Winter Solstice (66 page)

We all came back with Sam, and left Rory at the Manse and then came home. Carrie made a huge dish called an egg tortilla for us to have for supper: it has potatoes and leeks in it, and eggs, bacon, and heaps of other delicious things. While she did this, I finished laying the table for Christmas dinner, and put on the candles and the crackers and dishes of chocolate, and folded the napkins. There’s a bowl of holly in the middle of the table and it looks really festive, and when we’ve lit the fire, will look exactly right, like a Christmas card. Carrie said all that was missing was a Jolly Cardinal.

Then we‘re going to play cards to fill in the long evening, and then we‘re all going to Midnight Service, except Oscar, who says he doesn‘t want to come.

I don’t know how long it will be before they are able to move to Corrydale, because of all the work that has to be done there. I would love to be there in the summer, but Elfrida says we “II have to see. Meantime, it’s lovely here. And Sam is going to come and be our lodger until everything is sorted out.

I can’t believe that I could be so miserable and despairing one day, and so utterly happy the next.

The next time I write in my diary, Christmas will be over.

Elfrida endeavoured to fan out her enormous hand of cards, and at the same time decide what she was going to throw away. She had run out of twos and threes, and was now in the uncomfortable position of trying to work out whether or not Carrie had a pair in her hand, and if so, a pair of what? The discard pack was too large for comfort, they were nearing the end of the game, and if Carrie picked it up now, Elfrida and Sam would be defeated.

“Come along now, Elfrida.” Oscar was getting tired of the long wait.

“Be brave. Throw something you don’t want.”

So she gritted her teeth, threw the eight of hearts, and waited anxiously for Carrie to let out a shout of glee and pounce. But Carrie shook her head, and Elfrida relaxed with a sigh of relief.

“I can’t stand the nerves! If I wasn’t going to church, I should have another large drink.”

It was now ten past eleven, and they were on the last hand. So far, Sam and Elfrida were ahead on points, but the tension would continue until the final card was turned. Elfrida had played Samba long ago, when limbo was still alive, and they had sometimes whiled away the evening with a couple of friends. But she had forgotten some of the rules, and it was not until she started playing again that the old tricks and shibboleths came back to her. Oscar and Sam were both old hands and up to all the nuances of the game, but Carrie and Lucy were starters. Carrie quickly picked it up, and Lucy played with Sam, who was kindly and patient about explaining; and by the end of the first hand he was allowing her to make the choices of discard, and not becoming annoyed when she made the wrong one.

Carrie picked up two cards, put them into her hand, and was then able to finish a Samba. Oscar let out a grunt of approval. She threw the four of spades.

“If you pick that up, Sam, I shall strangle you with my bare hands.”

“I can’t.”

Lucy said, “There are only four cards left.”

“When they’re finished, the game’s done,” Sam told her.

“Pick two up, Lucy, and see what we’ve got….”

From the landing, the telephone rang.

Oscar said, “That damned telephone. Who’s ringing us at this hour?”

Elfrida said, “I’ll go.”

But Oscar already had laid down his cards and was getting to his feet. He went out of the room, closing the door behind him. Elfrida heard him say, “Estate House.”

And then silence, as the caller spoke, and then a murmured reply. The next moment, he was back with them, settling down in his place on the window-seat, picking up his cards again.

Elfrida was curious.

“Who was it?”

“Nothing much. A mistake.”

“You mean, wrong number?”

Oscar gazed at his cards.

Sam said, “If you’ve the wrong number, why did you answer the phone?” And Lucy giggled at the old joke, sitting with her head to one side, trying to decide what she should throw.

In the end, they ran out of cards, and nobody won. But Sam pulled the score-pad towards him, totted up all the figures, and announced that he and Elfrida were the overall winners, and that he hoped that Oscar was about to come up with a valuable prize.

“I am about to do no such thing,” Oscar informed him with dignity.

“You were extremely lucky and held all the best cards; nothing to do with skill.” And with that, he laid his cards on the table and got to his feet. He said, “I’m going to take Horace for a walk.”

Elfrida stared at him in some astonishment. He often took Horace out into the garden last thing at night, but never for a walk.

