The Little Runaways. Cathy Sharp

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СКАЧАТЬ become her usual self and Angela felt trapped in the senseless round of entertaining and mindless chatter from her mother’s social acquaintances. She’d wanted something to do, something worthwhile that would make her feel it was worth living again – and she’d asked Mark for help. He’d suggested the post at St Saviour’s and she’d taken it instantly, and it had turned out so much better than she would have believed.

      The children had touched her heart, especially one little girl called Mary Ellen and her friend, the rebellious Billy Baggins, but they all needed love and care, and Angela had discovered that she had a great deal within her still to give. Her heart might grieve for John but it was not dead. She could love the children, therefore perhaps she could find love for a man once more – know the happiness that had been hers so briefly before the cruel war had taken John from her.

      For a long time she’d thought it would never happen, but recently she’d become more aware of Mark, of his strength and his generosity of spirit. In his work as a psychiatrist Mark helped his patients to recover and although Angela had never been his patient, she had learned to trust him and respect his judgement. She’d turned to him for help after John died and he’d always been there for her, as a friend; it was only recently, since she’d started work at St Saviour’s, that she’d begun to feel there might be something more than friendship between them. A certain look in the eyes, a smile or the touch of his hand – but Angela had not been certain, either of Mark’s feelings or her own. Perhaps it was still too soon – but she was happy to know that he was coming to lunch and would be with them until late afternoon, when he had to leave to visit some cousins.

      She still didn’t quite hit it off with Sister Beatrice, the nun who was Warden of St Saviour’s, though they had somehow weathered the storm and were beginning to know each other a little better. Sister Beatrice acknowledged that Angela had her uses, particularly in the matter of overseeing the new wing, which would provide much needed extra space. Perhaps one day she would realise that what Angela really wanted was to help her and the children.

      Hearing a crash from downstairs in the kitchen, Angela glanced at her watch and realised it was just after seven. Surely it was too early to start cooking the turkey for dinner? They would not eat their special lunch before two and it was the custom for them to get up at about eight, have a leisurely breakfast of warm muffins and jam or poached eggs on toasted muffins, when fresh eggs were freely available, and then start to prepare the turkey. So why was her mother up so early?

      Dressing quickly in trousers and an old jumper, Angela went down to investigate. Slim and lithe, she had dark ash-blonde hair and eyes that someone had once said were azure. Perhaps not the perfect beauty she’d been in her twenties, at thirty-four she was still attractive enough to turn heads when she walked into a room. She discovered her mother in a kitchen that looked oddly disorganised. As a rule everything was set out neatly, but pans were everywhere, including the one on the floor that had recently been dropped.

      ‘You’re up early,’ Angela said brightly. Her mother had her back turned to her and seemed to be intent on whatever she was doing. ‘I’m going to help with the cooking, Mum. You don’t need to start on the dinner yet.’

      ‘What do you know of cooking?’ Her mother turned round, staring at her in what Angela thought a strange, almost truculent, manner. ‘I cook dinner almost every day of the year. Why should I need your help today?’

      ‘Because Christmas is special. We always do it together – and you used to have help in the kitchen and with the cooking sometimes.’

      ‘Mrs Downs decided not to come in any more,’ Mrs Hendry said. ‘If she hadn’t I would have sacked her. She was rude and lazy – and I don’t need her help. I don’t need anyone’s help.’

      Angela was puzzled. Her mother seemed angry, resentful, and she couldn’t think why. ‘Are you upset about something? Have I made you cross?’

      ‘Have I made you cross, she says …’ Her mother’s eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, then she blinked and said, ‘You know very well what you did, Angela. I begged you not to go away, but you had no consideration for me. Oh no, my wishes did not even enter into the equation. I am not cross but your obvious lack of interest in my opinion hurt me.’

      ‘If I hurt you I am very sorry,’ Angela said. ‘It was simply that I couldn’t bear the emptiness of my life. You have such a good life, Mum, with your friends, your entertaining and your committees for the Church. You couldn’t know how bored and empty I felt with nothing worthwhile to do.’ She moved towards her mother and kissed her cheek. She seemed to smell very heavily of some expensive scent, and since she was wearing a very old dress covered by a pink and white spotted apron it seemed a little odd that she’d splashed herself so liberally with French perfume. ‘Sit down and let me make you a lovely cup of coffee. I’ll toast the muffins and then we can have some of that lovely jam we made in the summer.’

      ‘If you insist. I’ll have the Victoria plum jam – and a drop of cream and brandy in my coffee.’

      ‘Do we have cream?’ Angela investigated the contents of the large pantry. It made her shiver, because it was as cold as any refrigerator and kept even cream and butter really well. She found two glass jars of thick cream, which came from a local dairy farm and would be delicious with puddings and mince pies, also a jug of thinner cream, which she brought to table. ‘Are you sure you want brandy this early?’ she joked. ‘We don’t want to end up stuffing the turkey with the pudding instead of—’

      ‘Please credit me with some sense,’ her mother said sharply. She got up and fetched a brandy bottle from the dresser, and when Angela placed the beautiful French earthenware coffee bowl in front of her, she poured a liberal measure into hers and offered the bottle to Angela.

      ‘No, thank you,’ Angela said, smiling as she shook her head. ‘Not this early. I want to enjoy my dinner. I’ve been looking forward to this – I can hardly believe we’ve actually got a turkey this year. It seems ages since we could find one.’

      ‘Suit yourself,’ her mother said, and left the bottle on the table in front of her. ‘How long are you staying?’

      ‘Just until tomorrow after lunch.’

      ‘Hardly worth the bother coming down,’ her mother muttered. She tasted her coffee and then drank it all, but she didn’t touch the lovely golden muffin that Angela placed in front of her, even though it sizzled with fresh farm butter and there was a dish of plum jam set before her. ‘You eat it. I’m not hungry.’

      ‘Why don’t you sit and relax in the other room for a while?’ Angela looked at her mother, noticing that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes a little red. ‘Are you feeling a bit feverish, Mum?’

      ‘I’m perfectly all right, but I’ll go upstairs and get changed – if you insist on taking over.’

      ‘I’ll do the vegetables and various bits,’ Angela offered, but her mother wasn’t listening.

      She frowned as she put an apron over her clothes. Going back into the pantry she saw that everything had been bought in preparation for this day, but although she noticed some sausages and jars of mincemeat, none of the usual Christmas fare had been prepared. It looked as if she was going to have to make a few things for after lunch herself. First she would get the vegetables done and make the stuffing for the turkey, which they had received as a gift from a grateful farmer her father had helped with a legal problem. At least there were plenty of ingredients and the turkey looked lovely.

      She set to with a will and peeled, chopped and sorted the vegetables; then she made the stuffing and prepared the turkey for cooking. She had СКАЧАТЬ