A Sixpenny Christmas (26 page)

So Molly pondered, as she and Ellen cut and peeled,
mixed and baked and chatted, as two women will, over their work. And when Ellen said that she realised Molly and Rhys might find it difficult to leave the farm even for a few days, but that Chris and Nonny would be welcome to stay for the whole of the Christmas holidays if they liked, Molly felt she could not refuse on her children’s behalf. All she could do was thank Ellen profusely for her offer and explain that, at Christmas, snow sometimes cut the farm off for weeks at a time. ‘So we shall have to think carefully, since it would be dreadful if the kids were marooned in Bethel Street for a month,’ she said, and pretended to join in Ellen’s disbelieving laughter, whilst secretly praying for snow.

Chapter Ten

NONNY AND LANA
were lying on the grass in Princes Park, looking up at the blue sky above. They were alone, because earlier in the week, at an agreed time, Chris had telephoned to the box in the village to find out how his parents were getting on without him, and Rhys had said that they could do with some help at the dipping, now that they had such a large flock of sheep. Nonny had wanted to go as well, and she knew Lana would have been happy to accompany them, but it would have been rude to abandon Auntie Ellen. She had invited Nonny and Chris to stay for the whole of the summer holidays, and they had only been in Liverpool three days when Chris had been called home.

Fond though she was of her brother, and much as she missed him now that he was away at agricultural college, Nonny had a sneaky feeling that she and Lana would probably enjoy their time together more without him. Fifteen and clothes conscious, they both loved shopping, discussing the latest fashions and visiting cinemas and theatres, things which were not possible in the heart of Snowdonia, whilst Chris was openly scornful of such things. Furthermore, he had not really taken to Lana’s friends, and Nonny thought, secretly, that he had been fretting for the farm even before the fateful telephone
call. So now she turned her head and addressed her friend. ‘Lana? Is it lunchtime yet?’

Lana laughed and sat up, dusting fragments of grass from her smart navy blue sweater. ‘It’s much too nice a day to catch a tram back into the city centre, but if you’re desperate for a cuppa we’ll go to the open-air caff on the other side of the lake.’ She then consulted the little wristwatch she wore and announced, ‘It’s twelve o’clock. After that, shall we take a boat out on the lake?’ She got to her feet. ‘Can you row, Nonny? You and Chris seem able to do most things, but your river is a bit too fast for a rowboat, I should imagine.’

Nonny followed her friend’s example, then shook out her neat pleated skirt. She always brought her best clothes when she paid a visit to the O’Maras, and often went along to Paddy’s market to exchange an outgrown garment for a larger one, paying the difference out of her pocket money. At home on the farm she wore slacks and sweaters, or short-sleeved shirts when it was hot, and of course at school there was the uniform, but here in the city she could enjoy wearing pretty clothes, having her hair cut by a professional and using the make-up which she hid from Molly, though she was pretty sure her mother knew all about it.

‘I wish I had a watch like yours,’ she said. ‘Is there such a thing as a cheap wristwatch? If so I’m going to buy myself one and tell Mum and Dad it’s what I want for my birthday; then they’ll pay me back, of course.’

‘Bound to be; you can get anything you want at Paddy’s market,’ Lana said proudly. She grinned, shooting a sideways look through her lashes at her friend. ‘Mum says folk come from all over the world to shop at the Liverpool markets.’

‘Well, I want a little wristwatch, if it’s not too dear,’ Nonny said decidedly. ‘And I mean to buy presents for everyone at home; nothing expensive, but just something so they know I’ve been thinking of them. You’re so lucky, Lana, to have a Saturday job. I told Mrs Enfys that girls in Liverpool could get paid work at weekends, but she just said wasn’t that strange now, and went on putting treacle toffee into little brown bags for when the kids came out of school.’

‘Oh well, you don’t have much call for money on the farm,’ Lana said airily. ‘What would you buy? I don’t believe Mrs Enfys sells make-up, even if your mum and dad would let you wear it, and you say they won’t until you’re seventeen. I suppose you could just save it up for when you come to Bethel Street . . .’

‘That just shows what
you
know,’ Nonny said scornfully as they chose a table and seated themselves outside the café. Lana waved to a young woman with a couple of small children seated at another table, then turned to her friend.

‘That’s Mrs Jamieson; her husband’s a scuffer and they’re friends of my mum’s. Now what were you saying about spending money?’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of mail order catalogues? They sell all sorts; they’ve even got a section for tools and that, which a farmer might need. And some of the clothes are really pretty, and quite cheap.’ In her turn Nonny looked slyly at her friend through her lashes. ‘Only, of course, buying mail order means you can’t try them on and you can’t browse, and that’s the part I like best about shopping.’

