A Sixpenny Christmas (10 page)

Freddie was a tall thin man whose drooping moustache was yellowed by nicotine, but he was well known for his willingness to give a hand to anyone in trouble. So it was no surprise to Ellen when he nodded approvingly,
unfolded his long legs from the wicker chair and offered to fill the battered hod with fuel for her. Ellen thanked him but said she could manage, and felt excitement warm her face because this would be the first Christmas which would not be ruined by Sam’s greedy and spiteful presence.

She had done her best to protect Lana from Sam and had managed pretty well, she thought now, mainly because Sam spent the time when he was not in work drinking, carousing and fighting, and by the time he came home in the evening the little girl was usually in bed. Because Mrs Meakin always invited her family for Christmas Day itself and Sam was always keen to have a free meal, he behaved pretty well over what might be called the three days of Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day. He bought small presents for his wife, daughter and mother-in-law, and congratulated Mrs Meakin on the spread which she put before them, and though he did not join in the games with which the rest of the family passed away the rest of the afternoon, he either snoozed in a chair or watched the youngsters playing and gave no one any trouble.

Boxing Day was spent at home, but towards evening Sam usually grew both restless and bad-tempered. He would take a few mouthfuls of his meal, complaining that it was poor stuff, and then disappear, coming back at closing time roaring drunk and usually failing to negotiate the stairs, so that he spent the night on a chair in the kitchen, always waking in a foul mood for which he blamed his wife. But most of this was already known to Freddie, so Ellen did not labour the point but merely said that though she knew the life of a docker to be a
hard one, she was sure that not all the men so employed were as bad as Sam.

‘You’re right on all counts, queen,’ Freddie said. He picked up his mailbag and settled it on his shoulder, then clapped a hand to his head. ‘Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs! I swear I’d forget me own head if it weren’t sewed on.’ He opened his bag and produced several envelopes, which he handed to Ellen. ‘There you are, old love. See you tomorrer. I won’t say happy Christmas ’cos the post goes on coming right up till the last minute.’ He was heading for the hallway which led to the front door when a shrill little voice caused him to stop in his tracks. Lana came scampering down the stairs, still clad in her nightie but with slippers on her feet, and grabbed the postman’s arm.

‘Mr Elnett, is it Christmas Day yet? You should know, ’cos you took my message to Santa, the one I threw in the fire like they said you had to. I watched it float up the chimney and Mummy said you’d take it to the North Pole.’

Ellen smiled to herself at the hunted expression on the postman’s face. ‘Oh aye, I deliver everyone’s mail, even Santa’s,’ he said uneasily. ‘But of course I don’t have no hand in what Father Christmas gives you. Things is short and lots of stuff is still rationed so poor Santa has a deal to do just to fill your stocking . . .’

‘Oh, but Mr Elnett, I want a doll’s pram, I want one more than anything in the world,’ Lana said, her voice trembling a little with the strength of her desire. ‘It needn’t be a big one – there are quite small ones on Paddy’s market – but my baby doll what I got last Christmas needs a pram and once I start school I’ll be too busy to play with her much.’

The postman gently detached himself from the child’s clinging fingers and spoke over his shoulder as he headed for the front door. ‘I’m sure Santa will do his best, queen,’ he said rather evasively. He cocked an eyebrow at Ellen who gave a little nod; a very small pram was hidden away in the attic at that very moment. Freddie obviously read the meaning of the nod right, for he paused as he pulled open the door. ‘But I dare say, if you could make do with a small pram, kind old Father Christmas will pull out all the stops,’ he said, then stepped out, closing the door firmly behind him, for the wind was bitter. Lana, having got the answer she wanted, danced back to the kitchen. Her mother smiled lovingly at her, thinking her daughter quite the prettiest child in the whole of Liverpool. Her soft golden-brown hair was cut short and curled round her head and her big blue eyes were always full of laughter and the innocence of childhood. Impulsively, Ellen pulled her thin coat off its hook, wrapped it round the child and sat her down on one of the hard kitchen chairs.

‘Porridge for two first, then a nice round of bread and honey, and then I’ll give you a hand to dress,’ she said.

‘Can I bring my clothes down here, Mummy?’ Lana asked. ‘It’s awful cold in the bedroom, though it isn’t very warm in here either. Why is the wind coming under the back door?’

