Christmas Wishes (16 page)

When they had practised the walk during the Easter holidays, Joy had not really used the white stick, nor listened with all her might to discover what was happening around her. Instead she had wagged the stick in a desultory fashion, tapping the kerb all right and checking now and then on the shops they passed, but relying on her sister to warn her of possible dangers. Now she would have to use the stick in earnest, and Gillian just hoped she wouldn’t make a rude comment – she was quite capable of it – if Edward was slow to warn her of approaching hazards. It wouldn’t help to antagonise the lad.

Now, Gillian danced along the pavement, but slowed to a sedate walk as she neared her home. Joy should have been in for a good half-hour, but given her past performance she had probably done nothing towards getting their tea. Oh well, Gillian told herself, bypassing the front door of No. 77 and diving down the jigger, Mrs Clarke has made us a cake, so we can have a slice of that, and it won’t take two minutes for the kettle to boil. Supper will be later, when Daddy comes in. She crossed the yard and reached the back door on the thought, beating a brief tattoo on it before reaching for the latch, so that Joy would know it was she entering the room. She pushed open the door carefully though, in case Joy was standing near it, but when she entered she saw that her sister was sitting at the table eating whilst behind her steam was beginning to issue from the kettle on the stove.

Gillian gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. ‘Joy, you know you’re not supposed to light the gas and I’ve heard you saying times without number that you shouldn’t handle knives. How did you cut that slice of cake without using a knife? Or has Mrs Clarke been round to give you a hand?’

‘I did have a little bit of help, but only with lighting the gas,’ Joy said with a small self-satisfied smirk. ‘I filled the kettle myself and put it on the cooker. That Edward insisted on coming in and lighting the gas for me … well, no, that’s not fair. He stood by and watched while I used the gas lighter – it’s easy, isn’t it? – and then he buzzed off. He asked me if I would like him to cut the cake; he was probably angling for me to give him a bit, only I wouldn’t.’ She waved the slice of cake she was eating. ‘Cut it myself, no trouble! I would’ve started on the spuds for tonight’s supper only Dad must’ve done ’em before he went to work. At any rate, there’s a pan full of peeled ones on the draining board and there’s what feels like chops in the meat safe.’ She grinned at her sister, her pleasure in her achievements so great that she was pink-cheeked. ‘Here, let me cut you some cake whilst you make the tea; I don’t reckon I’m up to pouring boiling water into the teapot, though I dare say it’ll come to me in time.’

‘I’ll cut the cake as well if you like,’ Gillian said eagerly, but her sister shook her head and turned in the direction of Gillian’s voice, for the older twin had moved across the kitchen and was taking the kettle off the gas as they spoke.

‘No need, thank you very much. It’s easy to cut a cake made in a loaf tin; a round one would present more of a problem.’ As she spoke she had risen to her feet, pulled the cake towards her and picked up the knife. She grinned at her sister and Gillian could tell that Joy knew exactly where she was by the sounds she herself was scarcely conscious of making: the lifting of the milk jug, the adding of the tea, probably even the stirring in of a spoonful of sugar to each mug. But Joy was turning to her, her fingers resting lightly on top of the cake. ‘One inch or two?’ she asked playfully. ‘I had quite a large piece and advise you to do the same; it’s absolutely delicious. When the summer holidays come, perhaps I’ll get Mrs Clarke to teach me simple cookery. Nothing too dangerous, and you may have to put stuff into the oven for me and get it out when it’s cooked, but it would be fun, and helpful, don’t you think?’

‘Gosh!’ Gillian said. ‘It would certainly be nice if we could cook. I’ll have a large slice, please … and when we’re settled, I’ll tell you about my day and you can tell me about yours.’

Presently the sisters were seated opposite one another, both munching cake and sipping tea. ‘It’s just like the old days,’ Gillian said. ‘I’ll tell first, shall I?’

‘Yes, sure; only don’t forget that when Daddy comes home we shall have to tell the whole thing again,’ Joy said. ‘He’ll want to know what I thought of Edward and whether I think I’ll be able to cope without you …’ She heard the impatient little movement her sister made, and spluttered into her tea. ‘Sorry, sorry! Carry on, Jeeves!’

