The Christmas Angel (6 page)

Janna finishes her tea and climbs out of her bunk, shivering. It is very cold, the wind in the north-east. Even with her little gas fire full on, the caravan suddenly feels rather flimsy. She dresses quickly: thermal underwear, a long thick cord skirt the colour of crushed raspberries, several jerseys. Dossie has made a delicious concoction with duck breasts and a rich sauce for the Candlemas feast; all quite ready for Janna to pop into the oven. She’ll roast potatoes and parsnips, and Clem has promised broccoli; Pa donated a case of wine at Christmas. Should it be white or red with duck? She’ll have to ask Clem.

Clem has already lit the fire in the library where the Sisters hold their Chapter meetings and have tea in the cold winter afternoons with any visitors who venture out to see them. The big room on the north-west corner of the house takes a long time to warm up and at present, with no guests to consider, Mother Magda refuses to waste the precious central heating oil. She is a worrier; her brow permanently creased, her slight frame tensed against criticism, braced for disaster. Jakey can make her laugh, though, so that the worry lines seem to disappear into a wide delighted smile and her still beautiful dark blue eyes shine with joy.

Clem’s allayed any anxiety about logs. His predecessor left a barn full of them, chopped up and piled there over a period of years, unused because the Sisters consider
log
fires a luxury. He didn’t ask permission the first time but simply lit it one Friday morning before their Chapter meeting. He saw their instinctive delighted reaction – their looks of pleasure and surprise – though Sister Ruth bridled at his temerity and Mother Magda quickly began to look anxious.

‘Just while the weather is so cold,’ he explained quickly. ‘And the room needs airing, especially with all these books. It would be a pity if they got damp and musty and we’ve got so many logs.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mother Magda was relieved at this rational explanation. ‘And Sister Nichola might like to sit here for a while after lunch,’ she suggested placatingly to Sister Ruth, sensing her indignation. ‘Just for a change.’

Clem could see that Sister Ruth was torn between wanting to voice her disapproval and acknowledging the pleasure the fire would give. Sister Nichola was already advancing towards it with little murmurs of delight.

‘Just while the weather is so cold,’ Sister Ruth agreed reluctantly.

Now, he builds the fire up and puts the guard in front of it. At the window he pauses. The fields slope steeply to the cliff’s edge and he can see away across the sea to Cataclews Point and Trevose Head. The silvery water, fretted by the sharp north-easterly wind, churns restlessly, chopping and changing – now azure, now grey – beneath the cold clear blue sky and snow-charged clouds. In the clump of ash trees just below the house Clem can see a quarrelsome party of rooks balancing amongst the bone-white branches; their bulky, twiggy nests being bargained over and refurbished. Suddenly one of the rooks takes to the air, swerving and diving, showing off to his mate and rivals alike as he exults
in
the strengthening breeze. Others follow him, challenging him, their harsh voices tossed and lost in the wind.

Clem likes the rooks: he senses their joy in their connivance with the elements, their bravado, and their instinctive one-upmanship battling with their need for community.

‘Like us, don’t you think?’ Sister Emily is at his shoulder: ‘Argumentative, difficult, but needing one another.’

Clem, who has just been thinking that very thing, bites his lip. ‘I expect,’ he says awkwardly, his eyes still on the rooks, ‘that living in a community probably makes you better people in the end.’

‘But we’re not here to be “better” people. Or even “nice” people. We’re here to try to be God’s people, wouldn’t you say?’ She touches him lightly on the shoulder with the sheaf of papers she is holding and glides quietly away, pausing at the door. ‘How inviting that fire looks. Thank you, Clem.’

He follows her out and goes back to the Lodge to waken Jakey and give him breakfast.

The snow begins to fall later that afternoon. The duck is finished, and the remains of the feast are cleared away. The Sisters are having tea in the library and Jakey has just arrived home on the school bus.

‘Bad weather setting in,’ shouts the driver to Clem. ‘Snow’s forecast. Doubt I shall see you tomorrow.’

He pulls away up the narrow lane and Clem catches Jakey’s hand and hurries him into the Lodge out of the cold wind.

‘Snow!’ Jakey struggles out of his coat; his eyes shine in expectation. ‘We can make a snowman.’

‘If there’s enough of it.’ Clem hangs the coat up on the row of pegs in the hall. ‘We don’t usually get very heavy falls down here in Cornwall so don’t count on it. It’ll probably
be
gone by morning. So have you had a good day? What did you do?’