Lana chuckled, ‘I’ve noticed,’ she said drily. ‘That’s
why your brother won’t come out with us. He says you finger things and want to pinch fruit . . .’

Nonny gave a squeak of horror. ‘Pinch fruit? Do you mean steal it? How dare you, Lana O’Mara! Did Chris say that, or was it you? I’m as honest as the day is long.’

Lana giggled again. ‘Sorry, sorry, it’s just those signs that they’ve got in St John’s market on the peaches.
Please do not squeeze me until I am yours
. What’ll we order? A pot of tea of course, but how about a buttered scone? We can share it between us, or have one each if you’re really hungry, because they’re quite big.’

Nonny considered; she knew that Auntie Ellen had packed a picnic lunch which they meant to eat after first taking a boat out on to the lake. If she had a whole scone all to herself she might not be able to do full justice to the picnic, for having got into the habit of making her own bread as well as pies, cakes and puddings whilst at Cefn Farm Ellen had realised there was a good deal to be said for home baking, and the girls’ haversack was stuffed with good things. ‘Cheaper and better,’ her lodger had said upon first tasting one of Ellen’s homemade loaves. ‘Keep it up, Mrs O’Mara.’ And Ellen had been happy to do so. She was fond of Mr Taplow, who told her quite recently that he would be retiring in rather less than twelve months, and hoped that he might continue to live at the small house in Bethel Street. He meant to take a part-time job, he explained, so with his pension and his small wage he would still be able to afford the very reasonable rent she charged.

Nonny considered the scones which she could see a customer eating at another table. They were large, but she was hungry and thought she could do justice both to one of the scones and to Auntie Ellen’s carry-out. She
had watched as Auntie Ellen made corned beef and tomato sandwiches, spread butter and jam on big, floury baps, sliced cake, selected fruit . . . still, she could just do with a scone, a whole one for choice. She said as much to Lana, and then dug her friend in the ribs. ‘Your pal over there keeps staring at us,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I think she wants to talk to you.’

Lana turned in her seat and called across to the older woman. ‘How are you, Mrs Jamieson? I see the kids are fine . . . Hello, Jackie, Paul. What are you up to?’

The woman smiled. ‘Mornin,’ Lana,’ she said pleasantly. ‘How’s your mum keepin’ these days? As for the boys, they’re fightin’ fit – and unfortunately, fightin’s the word. Never did two brothers fall out more often!’

As if it were a signal the elder boy, who Nonny thought must be about seven, jumped on the smaller one, saying jeeringly: ‘When we get to the lake I’m goin’ to row the perishin’ boat, an’ – an’ I’ll throw you overboard if you try to tek the oars.’

‘Don’t be horrid, Jackie,’ Lana said at once, seeing the younger boy’s face begin to turn red and his mouth to open in what, she guessed, would be a deafening bawl. ‘You know very well you wouldn’t throw poor Paul into the water, because if you did the scuffers would come along and carry you off to the deepest dungeon beneath the castle keep!’

‘My dad’s a scuffer; if anyone tried to t’row me into a dudgeon he’d have his guts for garters so he would!’ Jackie boasted, whilst Paul, taking advantage of the fact that his brother’s attention was fixed on the two girls, reached across and began to help himself from a large bag of sweeties.

‘Mum’s fine . . .’ Lana was beginning when she suddenly recollected Nonny’s presence, and turned towards her. ‘Oh, but I’ve not introduced you to my friend. Nonny, this is Mrs Jamieson. She lives just round the corner from us and her husband is our local bobby. Me and Mum babysit for them when they want to go out of an evening.’ She turned back to the young mother. ‘This is Rhiannon Roberts. She comes from Snowdonia; a place called Cefn Farm. We go and stay with Auntie Molly and Uncle Rhys in our summer holidays.’

Mrs Jamieson was beginning to answer when Jackie noticed that his brother had opened the bag of sweeties and was cramming his mouth to bursting point. He gave a shriek of rage and in thirty seconds or less the two were locked in mortal combat, whilst their mother tried to rescue the sweets, many of which had spilled out on to the grass, and threatened her sons with a promise of early bed and smacked bottoms if they did not immediately behave.