Nothing loth, Gillian began her tale, starting with what she thought most important. ‘Well, I didn’t know a soul in my class and I was dead nervous, honest to God I was. But as soon as—’

‘You? Nervous? That I should see the day!’ Joy cut in derisively. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word nerves, girl … Oh, sorry again. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go on; my lips are sealed.’

‘Your lips are sealed?’ Gillian squeaked. ‘That’ll be the day! Dad always says your tongue runs on wheels and I’ve no reason to think you’ve suddenly changed. But I’ll take your word for it that you won’t interrupt again; nod once for yes and twice for no.’

Joy snorted and blew cake crumbs, but nodded once and Gillian started to speak again. ‘Well, the girls were friendly as friendly. No one looked down on me; in fact, quite the opposite. They damned nearly fought over who was to sit next to me and at dinner time everyone wanted to give me one of their sandwiches, or a few crisps, or even an apple. It seems that we have to take a packed lunch once a week, but we can buy a hot school dinner on the other four days. They aren’t expensive and the girls say they’re good value, but most of the pupils in my class take sandwiches every day because their mams do a hot meal each evening. There’s one girl I particularly liked, and I think she liked me. Her name’s Helen and she’s got lovely curly fair hair and eyes that laugh, even when her mouth doesn’t, if you see what I mean. She lives quite near the school – very handy – and she’s got a lovely soft voice, you’d like it. And she’s easily the cleverest in the Lower Fourth.’

‘I bet she won’t be the cleverest, not now you’re in her form,’ Joy said proudly. ‘I know it was only the first day, but did you have tests and that?’

Gillian nodded and took another bite of cake, speaking rather thickly through it. ‘Yes, we did, and I must admit I came out of it pretty well. French was a surprise; they’ve been learning the language for ages and of course it isn’t part of the curriculum at ordinary schools, but Mademoiselle Cousteau’s French lessons must have been really good because I’m way ahead of the class in the spoken word and only a trifle behind in written work.’

‘So you truly enjoyed your first day?’ Joy asked. ‘Although you never said so, I know you worried that the other girls might despise you because you were a scholarship girl, but I take it that no one thought worse of you because of it.’

‘As I said, everyone wanted to sit next to me, or take me from one classroom to another,’ Gillian assured her sister. ‘I was really popular.’ She was intelligent enough to realise that this popularity might not be of long duration, but whilst it lasted it was very sweet. She said as much to Joy, who shook her head.

‘You’re pretty and clever and now that you’ve not got me tied round your neck like the albatross in the poem you’ll make heaps of friends,’ she said decidedly. Gillian began to protest, but Joy hushed her imperiously. ‘Hang on a moment. You aren’t the only one who has news to impart. Are you ready to hear the story of
my
day?’ She put down her empty mug and smiled in the general direction of her sister. ‘You’ll have to cast your mind back to those two months at the Bold Street school before Christmas, when I was able to see. The truth is, I don’t have to imagine what the boys and girls look like from their voices; I just have to use my memory. Oh, at first it’s bound to be difficult, because I never took much notice of people’s voices when I could see, but now I can’t I have to get to know which face goes with what voice, if you understand me. Well, today, I hung about the cloakroom until the bell went. Then I waited until it was quiet and went very slowly and carefully into our old classroom. I don’t mind admitting that at first it was … oh, awful! I heard all the chattering die away and the most dreadful feeling of desolation swept over me. I imagined stepping forward and finding a desk in my way, crashing to the ground, trying to scramble to my feet …’

‘Oh, Joy darling,’ Gillian said, her voice choked with tears. ‘I’ll give up St Hilda’s – it’s not that great anyway – and come back to Bold Street, so we can be together and I can tell you—’

‘No!’ Joy shouted. ‘That would be the worst possible thing; it would ruin everything. The point is that as soon as they saw I was alone – and they must have guessed how frightened I felt – someone came over and took my hand. “Remember me?” she said. “I’m Susie. You and I sometimes shared a desk before Christmas, when your twin was doing special lessons with the top class. Are you going to wait for Gillian or shall you and me share a two-seater? It’ll have to be in the front of the class because I don’t hear too good. Where is Gillian, by the way?”

