A Sixpenny Christmas (28 page)

But Lana noticed that when her friend saw her reflection, a blush of pleasure warmed her cheeks. With her shining light brown curls piled up on her head and falling in ringlets on either side of her heart-shaped face, and the blue of the dress reflected in the blue of her eyes, Nonny would never lack for partners. Lana herself, with her mass of fair hair falling à la Veronica Lake across one cheek, her large dark eyes and her dimples, was much admired, and for the first time it occurred to her why girls frequently hunted in pairs. If only Nonny would agree, the two of them could make quite a killing at the Grafton tonight.

Promptly at seven o’clock the doorbell rang and the two boys, hair slicked down with Brylcreem, faces shiny
with soap and water, and wearing their best dark suits, whistled admiringly as Lana and Nonny, carrying their coats for it was a warm evening, joined them. Rupert, who was plainly very taken with Nonny, tried to take her hand, but Lana saw regretfully that her friend was having none of it. Instead she clutched at Lana’s arm, her eyes widening so much that Lana felt quite sorry for her and told the boys rather brusquely to go on ahead and they would follow.

Later that evening, when the boys had punctiliously delivered them home, Ellen said she could see that Nonny was worn out and packed her off to bed. ‘Young Lana here goes out with her pals two or three times a week so she’s used to late nights, but you ain’t; you’re asleep on your feet, gal,’ she told her visitor. ‘You’ll be off for some fun tomorrow if the weather’s nice, so Lana can just help me pack a picnic, and then she’ll follow you up the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire.’

Lana directed a glare at her mother for letting slip that she had, on previous occasions, let her daughter go out at night, but Nonny seemed to notice nothing amiss; perhaps she was too tired. At any rate she headed for the stairs, and as soon as her bedroom door closed Ellen pushed Lana into a chair, sat down opposite, and said, ‘Well?’

Lana sighed. ‘I reckon I owe you that five bob after all, Ma,’ she said resignedly. ‘She came to the dance all right but at first she wouldn’t dance at all, not with anyone, and believe me, she had lots of offers. She’s real pretty, ain’t she, Mum? I knew she’d have plenty of partners and so she would have, but she just shook her head and told everyone: “No, I’m not dancing. I don’t
know the steps.” Of course the fellers all promised to teach her and in the end, just to be polite I reckon, she stood up wi’ Rupert but they’d only just started to dance – it was a slow waltz – when she suddenly wrenched herself out of Rupert’s arms and gave him such a hard push that he fell over backwards. Then she ran off the dance floor, and out into the street. You can guess what everyone thought, of course . . . poor Rupert, you’d have thought he’d have wanted to murder Nonny, but he was very understanding. Anyway, I caught her up, reminded her that we’d both left our best coats in the cloakroom and persuaded her to come back. She was shaking like a leaf, Mum, and giving little shudders, but she’s brave, is Nonny. We walked round for a bit whilst she cooled off – she tried to pretend it was the heat of the ballroom which had made her come over fainty-like, but we both knew it wasn’t true. You and Auntie Molly were right; she isn’t just shy of men, she’s downright scared of them.’

Ellen sighed deeply, reached for the loaf and began to slice. ‘I thought as much. Now, I’ve bought some real nice ham off of Mr Thelfall this afternoon, and some ripe tomatoes from the greengrocer next door,’ she said. ‘I know you want to go to New Brighton, have a bit of a go on the funfair and a paddle in the sea. Pity you couldn’t ask them young fellers to accompany you, but I dare say Nonny wouldn’t like it.’

Lana chuckled, got to her feet and began to slice tomatoes. ‘You’re telling me she wouldn’t,’ she observed. ‘I didn’t tell you, but before the cricket match we met Mrs Jamieson and her kids. She asked us to share her table in the café and I offered to take one of the boys – the older one – on the lake with us.’ She grinned at her
mother. ‘Now I admit Jackie and Paul are fellers, though very young ones, but Nonny wasn’t a bit pleased to be saddled with them. Don’t tell me she can’t get along with boys of five and seven, because that’s just crazy.’

