Polly's Angel (22 page)

‘It's a period of calm in a busy day, so it is,' she said. ‘And if you'd cooked as many Christmas dinners as I have, Polleen, you'd appreciate that quiet time more. If it's not Alice . . .'

But any more conjecture was banished by the sound of steps in the hallway, the door opening and Ivan ushering Monica into the room. In the years which had elapsed since they had left the crossing cottage nothing which Monica had said or done had endeared her any further to the family and Polly endeavoured to see as little as possible of her sister-in-law. Furthermore, when Martin had joined up Monica had moved out of their house and back in with her parents, who now lived in Southport, so there was a moment of astonished silence before a babble of conversation broke out.

‘Monica, my dear! What in heaven's name are you doin' miles from home at this hour on Christmas Eve? What's happened? Is there – is there news of – of—' That was Deirdre, who had jumped to her feet at the sight of her daughter-in-law. She sat down suddenly, white to the lips. ‘Oh my God!'

‘Come in and sit down, girl,' Peader said comfortably. He turned to his wife. ‘Don't you worry, alanna, Martin's fine; I'm sure that's what Monica's come to tell us, isn't it, eh?'

‘What are you doin' here, Monica?' That, of course, was Polly, straight to the point as usual. ‘I thought you'd moved back in wit' your mammy an' daddy. I thought you were all in Southport.'

‘Sit down, girl, an' have a roast chestnut. Daddy's got a grosh of 'em ready.' That was Bevin, always the most phlegmatic of young men. ‘Mart's all right, I'm sure of it. I'll go and put the kettle on, Mammy.'

Monica, who had listened to the babble of talk without uttering a word in reply, shook her head rather feebly when Peader proferred the nut and began to struggle out of her coat, talking as she did so. ‘It – it's all right. I'm sorry I frightened you, Mrs O'Brady, I didn't mean to. I – I've heard from Martin and everything's fine. But me mam and dad took it into their heads to go up to Scotland to have Christmas and to see the New Year in with my aunt Pearl and uncle Alfred, and I – I didn't want to be so far away . . . I got the idea that Martin might be gettin' home for Christmas, you see, and Southport's a long way from Liverpool, and so I thought . . . I thought . . .'

‘He's written? Oh, thank the dear Lord for that,' Deirdre said passionately. ‘We've not heard . . . but I know it's difficult when a feller's at sea. When did you hear?'

‘A letter come yesterday,' Monica said, shivering and holding out her hands to the blazing fire. Polly saw that her sister-in-law was very pale, without a trace of make-up for once, and that her usually smooth, carefully cut hair hung in rats' tails round her face. ‘He s-said it didn't matter that I'd moved out of the house, he was sure I'd have a good Christmas, though it was unlikely, even if he got leave, that he could get all the way to Southport in the time he had ashore. So I thought . . . if you didn't mind . . . you see it's much easier for Martin to come to this house . . .'

‘Of course we don't mind,' Peader said in his slow, placid voice. ‘You'll have to share wit' Polly, but no doubt you realised that. And as you say, when Mart gets home he'll want to see you right away, an' if you're stayin' wit' us you're a good deal nearer than if you were wit' your own parents. Did you bring a few clothes? A bag?'

‘It's outside,' Monica muttered. Polly saw that the colour was beginning to return to her cheeks and that her trembling hands were lying more quietly in her lap. ‘In case . . . in case you couldn't fit me in, an' I had to go to a hotel . . . I'll bring it in.'

‘I'll gerrit,' Ivan said. He sounded resigned rather than pleased, and Polly quite understood why. This would have been the first Christmas since Martin's marriage that they had not had Monica and Martin to stay and had had to struggle with Monica's obvious urge to be anywhere but with her in-laws over the holiday, and they had all been looking forward to it. Of course, Ivan would be very sorry that Monica was in such a taking, but that didn't mean he was any fonder of her now than he had been ten minutes earlier! ‘I'll take it up to Polly's room, shall I, Mammy?'

‘Yes, please, Ivan. You're a good feller,' Deirdre said. She stood up and took Monica's coat, then frowned. ‘It's wet – is it rainin', Monica?'

‘It's pouring,' Monica said. She shivered again, and rubbed her hands over her wet face. ‘Oh, I feel ever so odd, Mrs O'Brady, I think . . . I think . . .'

