking the false fingers around a bar on the crutch, he hopped nimbly towards the side door of the pub.
It was very tempting to praise him for his skill on crutches, but Belle knew he hated anyone remarking on it, so she just followed him, resisting the desire to put her hand out in case he should topple. ‘Come on in, Mr Gayle,’ she called back, once she’d seen Jimmy had made it to the hall. ‘You must be dying for a cup of tea.’
Garth took over in the hallway, and despite everything he’d been told he was grabbing Jimmy’s arm.
‘Let me be,’ Jimmy said tersely. ‘You’re just in the way.’
‘How’s he been on the way home?’ Belle whispered to Mr Gayle.
‘Quiet, didn’t say much,’ he whispered back. ‘Hard for him to leave his friends, but that was to be expected. Having to go so slowly once we hit the fog didn’t help, I could see him getting more tense with every mile.’
In the kitchen Jimmy took the armed Windsor chair by the stove, propping his crutches up beside him. He seemed agitated, looking around him as if he’d never been there before.
‘It’s so good to have you home,’ Belle said, bending to kiss and hug him, disappointed that he hadn’t said how good it was to be home with her. ‘We’re all excited to see you, but tell us if we are annoying you and we’ll stop it.’
‘How could you annoy me?’ he said, but there was no laughter or even a grin to show it was meant as a compliment.
‘You know what I mean, if we’re being too bossy, talking too much or you want to be alone,’ she said.
They all had tea and a slice of fruit cake and made conversation about Haddon Hall and the journey from there. It was stilted with awkward silences which Mog tried to fill with chatter.
Mr Gayle did his best to steer the conversation on to something more general. ‘I heard this morning that the ponds at Keston and Chislehurst have ice thick enough for skating. I can’t ever remember them freezing that hard before January,’ he said. ‘But it says in the paper that up north they’ve got snow. That’s going to please a lot of children, even if us older people view it with horror.’
‘With the price of coal so high, a lot of people won’t be able to keep a fire going,’ Garth said indignantly. ‘The government claims it’s going to bring down the price, but I’ll believe that when I see it. It’s a scandal that people are making a packet from it.’
‘I couldn’t believe the price of nuts this Christmas,’ Mog said. ‘Brazils are two shillings a pound. And there’s a shortage of dried fruit. I’m glad I got mine back in the summer or there’d have been no cake or Christmas pudding.’
‘I must go now,’ Mr Gayle said, almost as soon as he’d finished his tea. ‘Mrs Gayle has invited some people round this evening and she’ll be cross if I’m late.’
Belle went out to the car with him after he’d said his goodbyes.
‘He will be all right,’ he said, patting her cheek. ‘I can see how anxious you are – it’s frightening when you think he might fall over. But he’s mastered those crutches and his balance, just don’t let him try to do too much too soon.’
‘Merry Christmas to you and your family,’ she said. ‘And thank you for the lifts, the advice and your kindness.’
‘Merry Christmas to you too,’ he said. ‘Jimmy’s a lucky man having a lovely wife like you. Remind him of it now and again, and don’t treat him with kid gloves, he’s a grown man, not a sick child.’
As Belle went back indoors she saw Garth coming out of the bar with a glass of whisky in his hand.
‘If that’s for Jimmy, take it back,’ she said quietly. ‘It won’t help him one bit.’
‘One glass just to steady him can’t hurt,’ he said with that stubborn look he had so often.
‘If he starts relying on whisky to get through the day it will be terrible for all of us, not just him,’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s bad enough for him managing those crutches sober, drunk he’ll be falling over and hurting himself. He can have a couple of drinks in the evening when he’s upstairs, but not otherwise.’
‘You, my girl, are becoming a shrew,’ he said, then turned and went back into the bar.
They had supper in the kitchen at six as usual, before Garth opened up for the evening. It was Mog’s special steak and kidney pie, which had always been Jimmy’s favourite, but he pushed it around the plate and only ate a few mouthfuls. Belle willed Mog not to remark on it. But he did do justice to the rice pudding and preserved plums.
‘You made rice pudding the first time you cooked for us in Seven Dials. I hoped then that you’d stay,’ he said.
Mog blushed. ‘Fancy you remembering that,’ she said, clearly delighted. ‘But then it was a pleasure to feed you and Garth. My goodness, you could put food away!’
After Belle had helped wash up she told Jimmy they would go upstairs to the living room. ‘The fire is lit there and it’s more comfy and quieter,’ she said. She didn’t trust Garth not to try to lure him into the bar if he was down here.
A flicker passed over Jimmy’s face and she wasn’t sure if it was panic or irritation. But he hauled himself out of his chair anyway.
In the hall he sat down on the stairs, and holding on to the banister went up one step at a time on his behind, the way she’d seen him do at Haddon Hall. She followed him up with his crutches.
As he went into the living room and saw the Christmas tree and decorations and the fire, he showed some emotion for the first time since getting home. ‘It looks so homey and lovely,’ he said, turning to her and smiling. ‘Like the first Christmas after we got married.’
Belle drew the curtains as he sat down in the chair by the fire. ‘We could play cards. Or read. I got some books from the library I thought you might like.’
‘Or we could just sit here and look at the fire,’ he said. ‘You never used to be so jittery. Is it because of me?’
‘I think it’s just because we’ve been apart for so long,’ she said truthfully. ‘It must be the same for you. We can’t turn the clock back to where we were before you went to France.’
She sat down on the hearthrug next to his chair. ‘We hardly ever got to do this before,’ she said. ‘You were always working in the bar, and I’d be up here drawing hats.’
He reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘We always had so much to say to each other then, though. You’d think after all this time away we’d have even more.’
‘I expect in a few days we’ll be like that again,’ she smiled up at him. ‘I felt very strange coming back here, and it must be even stranger for you.’
‘Everything was easy at Haddon Hall,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘No one expected anything of me, the other men had been through the same as me, we didn’t have to talk.’
‘No one expects anything of you here either,’ she pointed out. ‘Especially me. But you must say what you want; mind-reading isn’t one of my talents.’
He smiled at that. ‘Would you think me miserable and ungrateful if I said most of the time all I want is complete silence?’
She shook her head. ‘That’s understandable. I often feel that too when Mog is wittering on. David, he was the stretcher bearer I worked with, once told me he couldn’t bear to go home because he knew his mother would keep questioning him. I knew exactly what he meant.’
‘Maybe we’ll be all right then,’ he said.
Jimmy looked very troubled when he wanted to go to bed and found the boxroom was still just that, full of boxes. ‘You didn’t have time to clear it?’ he asked Belle.
‘I didn’t try,’ she said. He’d mentioned this room at her last visit, but mindful of what Dr Cook had said, she’d ignored it. ‘You are sleeping where you belong, with me in our room.’
He looked panicked then. ‘But I’ll disturb you if I have a bad dream. I can sleep on the couch.’
‘No, Jimmy,’ she said firmly. ‘You belong with me. And if you have a bad dream you can tell me about it. I’ve put your pyjamas on the bed. I’m just going downstairs to get you some hot milk. By the time I get back I expect to find you in bed. No more arguments.’