Her mother smiled too, but abstractedly. ‘She don’t know nothin’ about children,’ she observed. ‘I wonder if this has got anything to do with that other business; you know, when your dad grabbed her and took her off into the mountains. Molly thinks it has, but when she’s questioned Nonny the kid just says she’s talking through her hat, says she don’t mind men at all, and in the next breath adds that she don’t mean to marry, nor have a family.’ Ellen looked rather shyly at her daughter. ‘You see, no one knows except Nonny herself what happened that night. He could have done something she didn’t like . . . oh, I dunno, there could be a dozen explanations. I suggested to Chris that he might ask Nonny, see if she would open up to him – they’re real fond of one another, those two – but he said it wouldn’t be no use. Nonny won’t talk about that time. The only thing she’s ever said, and he always claims she didn’t mean it to be heard, was that she had killed a man when she was ten. Apparently, she sort of muttered it when a group of them were talking about the worst things they had done, but when Chris asked her to repeat it she just laughed and said she was talking to herself, and talking a lot of rubbish, what’s more.’

‘Poor Nonny,’ Lana said softly. ‘But it wasn’t Nonny who killed him, it was me. True, she gave him a push, but I shoved him hard enough to send the air whooshing out of his lungs. That was when he fell backwards . . .’ Abruptly, she buried her face in her hands. ‘And horrible though he was, he was my dad,’ she muttered.

Ellen jumped up from her chair and rushed round to envelop her daughter in a warm hug. ‘He were the wickedest, most violent man in the whole of Liverpool and you done right to rescue your pal before he could chuck her over the edge,’ she said hotly. ‘I’m telling you, queen, if I’d been there I’d have throttled him with me own hands, and if the scuffers had caught up with him he’d have been in jug for a hundred years. So think on, chuck. You and Nonny between you saved him from something he’d have hated a deal more than a quick, clean death at the bottom of that gorge.’

Lana raised tear-wet eyes from her cupped hands and gave her mother a tremulous smile. ‘I know you’re right really, and it’s daft to blame myself,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘It happened a long time ago, and to tell you the truth, Mum, it hardly ever crosses my mind. I used to have nightmares, but they went long since. Chris said that when something really bad has happened, it’s best forgotten. He’s sensible, is Chris. He said it’s a bit like a gnat bite; if you scratch it, it goes on itching for ages and ages. Sometimes it even goes bad on you – septic I mean – which is a real nuisance. But if you leave it alone, never touch it, in a couple of days you can’t even see the place on your arm where you were bitten. Chris said the whole kidnap business was like that gnat bite and the quicker we stopped scratching it, the happier we would be.’

‘Oh dear, and I’ve made you think about it all over again,’ Ellen said. She gave her daughter another squeeze and pulled a comical face. ‘But Auntie Molly is really worried about Nonny. Uncle Rhys says she’ll outgrow her dislike of boys, but I don’t know. Sometimes these
things make more of an impression than you imagine and it takes time to conquer such a deep-rooted fear. Tomorrow, while you’re out, I’ll drop Auntie Molly a line. When she said she was worried over Nonny’s attitude to fellers I suppose I didn’t take her seriously enough. Molly’s always been a worrier, especially over her kids. But now I understand.’

‘Well, she’s got something to be worried about, it seems,’ Lana said. She stood up, went over to the sink, splashed cold water into her face, then dried it on the roller towel at the back of the door, peering in the mirror to make sure all trace of tears had gone.

‘I rather think, queen, that the only people who can persuade Nonny that boys are a part of life which she should be enjoying are you and the chaps you go around with. Find a gentle, studious type, throw him and Nonny together, and Bob’s your uncle.’

‘I don’t see that working,’ Lana said at once. The last thing she wanted was to be saddled with someone like Cuthbert Mason, who wore horn-rimmed spectacles but was always walking into things and apologising to lamp posts. He did not play games because his sight was so poor, and seemed to spend most of his time studying. Furthermore, his only friend was Lucas Skidmore and he was just such another, except that instead of straight hair falling in a fringe across his forehead he had thin carroty curls, white eyebrows and a laugh which sounded exactly like the neighing of a horse. Not even for her dear friend Nonny, Lana decided, would she start palling up with that dreadful duo, and in any event she knew Nonny well enough to believe her friend would feel exactly the same. After all, she reasoned, if one was not
interested in handsome charming boys why on earth should one like plain and boring ones?

She put the point to her mother, but Ellen only shrugged and said there was no accounting for tastes. ‘Look at me, saying “yes” to your dad,’ she pointed out. ‘I’ve never hid from you that I were pregnant at the time, so I suppose that’s the best excuse I can offer for me mad behaviour. And in them days Sam were . . . oh, different. He didn’t drink so much for a start, and he were still in uniform.’ She sighed reminiscently. ‘I were always a sucker for a feller in uniform,’ she finished.