‘She's goin' to faint,' Peader said, and tried to jump to his feet as Monica sagged sideways in the chair, but his movements were still slow and his wife was before him. She reached Monica in one bound and pushed the younger woman's head between her knees, then shouted to Bevin to make a cup of hot, sweet tea and bring it through as quickly as he could.

‘The girl's wore out an' frightened half to death, what wit' the blackout an' the journey from Southport and her parents goin' off wit'out her,' she declared roundly, pushing Monica's wet hair away from her eyes. ‘What's more she's soaked to the skin. Polly, go up and fetch down a decent dressin' gown, your red one will be just fine, an' some warm clothes – socks, a jersey, stuff like that. We'll warm her up an' get her right in a moment.'

Polly pulled a face, but knew better than to say what she was thinking. She stomped off up the stairs and by the time she returned to the living room, carrying the clothing her mother had requested, Monica was stripped down to her brassiere and pink, embroidered cami-knickers whilst of Peader, Ivan and Bevin there was no sign. Polly raised her eyebrows at her mother as she handed over the clothing.

‘In the kitchen, so's we could make the girl decent,' Deirdre said, reaching for the thick grey jersey which Polly had taken out of Bev's room. ‘She's all floppy-like – giz a hand, Polleen, to get her into these warm t'ings.'

In ten minutes Monica, dressed in her borrowed finery, was sitting in the chair nearest the fire, sipping a hot cup of tea and explaining what had happened in a far quieter and more coherent fashion than she had been able to do earlier. ‘Me mam and dad didn't realise I were going to try to stay in Southport alone,' she said between sips. ‘I said I'd gerra friend in, only I don't know many folk in Southport yet. And – and it's a lonely house, or it seemed lonely once they'd gone. Only I'd ha' been all right, except that Martin's letter arrived. And – and I thought of him gerrin' home, and findin' his way here . . . and me up there in Southport all by me lonesome . . . Oh, Mrs O'Brady . . . Mam, I mean . . . I just couldn't bear it! So I put some things into me Gladstone bag and come as fast as I could, only I forgot me umbrella, and I missed the first bus . . . the feller wouldn't wait, though I waved and shouted . . . and a course I got awful wet an' cold . . .'

‘Never mind, alanna, you're here now,' Deirdre cooed. ‘Well, you're a lovely Christmas surprise, so you are, and Martin will be pleased as punch to find you here when he gets home. Now don't you worry about a t'ing, darlin', I'll get you a bite o' supper and then it's a warm bed for you, and sleep until mornin'. Polly, go an' make your sister some cheese on toast, wit' me homemade chutney on the side. Are the sheets on your bed clean?'

This was too much! Polly had often thought what fun it would be to have a sister, but Monica? Anyone but Monica! ‘The sheets are clean enough for me,' Polly said, shooting a darkling glance at the new arrival. ‘Whether they'll be clean enough for Monica I couldn't say, I'm sure. But I'll make the toasted cheese the best I can,' she added hastily, seeing a martial sparkle in her mother's eyes.

‘Good. Now come along wit' me, Monica,' Deirdre said. She had dropped her knitting upon Monica's entrance but now she picked it up and put it on her chair, then took Monica's arm. ‘Will toasted cheese suit you, me dear?' she enquired solicitously. ‘It won't give you nightmares? Cheese can be after causin' nightmares, I forgot that when I telled Polleen to make you some.'

‘It'll be just fine, Mrs— Mam,' Monica said, still in the small, faint voice which Polly scarcely recognised. ‘Oh, you're so good, and I've been so—' She began to sob and Polly, feeling self-conscious, slipped past her and into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. Once there, she took a long, hard look at her feelings. Sure an' she didn't want Monica sharing her room, no she didn't, but the girl
was
Martin's wife, and she, Polly, was mortal fond of Martin, so she was. And it wouldn't be for long; Monica wouldn't stand being cooped up in the little house for longer than necessary. Then there was her job. Monica had got a good job in an expensive gown shop when she had moved to Southport – she would not want to whistle that down the wind, Polly was sure. Apart from anything else, Monica liked spending money, and Polly knew that the small amount which the Navy sent home to her from Martin's pay would scarcely help towards the rent, let alone provide for such things as stockings, lipstick or a few sweeties.