Ellen sighed. ‘Because the lovely sausage I made to lie along the bottom of the door to stop the wind getting in got itself too near the fire and was burnt up,’ she said tactfully. But Lana gave her a knowing look and shook her head till her curls bounced.

‘It never got on to the fire by itself; Daddy Sam chucked
it there,’ she said. ‘I heard you telling Granny Meakin how it happened. He did it outer spite, you said.’

Ellen giggled; she could not help herself. She had always tried to play fair by Sam, making excuses for him to the child because she knew how easily, if Lana were to say a word that Sam took amiss, he could do the small girl a real injury. But now of course, with the injunction in force, she would not have to lie. In fact she guessed that it would be a case of out of sight out of mind, because children forget easily and the best thing that Lana could do was to forget her father and everything that had happened in the past. The solicitor had told Ellen that sometimes a man, denied access to his own home, would begin to reform his ways. He admitted that this was rare, but it had happened, and Ellen, remembering the early days of their marriage, could not help feeling wistfully that the Sam who had courted her had been not such a bad sort after all. If only this particular leopard could change his spots, how pleasant life would be! But somehow she doubted that Sam had sufficient strength of character to become once more the eager young man he had been, fun to be with, and a help as well as a companion.

Porridge and bread and honey disposed of, Lana scampered upstairs for her clothes, and Ellen helped her to dress in front of the range, the little girl chattering all the while. ‘Mummy? Do you want any messages? Can Janet Cobbler and Phil come with us? Phil’s me bezzie, though Janet thinks he’s hers. But you can’t have two bezzies, can you, Mummy, ’cept when one’s a boy and one’s a girl; then it’s all right, ain’t it?’

Ellen smiled at her daughter. ‘There’s no messages that
I can think of, queen. In fact I’ve so much work in the house – getting ready for Christmas, you know – that I’d like to give shopping a miss. So why don’t you, Phil and Janet Cobbler play out? Only don’t go catchin’ cold, ’cos it’s an icy day.’ She rummaged in the dresser drawer and produced some small change. ‘Here, take that and buy yourselves some roast chestnuts from the feller what stands outside the market. There’s enough for the three of you.’

Janet was one of the huge family of Joneses living in the area, singled out by her father’s profession as a shoemaker. She was a quiet, neat little girl, like Phil Hodges, a couple of years older than Lana and already in school, so when her daughter was with Janet or Phil Ellen felt she would come to no harm.

Ellen took Lana’s old coat from its hook by the kitchen door and helped her daughter into it. Then she wrapped her in a bright red scarf and matching mittens, made sure the pennies were safely tucked into her pocket and saw her off into the icy morning. ‘Be back when the clock says half past twelve or you’ll go hungry,’ she called as Lana crossed the back yard. ‘Don’t wander too far from home and do as Janet tells you. See you later, queen.’

Janet only lived three doors away so Ellen watched until both small girls emerged into the jigger once more. Then she went back into the kitchen, refreshed her cup of tea and sat down to read her letter. She was thrilled to see that it was from Molly, for Molly’s letters were, Ellen thought, like reading a serial story in a magazine. She told of the doings of herself and Rhys and also, of course, of the children. Ellen now understood a great deal about sheep and the life of a hill farmer in Snowdonia;
she could even visualise the beauty which was commonplace to her friend but which, nevertheless, she always described in detail. Molly had explained that as well as a good amount of flat land in the valley they owned grazing rights on the nearby mountainside where grass grew wherever it could, even amongst the rocks and the steep screes. The sure-footed sheep grazed on the very narrowest of ledges, but it was rare indeed for a ewe or her lamb to come to grief by a fall. They had a small orchard and a large vegetable garden, both of which were the prerogative of the farmer’s wife, and judging from her letters Molly loved the life and would not for the world return to the city, although it was in its way a life as hard as that lived by Ellen herself. However, Rhys was a constant help in every way. If Molly wanted an outing to the village Rhys would take the children round with him, and when next autumn came and both children were in school things would be easier. Molly was talking about getting work, though she was rather vague about what sort, since not only was the farm a long way away from the nearest village, but what little work was available went to Welsh-speaking people. Molly’s grasp of the language improved daily, she told her friend, but she could not claim to be as fluent as someone whose first language was Welsh. However, there were things called ‘correspondence courses’ which apparently could lead to work even in an area as remote as Snowdonia.

