Breakdown (19 page)

“Are you okay?”

Chris spun around with a gasp. He hadn’t heard Pauline come down the stairs. She wore a simple dark-green gown with a black belt and glittery black necklace. She’d pulled her hair back from her face.

“You look nice,” Chris managed.

“Thanks. Wow, look at you. Mum did good.”

“The shoes are a bit tight.” Chris held up one foot and wiggled it.

“It’s just for tonight.” She leaned forward a bit and cupped her hand around her mouth. “I vetoed the suit,” she said in a mock whisper and smiled.

“Thank you.” Chris rolled his eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

He nodded. “It’s good and bad. More good, though.”

* * *

The vicar stood at the door and welcomed everyone with a handshake as they came into the church. Chris had never been inside before. Candles in sconces lined the walls. Chris stood aside, letting the women enter the pew first, and managed to get the end seat next to George. He thought about Brother Luke, how often he’d encouraged Chris to come to church, even though Chris had always refused. He’d spent two Christmases at the monastery playing cards in the dormitory or working in the barn while the services went on up the hill in the church. Brother Luke would be pleased to see him now.

He let the singing wash over him. When was the last time he’d sung? That little gig in September, at the bar with the bad spotlight that kept going out. Jon had been there. Is Jon in church right now, too? Sitting next to Mum, holding the hymnal for her? Chris found it hard to breathe.
Happy Christmas, Mum.

No, they weren’t. They would have answered his letter. Crap.
Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven...
on and on and on.

Then it was over, and Chris was making his way out of the church, saying “Happy Christmas” again and again while his shoes pinched his feet.

If he dreamed that night, Chris didn’t remember it. He did the chores before breakfast, before George got up even. He stood out in the yard under a lead-grey sky and watched some little birds pecking around in the dirt. They fluttered away when he roused himself to go inside.

After breakfast, they opened presents.

Pauline exclaimed at the new wrapping papers. She smoothed them out carefully after she’d thanked Chris and clipped up her hair. Everyone chuckled when Chris and George opened their gifts to each other at the same time and both found leather work gloves. Chris put on the hat Marie had knit for him, and Marie’s mouth opened in delight as she paged through the puzzles. Grace hung her bird on the tree and stooped to give Chris a peck on the cheek while she handed him her gift: a small leather wallet containing nail clippers, a file, and scissors.

“I do like a man with neat nails,” she said and winked at him.

Pauline passed him a gift done up like a Christmas cracker. He untied the red and gold cords and unrolled the foil paper, smoothing it out the way Pauline had done. Inside a cardboard tube, he found a carved ivory chess piece: a castle, intricate and ornate, with little towers and windows, and vines snaking up the walls.

“I found it in a box of junk in the market. Bought the box, picked that out, and left the rest behind. Imagine what the whole set must have looked like.”

“It’s brilliant, thank you,” was all Chris could say. He passed it around for everyone to ooh and aah over.

“It’ll fit in your pocket, that,” Pauline said and looked away.

Wes showed up. He opened his gifts—a knit cap, mittens, and a bag of peppermint sweets—and took Chris outside to try out the ball. George and Pauline came out soon after, and the four of them spent a happy hour kicking the football around the yard until it started to rain.

Games in the sitting room, tea, chores, and supper rounded out the day. Wes seemed ready to stay, so Pauline fixed him a bed on the couch in the sitting room. Chris was about to head to bed when she stopped him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Can I talk to you? In the study?” She carried a lamp.

“It’s Christmas,” Chris said. Did she really want to wrestle more painful memories out of him?

“I know. Just for a minute.”

He followed her in and shut the door. She set the lamp down, but didn’t sit, so neither did he. She bit her lip.

“What is it?”

Pauline pulled something from her back pocket and held it out to him. He saw red writing and realized what it was.

“I’ve had them since the day before yesterday. Mr. Percy gave them to me. I didn’t want to ruin your Christmas.”