“A walk? Where are you going? Down to the beach?”

“I don’t know. I just feel the need of some fresh air and to stretch my legs. Horace might as well come with me. I may not be back by the time you set off for church, but leave the door open, and I’ll still be up when you all return. Have a good time. Sing nicely, Lucy.”

“I will,” she promised him.

He left them, closing the door behind him.

Elfrida’s expression was puzzled.

“Funny. You’d have thought he’d had enough exercise today to last him for a week.”

“Oh, leave him, Elfrida,” said Carrie, gathering up all the cards and starting to sort them out into three separate packs, one blue, one red, and one flowered.

“Help me, Lucy. You can do the flowered ones. I think that’s a marvelous game. There comes a subtle moment when you stop playing Samba and start playing Canasta. The scoring’s a bit complicated, though. You’ll have to write it down for me, Sam, so that I don’t forget.”

“I’ll do that.”

The cards were sorted, stacked, and put away. Elfrida went around the room puffing up cushions and picking up newspapers from the floor. The fire was low, but she left it, and stood the guard in front of the smouldering wood ashes.

“We shouldn’t be too long making our way, I think. There’s bound to be a huge congregation, and we want to be able to get a seat.”

“It’s like going to the theatre,” said Lucy.

“Will it be cold in the church? Should I wear my red jacket?”

“Yes, definitely, and your warm boots.”

Alone in her bedroom, Elfrida combed her hair, put on a bit more lipstick, and sprayed herself with scent. Then she took her blanket coat from the wardrobe, buttoned it up, and put on her tea-cosy hat. She sat on the bed and pulled on her fur-lined boots. Some money for the collection. A handkerchief in case she felt emotionally touched by carols, and a pair of gloves.

All ready. She surveyed her reflection in the long mirror. Elfrida Phipps, soon to become Mrs. Oscar Blundell. She thought that she looked terrific. Here I come, God. And thanks.

She went out of her room and downstairs to the kitchen, to check that all was in order for Christmas morning, and that she hadn’t left the gas on, or the kettle boiling itself dry, which she quite often did. And in the kitchen, in his basket, she found Horace.

She frowned.

“Horace, I thought Oscar had taken you for a walk.”

He gazed at her and thumped his tail.

“Did he leave you behind?”

Horace closed his eyes.

“Where’s he gone?”

Horace did not tell her.

She went upstairs again and into the sitting-room.

“Oscar?” But the sitting-room was dark, empty, and all the lights switched off. No Oscar.

On the landing she found Sam, pulling on his good navyblue overcoat.

“Oscar’s disappeared.”

“He’s walking Horace,” Sam reminded her.

“No, Horace is back in the kitchen. In his basket. It’s a mystery!”

Sam grinned.

“Oscar’s probably sneaked off to the pub.”

“What a suggestion.”

“Don’t worry. He’s a big boy now.”

“I’m not worrying.” And of course she wasn’t. Just puzzled as to where Oscar could possibly have taken himself.

Lucy ran downstairs from her attic.

“All ready, Elfrida. Do we need collection?”

“Yes. Have you got any?”

“Is a pound enough?”

“Fine. Where’s Carrie?”

“She’s still getting ready.”

“Well, you and I will go, Lucy, and bag a pew for the four of us…. Sam, will you wait for Carrie, and come over with her?”

“Of course …”

Elfrida and Lucy ran downstairs. Sam heard them open and slam shut the big front door.

He stood there on the landing, in the emptied house, and waited for Carrie. Soft sounds came from behind her closed bedroom door: drawers being opened, a cupboard door shut. He felt no sense of impatience. He had waited, during the course of his life, for countless women to appear-sitting at bars, standing around in the foyers of theatres, whiling away the time at the table of some small Italian restaurant. He had waited, more times than he could remember, for Deborah, who had never been punctual for anything. So now, in the house which would, one day, belong to him, he waited for Carrie.

“Oh, Sam.” She came out of her room, slammed shut the door behind her, saw him there, and looked a bit abashed.

“Are you waiting for me? I am sorry. I couldn’t find my silk scarf.” She wore her loden coat, her fur hat, her long, shining boots. The errant scarf, all pinks and blues, was softly wound around her slender throat, and although all of this was by now dearly familiar to him, he knew that he had never seen her more beautiful.