Much heartened by this thought, Polly set to with a will and very soon she had laid out a tray with an embroidered traycloth and put upon it a mug of hot cocoa, the toasted cheese, some chutney and a little dish of stewed apple and custard. She added a white table napkin in a bright red ring, knife, fork and spoon, and set off up the stairs, mounting each one carefully so that she should not spill anything on the cloth.

She went into her own small room and there was Monica, tucked up in her bed, with her hair now brushed, her face shining with soap and water and a smile back in position. Not that she smiled at Polly – not she! Her smiles, it seemed, were all for her mother-in-law, who she had treated so badly in the past.

‘Here's your supper, Monica,' Polly said softly, putting the tray down across her sister-in-law's knees. ‘I hope it's all right for you, so I do.'

‘It looks very nice,' Monica said. ‘Thank you, Polly.'

‘It's a pleasure,' Polly said politely if untruthfully. ‘Will I be goin' to bed soon, Mammy? Will I be head-to-tailing it wit' Monica, then?'

‘No, not tonight,' Deirdre said. ‘You can sleep downstairs tonight, on the sofa in the living room. You'll do very well there, just for one night.'

Polly drew in a breath to expostulate. It wasn't fair that she should have to give up her bed, and on Christmas Eve too, when heaven knew what angels and magic might be abroad, for even if she no longer believed in Santa Claus, she believed in the magic of Christmas. Then she let out her breath in a long, quiet sigh. ‘Yes, all right, Mammy,' she said. ‘What did you do wit' me nightie when you tucked Monica up? I'd best take it downstairs if I'm to sleep in the livin' room.'

‘Oh, I feel so guilty, putting you out of your room, Polly,' Monica said, and she sounded almost as though she meant it. ‘Oh, and cocoa – just what I like before I go to sleep.'

‘Your nightie's here, on the chest of drawers, alanna,' Deirdre said, passing it over. ‘Now we'll leave Monica to her supper. Mind you eat it all up, me dear, because you've had a tiring day by the sound of it.'

Oh, so Monica's been telling her what a rotten old day she's had, has she? Polly asked herself grimly as she made her way down the stairs again with her mother close on her heels. Well, she's not done much for my day either, turning up here and putting me out of me bed! But there was no use repining, it was the sofa for her tonight. And it would, Polly reflected, be rather fun to sleep downstairs, and to watch the lovely bright fire gutter and die, and to sneak into the kitchen and let Delly in with her, so that they could cuddle up on the sofa together. Old Tom the cat might like to join them – sleeping downstairs wouldn't be so bad, and she would be first to see the tree in the morning too.

Back in the living room again, she saw her parents exchange a speaking glance and reflected that happy though they would be to have Martin back with them, they, too, were not as thrilled about Monica's unexpected arrival as they had pretended. Indeed, once the boys had gone to bed Mammy came down again on the pretence of checking that the fire was damped down and bent over Polly to give her a kiss.

‘I know you must feel a bit put-upon, alanna,' she whispered, carefully tucking the covers in on the makeshift bed. ‘But we're doin' it for Martin's sake, remember. May you have sweet dreams, me darlin' girl, and wake to a good Christmas!'

Polly lay awake for a while, enjoying the novelty of being downstairs when the rest of the family were in their rooms, asleep. And presently she began to think how lucky she was, and to wonder how Tad felt, in his barracks or whatever it was, down in Cardington.

He had written, explaining that thanks to a misunderstanding he had been unable to come to the house as his note had promised; the forces, his letter had said vaguely, were like that. And Polly had written back at once, of course, telling him how sorry she was to have missed him and reminding him that the O'Bradys were almost always to be found in Titchfield Street, and he must not hesitate to come and see them if he ever had enough leave to make the journey possible.

He had not replied to the latest letter yet, but a pal of hers, Nobby Taylor, had told her that the first few weeks in any of the armed services were pretty hard, and that Tad would not have much time for letter-writing until he got his first posting, so that was all right.

Grace kept writing, though. She had been horrified when war had been declared and had written at once, to say she was coming home just as soon as she could make the necessary arrangements. ‘
I don't intend to stay safe over here while my country fights these Huns
,' she had written fiercely – Polly could almost see the frown on her face.