‘I reminded her you’d started at St Hilda’s and she gave my fingers a little squeeze and then led me to the desk we were to share. “
Do
you remember me?” she asked. “I’ve got sandy hair in two plaits and rather a lot of freckles. I’m quite good at English, but useless at maths and—”

‘Someone else broke in, giggling. “She’s gorra squint and no front teeth,” a girl’s voice said jeeringly. “Now me, I’m Prue Edge and you won’t remember me ’cos I were new at the beginnin’ of last term, but if you want to know wharr I look like, just visualise Marlene Dietrich; folks say they can’t tell us apart.”

‘Everyone laughed, including me, though I couldn’t help thinking what a shame it was that I’d never see another cowboy film – or any film, for that matter – but I’m getting off the point. I did remember Susie all right, but there were other voices then, other hands patting me or giving my hair a tweak, people introducing themselves. For a moment it was frightening and how I cursed my stupidity in not learning as much about our fellow pupils as I could have done. But I wasn’t to know … oh, never mind. Anyway, they were grand, Gillian, honest to God they were. By the time the teacher came in and rapped on her desk for order, I’d remembered most of the class and was beginning to put names to voices.

‘The teacher was grand too; she was our class teacher. I remembered her from the time we spent in school before Christmas. I hadn’t liked her much then; she was awful strict and wouldn’t stand no nonsense.’ Joy grinned at Gillian. ‘Do you remember how ratty she got because we were squabbling about whose pencil case was which?’

‘Course I remember; I thought she was beastly, but from what you’ve said perhaps she was right and we were wrong. Carry on then.’

‘Right,’ Joy said, reflecting that in an odd sort of way her day and Gillian’s had really been very similar. ‘Well, the teacher – Miss Roberts – said that since we’d started getting to know one another all over again she would introduce us properly. She came over to my desk, told me to stand up and then took my hand …’

‘I hope you didn’t flinch away,’ Gillian said anxiously, remembering her twin’s dislike of being touched, but Joy shook her head.

‘No, of course I didn’t,’ she said indignantly. ‘She was trying to help me. Oh, I know that before I’ve resented being helped by anyone but you and Daddy, but today I realised how stupid that is. Now I mean to accept any help offered, until I don’t need it, that is. Blind people do become independent, don’t they, Gillian? Look at that Colin. I know he went to the special school and learned all sorts of tricks there, but he was only eight. I’m nearly fourteen and I can work out for myself various ways of becoming independent. Not that I need to, because Colin said he’d come round to give a hand whenever I wanted; all I have to do is send a message by his brother Jerome, and he’ll be here like a shot.’ She giggled. ‘He liked Mrs Clarke’s scones and ginger nuts, didn’t he? We’ll have to get her to bake some more.’

‘Just what do you think Colin can teach you?’ Gillian asked curiously. She leaned across and pulled the cake towards herself, then picked up the cake knife. ‘Do you want another piece? It
is
good, isn’t it?’

Joy frowned and began to feel her way across the table, plainly searching for something, and when she addressed her sister her voice was reproachful. ‘Now you’ve been and gone and done it, Gillian; I knew exactly where the cake was in relation to my plate and mug. I know you pulled it away because I heard the cake plate slithering across the table top, but I haven’t a clue where it ended up.’ She scowled in the general direction from which Gillian’s voice had come. ‘We’ve both got a lot to learn, you know, and you can start by not moving things without telling me what you’re doing. Go on, tell me where the cake is now.’

‘It’s right in front of you, where it was before,’ Gillian said, hastily pushing it back across the table. ‘The knife is lying on the plate beside it. Oh, Joy, you’re quite right, we’ve both got an awful lot to learn. Now tell me what happened when Miss Roberts took hold of your hand.’

‘You’ve spoilt my flow,’ Joy grumbled. ‘Well, Miss Roberts took me up to the front of the class and stood me beside her desk. Then she called the class out, one by one, and each pupil was told to give their name and any other information which might help me to recognise them. For instance, Susie said about her freckles and sandy plaits again, and Ella said she was short and plump, whilst Jane said she had shared my book at the carol service and didn’t I remember how we’d sung the descant together. Of course when she said that I remembered her perfectly and took hold of her hand, moving my own up until I could touch her hair. It’s weird, Gillian, because when I could see her I often longed to touch her hair. It’s long and silky and I was just telling her that of course I remembered her perfectly when my hand reached her shoulder and stopped short … Gillian, I was so surprised that I gave a little yelp. “You’ve cut your perishin’ hair off!” I said. “Oh, how could you, Jane? Your long hair was so beautiful …”