Chris took the envelopes from her. Each one had a diagonal line through the address, and underneath, in red letters, was scrawled “Abandoned.” The line went right through Jon’s name and appeared to underline Brian’s.

“Huh,” Chris said. The hand holding the letters had gone numb, like it didn’t belong to him anymore. Pauline was talking to him, but he didn’t listen. He stared at the word.
Abandoned.

Pauline took his arm. “Chris?”

“What?”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re dead.” She held his gaze with her own. “Right?”

“You’re always so optimistic,” he whispered. “I wish I could be. But you haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He felt bad for her. She had known for days, kept it from him to give him the best chance of a good Christmas. He put his arms around her, kissed her cheek—the way he should have done at the pub—and held her. “Thank you, for everything,” he said into her hair. “You’ve made this the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time. I’ll treasure all the gifts your family has given me.” He released her, touched her hair—such pretty hair, the way it gleamed in the glow of the lamp—and went upstairs to bed.

CHAPTER 16

T
he New Year’s Eve party at the pub was more subdued than the Christmas party. Fewer people came, perhaps due to the snow coming down steadily since midday. Chris had tried to politely decline, but Pauline managed to convince him to go.

“I’ll laugh at you when you slip in the snow in those wellies and fall on your arse,” he said to her while they were getting their coats on.

“I should hope you would kindly grab my arm and keep me from falling,” she replied.

The walk to the pub was accomplished without incident. Chris waited in the vestibule while Pauline changed into the shoes she’d carried along.

“Did you have a huge closet full of shoes, before?”

“I shudder when I think about how many shoes I owned,” she said. “That’s what you did when you went out shopping with your girlfriends. You bought shoes. I wore most of them, I suppose. But you can’t complain if I don’t want to wear wellies to a party.”

“I’m not complaining. They’re simply divine,
dahling
.”

“You won’t be so grumpy tonight, will you?”

“Don’t let me drink too much, okay?”

Chris followed Pauline as she made her way through the crowd, greeting and smiling, the tortoiseshell hair clip nestled among the hair at the back of her head. He wondered if she had chosen it to go with her outfit or if she had chosen the outfit to go with the clip. She drew him into short conversations he would otherwise have stayed out of. She didn’t touch him, but to Chris it seemed as if the people they talked to viewed them as a couple, as if Pauline were hanging on to his arm and casting loving glances at him. Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe he needed a drink.
No, don’t think like that.
A drink would be
nice
, but he did not
need
a drink. He slipped off to the bar and got himself a pint and her a half.

“I owe you one,” she said as he handed it to her.

“Not at all.”

The music started, Mr. Weeks warming up with an easy step, accompanied by the scrape of chairs and tables as they cleared more space in the darts room. Pauline and a few others headed that way.

No one asked Chris to dance, which suited him fine. He avoided the archway between the main room and the darts room, with its insidious bundle of mistletoe still hanging there, and instead found a seat at the end of the bar and nursed his second—last?—pint.

Freddie approached him, her face neutral. He tried to look approachable. She inched closer.

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior,” Chris said to her.

“In advance?”

“I’m sorry, Freddie. I was drunk, which isn’t an excuse, but...”

“Apology accepted. Buy me some crisps.”

“Is that what I’ve been smelling?”

“No one let you in on it?”

Chris gave her a coin and she was back soon with a stool and a small bowl heaped with crisps. Chris moved his stool to make room for her. When she settled herself, her thigh pressed against his. She didn’t seem to notice.

“They’re still warm. They’re best this way,” Freddie said, munching.

“I haven’t had these in years.”

Harry brought them beer.

“Last one tonight, okay?” Chris said to him.

Harry winked. “Lay off the crisps, then, old chap.”

“I saw you in church,” Freddie said.

“Grace asked me to go. I couldn’t say no.”

“You didn’t look very comfortable.”

“My shoes were too tight.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Chris sipped. “Yeah. No.”

“How was the rest of your Christmas?”

“Um. Up and down. But mostly up. You?”

“Very nice,” she said, not meeting his eye.

“Wes came up and spent the day.”