Ellen scanned the pages feeling a little stab of envy. Molly’s children never had to worry about traffic or getting involved with drunks from the docks. Lana had had her Saturday sixpence stolen from her by a gang of
older children, and had lost a beautiful scarlet woolly cap and matching mittens to a bigger and nastier child. Ellen had had to knit her another pair, but when she had suggested changing the colour to something less attractive her daughter had insisted that red was her favourite. ‘Phil and Janet say they’ll stick with me and won’t let anyone rob me again,’ she told her mother. ‘Red’s a real Christmassy colour, Mummy; holly berries are red and so is Santa’s coat and cap. I’ll stand up for meself like Phil’s always telling me to.’

But Chris and Nonny could play in the surrounding countryside, secure as though they were in their own back yard, and of course Rhys was never far away and was as good a parent as one could desire. Ellen sighed and sipped her tea. Sam was the worst, and lately he’d been downright unbearable, which was another reason why she had applied for the injunction. He had what he called a ‘bad belly’ and though he ate his food he always grumbled that whatever she put on the table upset his digestion. At first Ellen had felt sorry for him when he’d groaned and griped and sat over the fire drinking hot water and burping like a volcano, but since these attacks simply made him more evil-tempered and violent she soon learned to simply keep out of his way as much as possible.

After the police had served the injunction on him he had come to the front door, trying to persuade her to let him spend Christmas Day at least with his family, but Ellen, usually the most soft-hearted of women, had been warned by her solicitor that this would just be the thin end of the wedge. If she let him break the injunction it would no longer be effective and he could simply come
back into her life, probably treating her and Lana even worse than he had before.

Ellen picked up Molly’s letter again and read with real pleasure of her friend’s most recent doings. She and the two children had taken an old meal sack, a pair of shears and some stout leather gloves, and walked to the woods on a holly-cutting expedition. It had been extremely cold – Molly described how the icicles had tinkled as they cut the scarlet-berried branches – and when Rhys had taken the holly, a great mass of it, into town and sold it, some sprigs of mistletoe and some of the baby clothes his wife had made, they had quite a nice little nest egg to spend on the children. They were having a chicken for Christmas dinner and a pudding in which Molly had buried the traditional silver threepenny bits, and Chris and Nonny were already getting so excited that Molly thought they would probably scarcely eat more than two mouthfuls of the wonderful feast she intended to prepare. Rhys had cut a Christmas tree from the woods, and Molly had made their own mincemeat using fruit jealously saved in the apple loft from their three small wind-bent trees, so they would have the traditional mince pies.

Ellen, reading all this, felt her mouth begin to water, but she told herself firmly that simply because of Sam’s absence she and Lana would have a wonderful Christmas. Lana would open her stocking as soon as she awoke, then there would be a cooked breakfast and they would be off to Granny Meakin’s for the rest of the day. Of course it would have been lovely to have the help and companionship of a proper husband but it was not to be. I was a bad chooser, Ellen told herself mournfully as she folded Molly’s letter and put it right at the back of
the dresser drawer. Even before I took up with Sam I’d gone with big brawny fellers who lost interest if you refused to play when they tried it on. Ah well, that was all in the past. She did not think Sam would approach Lana when she was with her friends, and Ellen herself, with a black headscarf borrowed from her mother, would surely be safe from his attentions. Certainly he would not attack her in the open street or anywhere where there were people who would most certainly interfere. She was sure he would not risk breaking the injunction, so it looked as if she was rid of him at last. Ellen found she could not stop smiling. They would have a
real
Christmas at last!

Chapter Four

SAM AWOKE ON
Christmas Day feeling the first rumblings of pain in his stomach and similar rumblings in his mind. He had managed to get a bed in a dirty, dingy lodging house down by the docks. The landlord reminded him irresistibly of Popeye, for he had a chin which stuck out four inches further than his nose, and his teeth were permanently clenched round an empty pipe. He seldom shaved and was covered in fat, or muscles, Sam was not sure which.