‘Nothing.’ Jakey goes into the sitting-room and through to the kitchen.

‘That must have been interesting then,’ Clem says, sighing inwardly, recognizing the mood, knowing he should have been more upbeat about the snow. ‘So you all sat in rows not doing anything all day. I thought it was Show and Tell today. You took your pirate book that Mo and Pa gave you. That must have gone down well.’

Jakey leans against the table, puts his thumb into his mouth and nods slowly; he is finding his first term at school very tiring. He looks exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, and Clem is filled with the familiar ache of love and compassion for him.

‘What would you like to eat?’ he asks. ‘Just a little something to keep you going until supper time. There’s still some of that Smartie cake. Would you like some milk? Or juice?’

Jakey takes his thumb out. ‘I’d like a cup of tea.’

‘Tea?’ Clem’s mind jumps to and fro. Is it OK to give tea to a four-year-old? What about tannin? And caffeine? He hesitates and Jakey looks mutinously at him.

‘The Sisters give me tea,’ he says. ‘And sometimes coffee, if they’re having it. I like it.’

Clem begins to laugh. ‘The Sisters are naughty,’ he says – and Jakey laughs too, at the idea of the Sisters being naughty.

‘Sister Emily is naughty,’ he says thoughtfully, ‘but Sister Luth isn’t.’

‘OK,’ says Clem. He’ll make it nearly all milk with just a dash of tea: surely it can’t hurt him. ‘Tea it is. Now let’s hear about Show and Tell.’

Jakey scrambles up onto his chair and reaches for Stripey Bunny, eager now to tell. Outside the snow whirls. It flutters past the window and begins to settle on the fields.

‘I’m outa here,’ says Mr Caine, mobile clamped between ear and shoulder as he packs. ‘The weather forecast is snow and more snow. I’m getting back to civilization while I can … No, Tommy, I’m not ratting out. I’m just biding my time. I’ll come back when it’s clear … Phil is holed up in Plymouth, waiting by the phone … No, they haven’t come to a decision. I’ve told you. These old dames don’t work like we do. Their time frame is different. We want everything yesterday and their eyes are fixed on eternity … Yeah, I know it sounds fanciful but I tell you, a few weeks on this godforsaken peninsula, you get fanciful. It’s enough to drive you crazy. A load of Worzel Gummidges drivelling in your ear all day about farming and fishing … Yeah, yeah, I know the stakes are high but Phil’s on the case. If they accept the offer he’ll be right on to it … No, he can’t just frighten them into signing a bit of paper saying the convent’s done for and they’ll accept his offer. He’s got to keep cool. They’re thinking about it … OK, but nobody else is gonna come charging in, are they? Why would they? Nobody’s gonna be thinking about it, are they? … Yeah, I know we don’t want to give them time to start looking at that old covenant saying it’s got to be a convent or else, but we don’t want to make them nervous either. You said not to make them suspicious. I hope that mole solicitor of yours is right about it, that’s all. He’s probably as crooked as you are. Can it be proved, that’s the real question? … OK. OK. I’m off. I’ll speak when I get to Exeter. If I get that far. I’ve told the Worzels I’ll be back in a few days. They’re holding my room. Like they need to!
Nobody
else is crazy enough to want to be here in bloody February … Yeah. Be in touch.’

He crams the last of his clothes into his bag, glances round. He can hardly wait to be out and driving up the A39 towards civilization. It gives him the creeps, all this emptiness, the steep cliffs, the awful relentless sound of the sea. He’s always hated the sea: feared it, even. It’s so uncontrollable, indifferent, vast. He likes to be in control and here, on this wild north coast, he feels helpless. These poor sods spend their whole lives in one long battle against the elements.

He checks the tiny bathroom, comes out and here’s Mrs Trembath in his room. He swallows down a surge of irritation – everything’s packed, there’s nothing to see – but he allows a suggestion of surprise to creep into his smile.

‘Didn’t hear you knock,’ he says pointedly.

She ignores it. Well, what do you expect from yokel locals? He picks up his bag.

‘I’m off then. See you as soon as this passes.’

‘There was a phone call,’ she says – and he tenses. What phone call? Who’d try to get him here? Tommy and Phil use only mobiles.

‘Who was it?’

She shakes her head. ‘Woudden leave no name. I told ’en you was packing. Said ’e’d try another time.’