The next morning, Nonny apologised fervently for her behaviour. ‘I can’t explain it, because that Rupert was really nice to me. It was just when he put his arms round me, I felt trapped. All I wanted was to get away, even though I knew I was being a fool. Do tell him I’m sorry next time you see him.’

Lana laughed. ‘If he doesn’t know you’re sorry by now, he’d have to be pretty thick,’ she said gaily. ‘You spent the entire walk home apologising. And now let’s forget it.’

The summer holidays were over, and everything was starting to change, Nonny thought. The baby Morris was a thing of the past, for one thing, for Rhys had bought an ex-army jeep which was a good deal more suitable for such difficult country, and now his daughter’s luggage and Ellen and Lana’s weekend case were piled in the back, for he had brought the O’Maras back with Nonny to spend a few days at the farm before returning to Liverpool. Ellen was still working when needed, but had time off owing, and Lana had left school and would soon
be starting a shorthand and typing course at the local technical college.

Molly and Rhys, after much discussion, had suggested to Nonny that she might like to follow in her friend’s footsteps after taking her O level examinations, rather than simply helping on the farm. Ellen had agreed enthusiastically to take Nonny as a non-paying lodger when the time came – she would be sharing Lana’s room after all – and this would ease her parents’ minds. ‘It’s not as if you’d be going to strangers,’ Molly had said that morning, as she and Rhys sat in the O’Maras’ kitchen discussing the idea with Ellen and the girls. ‘You already know that several of your pals will have to live in lodgings in order to get decent jobs in the city; with Auntie Ellen eager to take you in, you’ll be one of the lucky ones.’

Nonny had known her parents were right, known that she could not stay on the farm. Money was tight – had always been tight – so it was up to her to earn her living. After all, it was what everyone had to do in the long run, and, as she told her parents, she had had a gradual introduction to city life over the years which was now paying off. Once, traffic, crowds of people and even the Scouse accent had worried her, but now she was as at home in Bethel Street as she was at Cefn Farm.

‘And I’ll be able to come home whenever I can, won’t I?’ she had asked. ‘If I get good grades in all my subjects I could get a really well paid job; I might buy a little car of my own, just a little one, you know, and come home at weekends.’ She had beamed at her parents. ‘I could have foreign holidays, might even get a job abroad, because my French is really quite good. But I’ll always come back to Cefn Farm and Snowdonia, I promise you that.’

But now, bouncing on the back seat of the jeep as it turned into their lane, Nonny waved and waved to Chris, who must have heard the jeep’s engine as Rhys had changed gear to crawl up the steep incline which led to the farm. ‘Chris, Chris,’ she shrieked, watching his face break into a broad grin. She slid the window back and stuck her head out. ‘Have you done the milking? If not, I bags I milk Violet.’

The jeep swung into the farmyard and the girls tumbled out. Nonny hurled herself into Chris’s arms. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you, big brother! But Mum said you’d be home for the rest of the week, so we’ll have lots of time to catch up. How . . .’ But before she could finish the question Lana had pushed her aside, flung both arms round Chris’s neck and plonked a kiss on his cheek.

‘Gerroff, you!’ she shouted gaily to Nonny. ‘He’s your perishin’ brother, not your feller.’ She turned to Chris. ‘Ain’t you the best-looking guy in the whole of Snowdonia?’

Chris’s grin broadened, but he detached Lana, turned her round and smacked her smartly on the bottom. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ he said. ‘As for the milking, I finished it half an hour ago.’ He turned to give Ellen a kiss. ‘Hello, Auntie Ellen, nice to see you . . . nice to see your baggage too, and I don’t mean the suitcases.’

‘Yes, she is a bit of a baggage,’ Ellen agreed. ‘Mad about men, particularly handsome young farmers. And now let’s get our luggage inside, so me and Molly can start cookin’ a meal.’

Behind the stable door, Rhodri watched Nonny greeting her brother and wished he was not so awkward, so
useless with girls; then he made his way out of the farmyard and headed for Cae Hic. When Nonny had left to spend the summer in Liverpool he had told himself over and over that when she got home he would ask her out, perhaps to a cinema in the nearest town, perhaps just for a walk in the hills, but now that he had seen her again, looking so grown up, he doubted he would ever have the courage.

Although he had said nothing to anyone, his mam knew how he felt and had told him to pluck up or he’d lose the girl to some smart young feller in the city. ‘Our little Nonny is a country girl through and through, but she’s young and heedless and might have her head turned by a feller with money,’ she had explained. ‘You’ll miss her when she goes away, same as I shall, but if you were to tell her how you felt . . .’