“Where are the others? Have they already gone … ?”

He said, “Yes,” and put his hands on her shoulders, drew her close, and kissed her. Something he had been longing to do ever since that first night, when she had opened the door to him, and found him standing on the doorstep in the falling snow. So, now, it took a long time. When at last they drew apart, he saw that she was smiling, and her dark eyes had never seemed so lustrous.

He said, “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Sam. Time to go.”

Elfrida and Lucy crossed the street. The square, lamplit, was already busy with cars arriving and people walking, converging on the church. There was, it was clear, going to be a huge congregation. Voices called out, country people greeting each other, falling into step as they made their way.

“Elfrida!”

They stopped and saw Tabitha, Rory and Clodagh behind them, having walked down the steep lane from the Manse.

“Hello! I thought we were early, but it seems we’re not. I’ve never seen so many people….”

“I know, it’s fun, isn’t it?” Tabitha wore a tartan coat and had wound a red muffler around her neck.

“It’s always like this. People come for miles…. The only thing is, we’ve had a bit of a setback. Alistair Heggie, the organist, has got flu, so we won’t have any proper music.”

Elfrida was horrified.

“You mean, we’ve got to sing carols unaccompanied? I can’t bear it….”

“Not quite. Peter rang Bill Croft, the television man, and he’s come to the rescue and set up a ghetto blaster, and we’re going to use taped music. It’s a bit of a come-down, but better than nothing.”

“Oh, that is disappointing … poor Peter.”

“Oh, it can’t be helped. Come on, with a bit of luck we’ll get a pew to ourselves.”

They crossed the street to the wide gates and the path beyond, which led to the wide flight of stone steps and the double doors of the church. Tonight, these had been flung wide open. Light from inside streamed out onto the cobbles, and Elfrida could hear the taped music from within the church. A choir. Singing carols.

“God rest you, merry gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay.”

It sounded a bit mechanical and tinny. A bit, thought Elfrida, like a portable gramophone played on a picnic. Inappropriate and somehow inadequate.

“For Jesus Christ our”

Silence. Either the tape player had broken down, or some person had inadvertently switched off the electricity.

“Oh, no!” said Rory.

“Don’t say the ghetto blaster’s got flu.”

And then it started. A great surge of sound from the organ. Huge chords and waves of music filled the church, overflowed out through the open doors, resounded up and out into the night.

Elfrida stopped dead. She looked at Tabitha, and Tabitha’s eyes were wide and innocent. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Elfrida said, “Did Peter ring Oscar? About a quarter past eleven?”

Tabitha shrugged.

“No idea. Come on, kids, see if we can find somewhere to sit.”

And she turned and ran up the steps, with her two children and Lucy at her heels.

After a moment, Elfrida followed. A nice man with a beard was waiting for her. He said, “Good evening, Mrs. Phipps,” and handed her a hymn-book. She took it automatically, neither looking at him nor thanking him. She walked into the church and saw that it was already nearly filled, the congregation shuffling into their places, leaning to chat to neighbours or to others sitting behind them. The music thundered all about her, filling the huge void of the soaring arched ceiling, echoing down the long nave. She began to walk down the centre aisle, which was paved in red and blue. Walking in to the music was like stepping into a pounding sea of sound.

A hand touched her arm. She stopped.

“Elfrida. Here.” It was Lucy.

“We’re keeping seats for you and Sam and Carrie.”

She took no notice. Did not move.

The Christmas tree, lavishly decorated and twinkling with lights, stood in the middle of the transept, between the pulpit and the lectern. Beyond this, against the north wall of the church, the organ pipes soared. The organist’s seat was enclosed by an oaken stall, so that he was not visible to the seated assembly. But Elfrida was standing. And she was tall. An overhead spotlight shone down upon him, and she could clearly see his head, his profile, and the thick white hair, rendered unruly by the unselfconscious exuberance of his own performance.

Beethoven.

“Ode to Joy.”

And Oscar Blundell, playing his heart out. Reconciled. Returned. Back where he belonged.