He wants to shout at her; give her a good shaking. Why didn’t the silly cow simply come and get him? He hides all these reactions, and smiles.

‘Can’t have been important then.’

She watches him, saying nothing.

‘Well, then.’ His joviality sounds forced. ‘Thanks for holding the room for a few days,’ he gives a little chuckle, ‘though
I
’m not sure it’s really necessary. Can’t see people beating down the door exactly, can you? Not in this weather.’

She continues to stare at him. ‘We gets all sorts,’ she answers. ‘All weathers.’

His smile fades. ‘Yes, I’m sure you do.’

He can’t wait to be away; it’s really getting to him now. He’s wasting time and it’s still snowing. He edges past her and hurries down the stairs.

‘’Bye, then,’ he shouts. ‘I’ll be in touch. Thanks,’ and he goes out into the whirling snow, slings his bag into the car and then he’s away down the track as fast as he dares.

Janna wakes in the West Room above the porch. The little room, recently painted by Clem, is full of a chill, unearthly light. Janna lies quite still, accustoming herself to strange new sensations: the softness of the bed, the low beams and the silence.

Mother Magda and Clem persuaded her from the small, cosy security of the caravan early in the evening after Clem heard the weather forecast. Like an unwilling animal coerced from its lair, she reluctantly stumbled through the already thick snow, clutching her tote bag full of the things she’d need for this sojourn in the house. Her protests fell on deaf ears. She had no fears of the snow or of being cold, she said, but it was the sight of Mother Magda, frail and anxious at the caravan door, that made her give in. Clem wore his usual, secretly amused, half frowning expression, which always gave the impression that he utterly understood everything but was saying nothing.

Janna slides out of bed, pulls her shawl closer around her and goes to the window. She gives an involuntary gasp of shock. Snow is falling so thickly that she can barely see
further
than the window. The lawn below the house is indistinguishable from its surrounding wall and the fields beyond. The cliffs and the sea are swallowed by this dazzling, dancing cloud of snow.

Recovered from the shock, her first thought is: Thank goodness Dossie filled the freezer with all that food. Her second thought sends her reaching for the light switch. With relief she sees that the electricity hasn’t been cut off.

She dresses quickly, staring at herself in the small square mirror above the little basin in the corner. Her untameable lion-mane hair clings to the brush and stands out about her small thin face. Someone once told her that her eyes were the colour of clear honey and she peers into them, trying to see herself as others see her, wondering if she is attractive.

Passing out of the room, she pauses in the corridor to listen to the silence. No visitors to fill up the empty bedrooms, nobody hurrying to the bathroom, or down the stairs to breakfast in the guests’ dining-room next to the refectory. Standing outside her bedroom door she is aware of the spaces of the house all about her, used now only by retreatants, and of the nuns tucked away in their private wing. She goes down into the hall and through to the back of the house to the kitchen. How warm it is in this long, low room; how welcoming.

Slipping between the kitchen and the refectory, she makes porridge, and puts bread in the toaster; assembles cereals, butter and marmalade and lays places for the Sisters. There are voices in the back hall and Clem and Jakey come into the kitchen. Jakey’s cheeks are poppy red, his eyes bright. He is trussed up like a parcel in his warm, padded jacket and he wears a woolly knitted hat with earflaps.

‘We shall be able to make a snowman,’ he says to
Janna
. ‘And the bus won’t get up the hill so I can’t go to school. We’ve come to have bleakfast with you.’

‘That’s great,’ Janna says, and Clem says, ‘Remember that you must talk quietly, Jakey.’

Jakey makes a face; he presses his lips together and puts his hand in front of his mouth. His eyes beam at Janna above his fingers and she grins back at him.

‘I’m going to check the banties,’ Clem says. ‘They’ll have to stay in their house today. I’ll clear a bit of a path and then I’ll light the fire in the library. You stay here, Jakey, and no nonsense. Janna’s got to get everybody’s breakfasts. Make sure you help her.’

Jakey wrestles the small rucksack off his back, opens it up and sits Stripey Bunny on a chair at the table. He hangs the rucksack on the back of the chair and looks round as he struggles out of his coat. He loves the kitchen, with its huge ancient inglenook fireplace, which now houses the big four-oven Aga, and the low-beamed ceiling. Along the deep-set stone windowsills Janna has put pots of hyacinths and cyclamen and there are some special pretty pebbles and stones too, which he and she collect down on the shore. He goes to stand beside her at the Aga as she stirs the porridge.