Apparently the threat was one which the boys took seriously for they shuffled apart, though Jackie snatched handfuls of grass and sweets before returning to his place at the table. Paul swallowed his mouthful with some difficulty and then approached his brother, both arms held wide. ‘Sorry, Jackie; gi’s us a kiss,’ he said rather sweetly and Nonny guessed that this was the usual way the boys’ squabbles ended when she saw them hug each other and scramble back on to their chairs. She picked up the menu, preparing to give her order to the waitress who was just approaching, and was surprised when Mrs Jamieson smiled across at her and suggested that they join forces. Nonny knew very few small children and
would much have preferred to eat her scone and drink her tea with only Lana for company, but her friend was nodding, getting to her feet, gesturing the change of plan to the waitress. When they were all settled at the Jamiesons’ table, Lana said that she would buy the boys ice creams and Nonny, in honour bound, said that she would share the cost. The boys were given cornets, but were reminded that bad behaviour would now not only call forth early bed and smacked bottoms, but mean confiscation of the ice creams as well. Jackie pulled a face, but Paul, taking his ice cream from the waitress with a polite ‘Fanks, missus’, settled down to enjoy the treat. Having seen them apparently safely occupied, their mother sat back in her seat with a sigh of pleasure and smiled brightly at the two girls.

‘It’s been one of them days,’ she informed them. ‘Sometimes they’s good as gold; helpful, even. Other times they’s as bad as devils from hell and there’s never no accountin’ for it. You’d think on such a lovely warm day they’d be happy just to be in the park, but they’ve set their minds on going on the lake and to be honest I don’t reckon I can cope with them alone.’ She turned an even more beguiling smile upon her companions. ‘Alex gave me a quid so’s we could take a rowboat out, but I don’t fancy trying to control them in one of them little things. But if you lovely ladies would care to join us . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished, and poor Nonny, who had been looking forward to a row on the lake, looked hopefully at Lana. Surely her pal would realise that the boys could ruin their day? But Lana was smiling and nodding.

‘Tell you what, we’ll take two boats out; me and Nonny
will take Jackie with us and you can take Paul with you. We should be able to stop Jackie from hurling himself – or one of us – overboard, particularly if we promise him another ice cream if he behaves himself.’

This sounded like a good idea to Nonny, but Mrs Jamieson was shaking her head. ‘No, not another ice; they’ll gobble ’em down and be sick as dogs,’ she said. ‘A threat to put them ashore if they misbehave oughter work.’

Lana was beginning to agree to this when Jackie butted in. ‘I want to row the boat, I want it more than I want an ice cream,’ he stated. He turned a round, appealing face made comical by dabs of ice cream towards Lana. ‘You’ll let me row, won’t you, Lana? I promise I won’t splash and I’ll be good for the whole afternoon. Oh, Lana, say I can row!’

Lana began to say that he might sit on her lap and handle one of the oars when Nonny interrupted. ‘I’m rowing, Jackie,’ she said sternly. ‘I’m a much better oarsman than either you or Lana and I don’t want to be dumped in dirty lake water. If you behave really nicely, but don’t want an ice cream, what about one of those windmills in the bucket by the door of the café? They have them in all sorts of lovely colours. If you behave we’ll come back here after we’ve handed our boat back and I’ll buy you a windmill each.’

The small boy stared at her, eyes rounding. ‘A windmill!’ Jackie breathed. ‘We’s always wanted one of them, ain’t that so, Pauly boy? Oh, we’ll be two bleedin’ little saints for a windmill each.’

By the time the three adults and two little boys left the table it was smeared with ice cream, jam and a good
many brightly coloured and extremely sticky sweets, and Nonny was wondering why on earth Lana had agreed to take the kids on the lake, though she had to admit that the promise of the windmills had had a magical effect. As they went into the café to pay their bill she took a good look at the bucket. Every time the breeze caught them the whole lot began to twirl, daffodil yellow, scarlet, sky blue and green as grass, and Nonny, just for one moment, almost envied the little boys. She and Chris had never owned such a thing, never even thought of it, but seeing another child rushing round the café area, his windmill whirling above his head, she could see why Jackie and Paul had been so eager to promise good behaviour for such a fascinating toy.

When they reached the lake there was a queue for boats, but after a ten-minute wait they were able to set off. Now that Mrs Jamieson was out of earshot and Jackie apparently absorbed in hanging over the side and smacking the water, Nonny put the question which she had been longing to ask. ‘Why on earth did you agree to this?’ she hissed. ‘If he plays up we’ll be in trouble. And suppose they want to stick with us for the rest of the afternoon? I can’t think of a way to get rid of them without sounding rude.’