Rosie Thomas 4-Book Collection: The White Dove, The Potter’s House, Celebration, White. Rosie Thomas

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ you going to eat anything?’ Amy persisted.

      ‘Nah. I’ll save the rest for Freda and Jim.’

      ‘There’s plenty.’

      ‘I don’t want anything,’ Helen said, with the stubborn air that Amy now knew better than to argue against. She drank her tea and ate her own cake, and noticed that Helen’s hands were thin and veined under the rough skin.

      ‘Let’s talk about something cheerful,’ Amy said to break the silence. ‘What about Christmas? What do you do?’

      ‘On Christmas Eve, after the carol singers have been along the street, we all go down to the boozer. Only the one on the corner, you know? Kids and babies and all. There’s an old joanna in there and someone thumps on that and we sing all the old songs. I had rum toddy last year. Got quite tiddly. On Christmas Day we go to Aunt Mag’s for our dinner, we’ve always done that even before Ma went. Mag makes plum pudding you’d die for. There’s presents and a tree and all that. But we’ll open yours before we go.’

      Amy had bought a soft, jade green cashmere jacket for Helen. It was feather-light and folded up almost into nothing, but it was as warm as a heavy coat. For Freda there was a bright red knitted skirt with matching mittens and cap, and a perfect scale model of a Hispano Suiza for Jim that ran jerkily on a wind-up clockwork motor.

      Helen stood up and went behind the screen that hid the sink. She came out with two packages wrapped in holly-sprigged paper and laid them awkwardly beside Amy’s plate.

      ‘These are for you. This one’s from me.’ A soft parcel, carefully sealed. ‘And this is from Freda and Jim.’ A small, bundled-up package that rattled. ‘It isn’t very much, but make sure you think of us on Christmas morning.’

      ‘I will,’ Amy said softly.

      ‘So what do you do?’

      ‘Almost exactly the same thing every year, ever since I can remember.’ Although that wasn’t quite true. Amy could just remember Airlie’s last Christmas, and that had been magical and glittering in a way that none of the others had ever matched. But Adeline loved Christmas as much as any child, and she threw herself into the preparations and the celebration itself with infectious excitement. But what celebration could there possibly be this year, without Isabel? Amy had half-expected, even half-hoped, that she would be on Christmas duty. But when the duty rota had been pinned up and the students crowded round it, she saw that she was one of the half-dozen lucky ones who had been given leave. She was free for five whole days, from Christmas Eve.

      ‘Lovell’s got the time off, of course,’ Mary Morrow had said sourly. ‘Wouldn’t you know it?’

      And so she would be going to Chance, to join her family, and Adeline’s traditional house party.

      ‘On Christmas Eve,’ she told Helen, ‘there is the servants’ dance. It’s a big party for everyone who works in the house and on the estate. There’s a tree, specially chosen from the fir copse and brought up to the house on one of the wagons. Isabel and I and our governess used to decorate it. There’s a present underneath for everyone. My mother does that. She’s very clever at knowing who enjoys a drink and who would rather have silk stockings than linen handkerchiefs. For the dinner, long trestle tables are laid up in the servants’ hall, covered with white cloths and decorated with wreaths of holly and ivy, and my father sits at the head of one and my mother at the other. It’s a proper Christmas dinner, with turkey and bread sauce and plum pudding to follow.’

      Adeline thought that the traditional meal was hideously vulgar, and at her own Christmas table family and guests were served game, and the finest beef that the estate could offer, and her own favourite pudding, syllabub in crystal cups.

      ‘After the dinner the tables are cleared away and everyone dances. My father leads off with the housekeeper, and my mother with Glass, the butler. Isabel and I take our chances with the footmen, who are always so rigid with embarrassment that they can’t dance at all.’ Amy paused, smiling at the thought. ‘They can’t wait for us to go, and leave them with the maids. My brother Richard dances with the old woman who does the plain sewing and makes her roar with laughter. Then my father makes a little speech thanking everyone for a wonderful evening, and wishes them all a merry Christmas and we tiptoe away. The party goes on for hours after that. Isabel and I …’

      Amy broke off and looked across the table at Helen. Her friend was listening, open-mouthed with fascination. There was no trace of envy or rancour in her face. ‘Go on,’ she ordered. ‘It’s just like in a film.’

      ‘Isabel and I walk across the park to the church. The gravel and the grass is always crackling with frost, but the church is warm. The verger has banked up the coke stove ready for early service. There are white and gold flowers on the altar, and around the pulpit and the font, and there’s always a nativity scene made by the estate children with a doll in the crib and a woollen donkey. It’s so quiet, utterly silent, and there’s that religious smell of candles and flowers and cold stone. Last year it was just before Isabel’s marriage. I remember praying for her to be happy. Oh damn.’ Amy’s hand came up to shade her eyes, but not before Helen had seen the tears. She heaved herself out of her chair and came to put her arm round Amy. ‘Tough, isn’t it?’ was all she said, but Amy felt the depth of her unspoken sympathy. It comforted her at once, but at the same time shamed her. The physical touch made Helen’s emaciated fragility so obvious, and yet the strength was all flowing the wrong way.

      ‘Oh, bugger it,’ Amy said, sniffing.

      Helen laughed at once and let her go. ‘And you supposed to be a real lady. I wish I had something stronger in the house than bloody tea. Look, it’s nearly half past. Shall I yell for Jimmy to go round to the Jug for sixpenn’orth and we’ll have a Christmas toast?’

      Regretfully, Amy shook her head. ‘I can’t. I’ve got to be on at six. Blaine’ll flay me if I get there late and reeking of drink as well, Christmas or not.’

      They stood up and Helen turned on the single overhead bulb as Amy groped for her coat. The fire had burned low and they had been sitting in semi-darkness. They both winced now at the harshness of the light.

      ‘It’ll be a week, then?’ Helen asked casually.

      ‘Five days. I’ll be back to see in the New Year with you.’ Amy kept her voice equally casual, but a new anxiety was stabbing at her. In the bright light she saw that Helen looked ill. There were red patches on her cheekbones, and grey hollows under her eyes.

      Amy suddenly thought of the fresh, sharp air at Chance and the soft beds in firelit rooms, and the tables abundantly heaped with the best of everything. How good a few days of that would be for Helen. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would be something. She reached out and grabbed Helen’s thin, hot hand.

      ‘Listen. I should have thought of it before. Why don’t you come with me? You, and Jim and Freda. I’ve taken guests for Christmas before. It won’t be …’

      ‘Not like us, you haven’t.’ Helen was laughing again. ‘Are you soft? How could you turn up there with us lot? Thanks, but no. We wouldn’t know where to stand or sit, and I’d be ill with the fright of it. Take me to your London house one day when there’s no one about and let me have a good stare. But not to stay, love.’ Seeing Amy’s face she added, ‘Look. You can’t change anything. I’m me and you’re you, and we’re friends. That’s enough. Don’t try and pretend we’re the same. We both know the difference. Just count yourself lucky you’re on the right side of it.’

      There СКАЧАТЬ