“Good. He needs that sort of family thing. He brought his ball to school this week. That was a brilliant gift, by the way. We all had a grand time kicking it ’round the school yard.”

“Good. Is he getting on with the other kids better?”

“Yes, I think so. I was thinking that we should get the school field back in order this year, maybe after planting. It’ll take some work. We could have games, get the community involved.”

“That’s a great idea. I’ll help.”

Freddie eyed him. “I thought you might be gone by then.”

“Ah. Yes. Well.” Chris stared into his beer, then reached into his back pocket. “Maybe you should see these.” He slid the letters toward her on the bar.

Her eyes widened and she drew in her breath. She picked up the top one, the one to Jon, and looked at the one underneath.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Chris.” She put a hand to her mouth.

Chris took them back and slipped them into his pocket again. “It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re dead, you know.”

“No, no. Of course not.”

“I wish I believed that.”

“But you’ll still go, to find out.”

“Not in the snow.”

Freddie looked into her glass, then crushed a small piece of crisp that had fallen on the polished wood of the bar top with her fingertip. “Do you wish you hadn’t sent them? It was my idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“It was a good idea,” Chris said, putting his hand on her arm briefly. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s done. It doesn’t really change anything.”

She drank down the last of her beer in one swig and pushed the rest of the crisps closer to Chris. “Look, I’m tired, and I’m not good company tonight, so I’m off. Happy New Year and all that.” She slid off the stool.

“Wait—” Chris said. He glanced toward the darts room. “Should I walk you home? It’s just that—”

“No, no. You came with Pauline, I know. It’s not far at all. I’m fine. You stay.”

“I didn’t come ‘with’ Pauline,” Chris said, not sure why he felt the need to clarify that.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Freddie said. She was already moving away. “Good night.” She disappeared into the vestibule.

Chris felt a scowl coming on and slouched onto his stool. Now what had he done? He wanted to guzzle the rest of his beer and order another. No. He sipped and nibbled a crisp.

Pauline appeared next to him, laughing, breathing hard.

“Oh, I need a drink!” she said, climbing onto the stool Freddie had vacated. “Harry! Please?” She turned to him. “Are you behaving?”

“I think so.” Chris could feel her thigh pressing against his like Freddie’s had, but Pauline’s was warmer, from the dancing.

“Did you have a nice chat with Freddie?” she asked, pulling the bowl of crisps toward herself.

“I’m not sure. She left suddenly. I don’t think it was me.”

“Well, the holidays can’t be easy for her, either.”

“What do you mean?”

Pauline looked at him, eyes wide. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No, apparently. What?”

“She lost her husband. In the Bad Winter. He’d taken a job in London. She was to join him in the spring.”

He gripped his glass hard. “Holy crap.”

“I figured you knew.”

“How would I know that?”

“I assumed she’d tell you. You’ve been chatting her up for weeks.”

“I have not. We’ve talked about Wes a few times, that’s all, because she’s his teacher.”

“Okay, don’t get upset. I’m sorry.”

“Shit, I’m an idiot. I never thought—”

“Never thought that someone else might be having as bad a day as you?”

“Let me find a stick and you can beat me with it.”

Pauline put her arm around him and squeezed a little. “There, there,” she said. “You’re not the first man to be self-centered and oblivious.”

“Thank you very much,” Chris said. “Should I go after her?”

“Do you want to?”

“Does it make me more of an ass if I don’t?”

“Oh, dear.” Pauline sighed and leaned against him. She still had her arm around him.

That feels good. Crap.

“Here’s a pretty pair of lovebirds,” a slurred voice growled close-by.

* * *

Pauline sat up straight and turned on her stool at the sound of Rob’s voice behind them. Chris did the same as she pulled her arm away from him.

Rob Warren—
when had he showed up?
—sneered at her.

“Hello, Rob. I didn’t know you were here tonight. Happy New Year,” Pauline said. She put on what she hoped was a polite smile.

“Michael Cooper should be here to see this,” Rob went on, ignoring her greeting.